me and Ed bring it on home

Ready?? Ok, here we go..............

 

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Here's the old:

 

 

Here's the new:

 

 

I absolutely love it!  Light just bounces everywhere now.  I feel like my whole life got a facelift.

 

Despite appearances in this picture, we did not also bring home a headless cat.  Tybalt wanted a bath on the new rug.

Speaking of new rug.  I bought it over a year ago and put it in the basement for "someday when I finally paint the kitchen."

I'm walkin on sunshine oooohooooh I'm walkin on sunshine ooohhhh ohhhh and don't it feel good!!

 

Getting from the last post to this one was more than just a hiccup.  It rained crazy for a good 24 hours, just like was predicted.  It started with this:

 

 

He is in kindergarten and that is a very very very VERY sharp brand new hatchet.  It's tricky to tell this story without throwing his very well-meaning dad under the bus.  So suffice it to say that when I got home Saturday morning, the girls were playing upstairs, Ryan was screwing in cupboard doors, my brother-in-law was under the sink in the completely torn-up kitchen, and River literally RAN to meet me swinging his hatchet.  I not so calmly suggested that he needed supervision and training.  I invoked that Oklahoma scene where Judd Fry falls on his ax and dies.  No one seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and River ran again to chop more sticks.  STICKS, people.  Little sticks...with a big life-threatening hatchet.  That was the moment when I lost my shit, slammed the door, and went for a drive.  I ended up in one of those falling-down-out-in-the-country cemeteries and had myself a good cry over dysfunctional families and unfinished kitchens and my horrible parenting and the complete idiocy of the republican party.  My hair also no longer looked good.  And then.  Then I realized that I'm not six feet under.  I'm precisely five feet, 11 inches above.  And that is a truly no small thing.  Kitchens, hatchets, and my cluster of a self took it down a few notches and started to breathe again.  And not long after, I got to leave and go to work with the addicts.  Which every single time, takes me down even a few notches more.

 

And side note, which really isn't a side note because it so matters....The hatchet is safely stored OUT OF REACH.

 

And now, the kitchen is done.  D.o.n.e.  And it is blissssssssssssssssssss!

 

Ryan washed bottles to inaugurate it with a homebrew bottling.

 

 

And the kids played like rockstars (sans hatchets) while I made curried carrot soup. 

 

 Peeling and slicing and dicing in my happy new sink....while Ed took us all on home.  (click on it....he'll do the same for you!)

me & ed & sarah & daniel

When you have people like these in your chaos, it's hard to stay grouchy for long...

 

 

Sarah has some kind of magical painting powers because when she held the brush, everything went three times faster and looked five times better.

 

Also, my brother-in-law is studlier than your brother-in-law.

Inch by inch, row by row.  Gonna make this kitchen FAB!!!

me & ed & menard's

This was the day I put on my big girl pants and drove this big ass truck down Kellogg Avenue in Wichita to pick up my very-own-all-the-way-from-a-warehouse-in-California butcher block countertop!

And then onto to Menard's with a list that said:

sink - white, doesn't scratch, 22x33x7.5 inches
faucet - with that giraffe neck spout
those things you put in a sink's drains
stain
hinges
knobs

This was my first time at Menard's.  One day a church or bar or psych ward is going to get smart and set up shop attached to Menard's.  You will walk through the store, make your purchases, and proceed directly to the vice of your choice.

You know how on Survivor, the players put on blindfolds and compete in challenges?  They try to do amazing feats like climb a rope and dig up a bag buried in sand and hurdle logs, and on the way, because they are blindfolded, they smack right into everything.

That's me in Menard's, except my eyes are open. 

But I found this guy:

I literally showed him my list and he made it happen.  Sink, faucet, sink drains. Boom.

I asked him to go with me to hinges, but he said he's a one-department kind of guy.  So I found this:

Hinges and knobs will wait for another day.  I couldn't decide what bra to wear this morning, which makes it seem like a bad day to choose 1 of 759 hinges and 1 of 293 knobs.

Then I stood in the stain aisle and talked on the phone to my brother-in-law (who is the one actually DOING all the countertop/sink work).  Jesus' brother came and stood beside me until I hung up. 

I know he was Jesus' brother because:
he appeared out of nowhere
he is the son of a carpenter
he was funny
he waited oh so patiently for me to finish my yammering
he made me feel like exactly 1 million dollars

He told me to buy this to finish the countertops:

And he was the icing on the cake of what turned out to be a truly magnificent Menard's experience. 

Me and Ed #2

 

 

My hair still looks good.  Just checked.

me and Ed #1

It has begun.  This kitchen is going to have white cupboards, a new sink, a new island, and butcher-block countertop.

 

If you've been here long, you know that I love to paint things. 
see the "paint me crazy" link over there ---------------------------------------------------->
You also know that mid-project, I go absolutely clinical.

