Rain, rain, rain

Central Virginia seems to be sitting directly under Tropical Storm Lee, which has translated into our second full rainy day of the week (and we’re scheduled for a third tomorrow).  All of this rain has made me realize that it has been a long time since we’ve had a true rain day rather than those scattered summer thunderstorms that swept in almost daily from June through August, but blew over in a matter of minutes.

In a lot of ways, I love these rainy days.  I don’t feel pressure to have the kids spend as much time as possible outside soaking up the sunlight and breathing the fresh air (I have something inside of me that refuses to sit still in the house too long if the sun is shining and it’s not 100+ degrees outside.  I feel like I’m taking advantage of Mother Nature’s kindness in some way.  Strange, I know.)  It has also been nice getting reacquainted with some of our bad weather outings that I keep on the back burner as much as possible for this very reason (including one of our early favorites, the mall indoor playground, where we ventured this morning).

Another typical rainy day activity?  Shutting the door to our tiny one car garage (that Will actually parks his even tinier Honda in) and playing with the outdoor toys—balls, bats, strollers, big wheels, scooters, sidewalk chalk, rakes and anything else they desire.  As long as they keep it in the garage.



Staring down the pitcher.



Homerun!  The pitcher looks devestated.



Inevitably, stroller fights ensue or arguments over who gets the baseball bat arise and we exit the garage to cool down.  But once they kiss and make-up, it’s off to the garage for one…last…lap.

F&G happily enjoying their fall haircuts (our second outing of the morning).  George is looking a little less like a German dictator sans his stitches, which were removed yesterday:

Happy Wednesday everyone!  Stay dry!

Ordinary happenings

Lots of ordinary things going on around the house these days—my favorite kind of happenings.

Remember these?

Can you figure out which dwarf we are missing?

Grandma and Grandpa (Will’s parents) bought these Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs Pez dispensers (with accompanying candy of course) for Frances several weeks ago and she is hooked.

George has taken a liking to them, too; as long as they are filled with M&Ms – George’s candy of choice. 

And I’m with George on that one.  I’ve never understood the allure of Pez candies, except that it must be the thrill of chomping down on an overly-sweet pink rectangle ejected out of the mouth of one of your favorite Disney princesses.  And then there is the necessary playtime with the figurines following lunch.

Moving on...what would you do with an entire morning to yourself – no kids, no husband, no schedule?  I was recently granted this extraordinary gift from Will who only left me with one instruction as he tossed my Kindle into my purse – do not come home until I was completely ready.  Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?

Truthfully I had asked for some alone time to browse for some house things.  My ideal “perfect morning” would not have included quite as much shopping (maybe a little window shopping in Pottery Barn or Nordstrom, but otherwise it would have landed me on a soft chair in Barnes & Noble or down a quiet trail at James River Landing park).  But I had grown tired of some of our home décor and felt the need to rejuvenate some spaces, particularly our kitchen shelves. 

For most of the summer, they’ve looked like this:

We usually rotate them seasonally, but I was in the mood for a simpler look than our usual fall tchotchke:

Maybe it’s the chaos in my life, but I have grown weary of the typical autumn decorations– gourds, scarecrows, dark colored leaves.  So I went to my go-to place for champagne items on our bottled beer budget—Home Goods.  Greatest home store on the planet (or at least in Richmond) where I hit the jackpot:



I was on the hunt for a set of three white canisters, but didn't find anything I liked so I settled on the three white pitchers that didn't come as a set but go well together.  I'll still keep my eye out for those pesky canisters though--I have always wanted some.




Love the "LOVE" milkbottles.  I guess that's the point.



Those white pitchers needed a little something, yes?  Sunflowers!  The perfect fall touch.

White pitchers = happy!






I loved this white watering can with painted sunflowers, which appears to be my unintentional Fall 2011 theme.



Ahhhh, much better!  There is something about white that makes things feel clean and fresh.

In other news, George has officially graduated out of his toddler car seat and into the preschool model that uses a real seat belt.

After months of lifting a squirmy sack of potatoes into the toddler seat, my back and arms are already breathing a huge sigh of relief.  And the little guy is very proud to be just like his sister – cup holders and all!

