Not to sound frou frou...last year at this time we lived on a golf course, a rather lovely neighborhood with stately homes perfectly landscaped. If someone had a brown spot in their lawn everyone would surely take notice as they went for their evening walk in their Rockport walking shoes and matching warm up suits. But this is the honest truth; I didn't belong there. Well first of all, I don't own Rockport shoes. Secondly I am an avid thrifter. Often I think I have "vision" and buy the 70's brown plaid chair just "knowing" I can transform it into the likes of a make over magazine centerfold. Sometimes I would park my junk in the middle of the driveway and try and find time to work on it only to have someone need to go to the Emergency Room or tell me they need 48 cupcakes for school the next day. So I would think about redoing it while it sat there, on display for all the warm up suit/Rockport people to gag and grunt over. It's hard to explain how you enjoy cutting down your maternity clothes and sewing them into knit pants for your three year old to someone who has no yearning to use spray paint so much the tip of their finger is numb.
Tool Time with Maggie.
Daughter who is teaching mother loads about woodworking. ("Mom, you have to hold the drill level", and after I stripped about a dozen screws..."Mom, that is like so bad for the drill bit.") But Bless baby Maggie, we worked on our chicken coop endlessly. She is a natural!
Underwear on clothesline.
Poor Sam, he is still not used to this. Don't tell him I put them on the internet.
Beat up old rusty truck.
I love love love this truck. My sister and I used to fill it with a mountain of junk going to yard sales. Now my kids drive it in the back pasture, around and around. Yee Haw.
Five year old with brother's BB gun. As much as this alarmed me (yes mother, Ken was with her) I was more horrified she was wearing this summer dress in the middle of December. By the way she is a very good shot!
My adorable husband was strutting around the yard wearing white socks and loafers. He thought I was taking a picture of him as he stood all smiley and cute. Poor Ken, he'll find out soon enough he was a blogging victim. I love you, baby!