The drawers and cupboard doors are sitting in the garage, primed, and I'm already looking back at those two pictures and thinking that it looked absolutely amazing and this is the worst decision of my entire life.

But I think I know it's not.  And I'm pretty sure it will be fabulous.

So.
I have compiled a list of five key talking-myself-down questions for those moments when it's so very tempting to throw myself on the ground and cry mercy....

1.  Does my hair still look good?

2.  Do I still have three hungry little mouths to cook for?

3.  Is a Democrat still president?

4.  Did I eat the recalled hummus?

5.  Am I still 29?

Tantrums beware.  You are not welcome here.  Only fun, sun, and paint!

We've got this.

Besides, if we don't, my beloved Levant still works at Sherwin Williams.  He can talk a girl down like none other.  Also, I've discovered that Ed Sheeran's music is amaaaaaaaazing.

I'll keep you posted....It's naptime and Ed and I have painting to do.

Lent. Indeed.

Ok.

You know how I love Lent.  It has it's own category over there  ------------------------>

But I oh so clearly told my spiritual director that I was not going to "do Lent" this year.  I didn't have it within myself.  I was too tired, already too aware of the shadow side, very much up in my head. Definitely already surrendered.  You know how I was hating winter - on my insides and in my backyard.  And there was no need for more of that. 

Well, Lent did me.

Sure, there were pockets of greatness. 

Like my sister's family being here for 6 weeks...

And Easter pretzel making...

And a date with this guy...

And chocolates from a friend.  And coffee from another friend (that was consumed on contact of course.  No time for pics.)...

And Easter-egg dying with family...

And still.  This whole Easter weekend was one giant metaphor for the fact that I am made of dust.  I'm fickle in a pent-up kind of way, and prone to trample all over the best laid plans.  I put on my fun-mom pants and 20 minutes later, I'm selling my children at the neighbor's garage sale. 

All weekend, stupid stuff went wrong and the universe was silent when I begged for mercy.

Eva Rain is one heaping helping of Hard To Parent.  She's a great kid, and would no doubt say we are Hard to Kid. I don't talk about it a lot on this space, mostly because it's too public.  Plenty of you are people I've never met, but some of you see my daughter nearly every week.  It's just not fair to her for me to complain about our trials.  But the truth is that the things we struggle with are very much a part of my daily reality and it affects evvvvverything, including and especially River and Sage's behavior.  It hijacks my mood.  I try to be a grown-up and say I'm immune to it, bigger than it, push through it.  But truthfully the pity-party on my insides is at epic proportions.

So there was that.  And there was a full moon.  And there were other things like miscommunications with extended family, long hours at work, an extremely grouchy family day when Ryan finally had a day off, and a totally trashed-out house.  And then there were things like Eva and Sage setting up a tattoo parlor on the back bench at church on Easter Sunday while I was up front leading singing.  I shit you not.  Permanent markers and all.

And because I don't choose the music (big thank you to those that do - really, I don't want that job!), but I take the lead vocals with the worship team and am the one doing the speaking, I had to stand up front and lead a couple of songs that make me uncomfortable because they were all about "the blood of Jesus".  Usually, I'm so happy to be part of this great community of Jesus-lovers that I don't mind some theological differences and can authentically lead the music.  But this Sunday felt different.  I get it that he died and it's part of our story.  But for the life of me, I can't understand why Christians like to sing upbeat tunes with lyrics like "oh precious is the flow that makes me white as snow".  I love that man.  I hate it that he died.  I'm sad that humanity - because it didn't understand what a rockstar servant he was - killed him.  It doesn't make me happy to think about it.  I also don't believe that God requires a blood sacrifice from anyone - especially His Son - to grant any one of the trillions of incredible humans he has created access to God.  It does not work that way.  God is just too big for that.  I love the resurrection concept.  That nothing - even death - can contain Jesus.  That we get a new chance every moment to resurrect in life, in our relationships, in our breath, that which is new and life-giving.  That which is generosity and love.  That's what I wanted to be singing about.

And on this side of Lent, that is my song.

I'll leave you with this video....Sage wanted me to record her saying an Easter message of "He is risen indeed" like they do at church...only doing it the Sage way, not so much the church way.  You'll see... 

But of course there was a sibling-scrap in the middle of it.
Because there is truly no Easy Button ever ever ever with children.  At least not mine.  Ever.
Shit will continue to hit the fan in this chaos of a home. 
People will continue to fight. 
I will continue to be exhausted. 
But. 
The lights are down and the doors closed on Lent.  Also on this pity party.  Spring has sprung and life all around is being resurrected.  I'll be darned if I stand by and watch all that beauty and don't dive Right On IN!

Join me!  He has risen indeed!