Happy Labor Day everyone!  Will is at the office today so sadly it doesn’t feel like a true holiday to me; but rumor has it he may be home earlier than normal.  I’m keeping my fingers crossed but have wisely decided not to share this news with Frances and George for fear of a mutiny come 5pm.

Body language

I had to share this video that was passed to me by my mother (and sent to her by my brother, Johnny).  As you’ve probably heard, various studies suggest that anywhere from 60 to 93 percent of communication is non-verbal.  After watching this video, I assume this statistic also applies to animals; or at least dogs:

Isn’t that hilarious?!  And adorable!  Little Maggie looks so very guilty and surprisingly remorseful.  I only wish either one of our dogs made it that obvious when they’ve done something bad.  At this point we are left assuming the culprit is Marshall and we are usually correct.  And believe me, he is rarely contrite.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

Paper and Ponytails

Did anyone else receive this in the mail this week?

This, my friends, is a 615 page catalogue from Restoration Hardware.  615 pages of shiny, dense, catalogue paper that I suppose is intended to entice me into buying a $6,000 sofa that would not even fit through our front door. 

I even feel guilty putting this novel in the recycling, so on the off-chance that anyone would like it, please let me know and it is on its way (absolutely no judgment, I promise; I’ll just be thrilled it can be used!).  The only positive explanation I can give to receiving this catalogue is that the economy must be doing much better for Restoration Hardware to send this out to a customer who has bought a $10 set of candles from them in the last five years.  That is the only reason I can justify for wasting this much paper when this is essentially a print out from their website.  Ugh.

And ugh to me – isn’t it Friday?  Shouldn’t I be much more positive??  YES!

Frances hit a milestone today when her hair was finally long enough to put in a true ponytail. 



In person, Frances looked like such a big girl with a ponytail. 
I am secretly relieved that she still looks tiny in these pictures!



She was over the moon and kept saying how she looked “just like you, Mommy!”  Two thoughts crept into my head upon hearing this—first, I wish I were as adorable and beautiful as my daughter; and second, poor girl only sees her mother in a ponytail because I am far too lazy to actually style myself each morning.

George was a big fan of the ponytail, too.

Can you see the tackle in progress?  Five stitches hasn't slowed this boy down one bit.

Have a great long weekend everyone!

Ahhh, Fall!

There is nothing prettier than a Virginia fall. 

A new month.  A new blog banner.  I think I am finally ready for fall to get here. 

Happy Thursday everyone!

Big boo-boo

Yesterday I lost at least five years from my life.

George accidentally fell into the guest room door when the children were running around after bath time.  The day had been perfect until that point—Frances had school in the morning, George had some alone time with Gram-E while I went to the dentist, I had my usual lunch date, we went to the pool after naptime and were winding up the day in time to have a relaxed dinner before Daddy’s evening arrival.  But then I heard the dreaded *thump.*  That thump that makes a mother’s heart sink from her chest to her toes.  Before I could react Frances called out, “Mommy come quick!  George is bleeding!”  My girl is one amazing big sister.

George split his cleft from his nose to his upper lip.  It bled like a faucet.  He cried; Frances cried; I cried.  And then I called Gram-E.  What would I ever do without our wonderful neighbors?  As soon as Elinor saw George’s lip she knew it needed stitches.

Without missing a beat, the four of us jumped in the car and headed to the pediatric ER.  George had stopped crying, the bleeding had slowed down and thankfully he could suck on a paci without any pain.  George has a borderline obsession with his paci – knowing he could enjoy that small pleasure gave me some mild relief.

The ER check-in was quick and less than ten minutes later, George and I were headed back to see the doctor while Frances and Gram-E watched cartoons in the waiting room.  I remember being so proud of Frances at that moment.  She was hungry; she was tired; she was nervous for George.  But she showed none of that as her pajama-clad little brother was whisked away past the automatic doors.  Whether intentionally or unintentionally, she was showing a brave front for George and I know he felt it, too.

The doctor examined George and not surprisingly said he needed stitches, but that the rip was so clean it would not likely leave a scar.  Then she looked at me and said, “So, are you ready?”  I now know why she asked me that.

