One Year In: Entry/Dining Room/Kitchen

Carson is turning 6 next month. That’s nuts, people! NUTS! Sometimes I can remember him being the tiniest baby, fitting perfectly into my chest. I loved holding him and nursing him and waking up at night with him right next to me. Sometimes I have to remember him as that small baby who I was so obsessed with to keep from ending his currently crazy monkey life. I don’t mean that, but really, you know what I mean. If you have a 5 year old, you know. The talking. The nagging. The tattle-telling. The Talking. The school frustrations. The TALKING. The questioning of everything. Carson does a lot of talking, especially when you’re trapped in a car with him. It’s insane.

He is easy to forgive though. Every morning Carson wakes up and comes straight to the side of my bed. He rests his head on my shoulder and gives me a hug. It’s always the best way to wake up. He always wants to help me with whatever I’m doing. He will take half a dozen piles of crap from downstairs to upstairs while I’m cleaning. And he doesn’t complain. He asks, “What’s next?” He eats food like a normal person, more often than not now, without proclaiming that he hates it. He usually tells me whatever I have cooked is his favorite, even if he admits later that he hopes I won’t cook that again. He keeps a watchful eye on Allie. He may be her greatest tormentor, but he wants her safe always and he doesn’t want anybody else to be the source of her tears. His prayers are thoughtful and sweet. He almost always prays that we will look both ways when we cross the street. And lastly, he still will take the best naps as long as Allie doesn’t bust into his room and disturb him.

So you see, Carson bugs, but…he’s still a good guy.


For the final part of my ‘One Year In’ series, I’m sharing our entry, dining room, and kitchen. They are the least exciting/attractive parts of our town home, but function for their intended purposes. I’m dreaming of a huge, all white kitchen, but until then, enjoy.














One Year In: Family Room

I’ve been thinking a lot about growing up. You see…I still think of myself as my 21 year old self. In my head I’m still cool and wrinkle-free and with perky boobies and can dance like I’m the sexiest thing alive (I used to be able to shake my butt like it was my job).  In reality, I’m nearing thirty, there isn’t any part of my body that is in the right place anymore, and I look like my mom when I dance (which is like arms flapping and my kids looking at me awkwardly). I’m not cool anymore. I decorate my house and call that a good time, I send Carson off to school with a talk about remembering who you are, I yell at my kids to eat a vegetable or even anything that looks like a vegetable, my heart feels like it might explode at the sight of brand new babies instead of hot Backstreet Boys look-a-likes, I’d rather go to thrift stores than to the mall, and if you get too close to me, chances are you’re going to notice I haven’t showered in a couple of days.

So I’m not cool anymore. And I’m cool with that. Because besides picturing myself as my 21 year old self in my head, I’m happy to be aging. Age has brought me confidence and knowing who I am.

I’ve had a hard time my whole life feeling good in my own skin. High school was like torture for me. I tried my very hardest to go unnoticed, and for the most part, I succeeded. I was a tiny thing and people would often ask me what eating disorder I had. I took this to heart and would hope to disappear so no one would ever ask me that question again. They did and life moved on. Kids can be harsh. I still find it offensive when I hear people talk about how skinny girls are nasty or look like twigs or how real women have curves, etc. Thin people are people, too! I would never talk about a larger woman’s body and I don’t think its fair that we have no issue demeaning someone because they are thin. Why is it ok to talk about weight ever? Curves don’t make real women. A vagina makes a real woman. So stop saying that crap and allow everyone to be comfortable in their skin. Rant over.

Anyway, college was freeing to me. Nobody from high school followed me to college so I had a fresh start. I put on 25 pounds my freshman year and while people would still comment on me being thin, I never heard any accusations about anorexia or bulimia again. I wasn’t always smart with my new found freedom. I “dated” (I use dated very loosely) too many boys and in general, they were all losers. I don’t entirely blame them. I allowed them to treat me like an object because I was desperate for attention. I’d been so long without male attention, that it felt good to have attractive boys into me. I based my self-worth on these boys being into me. So you see, my confidence would be up and way down like crazy during my college years.

Becoming a mother, my life revolved around Carson. I lost myself entirely in him. I felt those baby blues hard. I lost interest in everything that I thought made me me. I was just a mom and nothing else. It took me nearly two years to get out of that funk and back into reality that I’m still a woman.

And now, I feel aware of myself: what I’m good at, what keeps me from getting depressed, what I enjoy doing, I have found my own style and it isn’t based on what I think everyone else would like, how to not judge others and to not think everybody is judging me, how to love freely, and that serving others serves my own soul. I don’t rely on anybody else or any circumstance to make me happy. I make myself happy. I feel good about myself. Age has done that for me. So I’ll welcome the sag bags. Life is too good.

Decorating is one of those things that keeps me happy and motivated to better myself. I know some people think being so into decorating is silly or wasteful of money while my husband is in school, but I think of pretty spaces as my happy spaces, that often keep me sane. So I’m going to keep on doing my thang. Here is our family room that is so comfy/cozy to us.








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