They put George in a makeshift straight jacket, laid him on a cot and asked that I lay beside him.  His small body was shaking and his crying pierced my ears, but I did my best to comfort him—and this was before the doctor even touched him.  First came the Novocain.  Then five stitches.  One by one, each one seemed to take longer than the last.  At this point, the screams coming from him were almost not human—except that it was my son.  My baby boy.  He screamed so hard, he made himself sick.  He called out for me—I was right next to him; I could not have been closer to him if I were laying on him; I whispered in his ear; sang his favorite songs; told him how much I loved him.  None of it seemed to penetrate his fear.  I knew he wasn’t in pain—he was scared beyond belief and I couldn’t do anything about it.  He was asking for my help and I wasn’t helping him.  All I could do was stroke his sweaty shoulder and kiss his flushed cheeks.  He felt so strong underneath my hands and I was a weak, crying mess.

At some point they finished the stitches, unwrapped George, and let him have his paci while he finished up his wailing on my shoulder, which eventually morphed into a gentle weep and then finally to those quick involuntary breaths that follow a hard cry. 

Daddy found his way back to the ER at that point.  The doctor gave him some good-natured ribbing for showing up after the storm, but for me his timing could not have been more perfect.  As soon as he scooped up George in his arms, I completely lost it.  I didn’t realize how tight I had been holding my muscles until they could relax in my sobbing.  Will was there and I didn’t have to be the strong parent anymore.

George is fine now and I know how lucky we are that he only needed five stitches (or that his injury wasn’t far worse considering the many “close calls” we’ve had in the house).  I also recognize that we will very likely be back in the ER with one or both of the children during these growing years.  As much as I would like to put both Frances and George in a bubble and roll them around town for the rest of their childhood, I know this is not practical or possible (of course, if it is possible, please drop me an email and I will have them “bubbled” by the evening).  I can only hope that George’s first major injury can be a lesson to us all—particularly me.  My kids are tough, but they are not indestructible.  And their mother is a weepy-eyed chump.





George with his self-described "big boo-boo."  Do you think I am a tad dramatic?  This makes me wonder how I will react to the inevitable broken bone, appendicitis or the thousands of other childhood afflictions that may be around the corner.  No worries--I'm sure I'll write about them!

Goodnight, Irene

We made it past Hurricane Irene and I can safely say that the Homiller house fared much better than many others in our locality (or at least this Homiller house—Will’s parents are still without power and his brother had five huge trees fall in his yard).  We miraculously still have power (apparently 75% of the metro Richmond area is out) and we had only one tree on our property line fall away from our house into the street.





No fewer than three houses in our small neighborhood had trees fall onto their homes (one home had two trees hit it).  We are lucky to say the least:



One of the three house-victims.  I felt a little bad taking pictures of this nice family's bad luck and I didn't have the heart to take a picture of the other two.



Otherwise, we just have a lot of cleanup from fallen branches and leaves scattered throughout the yard and street:

For more scary pictures of Irene’s damage (and a fantastic blog in general), visit Young House Love.

In the meantime, after a trip to the river and an (almost) week at the beach Frances, George and I are busy getting reacquainted with our normal schedule.  Even though none of us are returning to school this fall, I still have a feeling of renewal come Labor Day weekend.  In fact, one of my (“New Fall”?  “New School Year”?) resolutions this year is to cook more.  I don’t hate to cook (in fact, I actually like it), but I am perfectly content each evening to finish my day with a bowl of cereal rather than an actual meal.  Considering Frances and George beg for dinner beginning around 5:15pm (long before Daddy gets home) that leaves Will out in the cold scrounging around in the refrigerator at 8:30pm for something edible (other than mac ‘n cheese and canned peas, that is).  And as 1950s as it sounds, I do feel a sense of responsibility to make sure my family is well-fed—and so, the resolution begins…another day.  Sadly, nearly all of the food stores in our area are closed due to power outages.  How very Scarlett O’Hara of me (“I’ll think about that tomorrow”).

I’ll leave you with a picture of Frances wearing Back Street Boys stickers.  There is nothing like a compulsorily housebound day due to a very slow moving hurricane to inspire some much overdue purging of pre-children memorabilia.  Will gave me these stickers sometime before the children were born—I have no idea when.  Maybe for a birthday?  Christmas?  Engagement present?  Frances loved them and spent a good 30 minutes decorating herself and her little brother.

A girl after my own heart.  BSB 4eva!

What did we do with the remainder of the day?  I seemed to have blocked that from my memory, which is probably a good thing.

Have a great week everyone!