We Are All So Very Tired. And Dreaming About Grout.

Last night, I was awakened at 3am by a smallish person, excitedly telling me about dreams and stories and silly things. Well, I had to take her word for it because frankly, I wasn't finding her jive all that hilarious.

But she's usually pretty spot on with these things, so I'll trust her that it was all very funny.

Anyway, the 3 year-old didn't wake me from the soundest sleep. At the time of her arrival in our bed, I was tossing and turning with half-awake dreams concerning glass mosaic tile and an ever-shifting squishy wall of mortar.

I'm not proud of this story, I'm just telling it like it is.

And since I possess a glorious memory foam pillow, I spent more time than I care to admit trying to flatten my pillow's surface, completely convinced that it was the errant backsplash wall. Ever try to flatten a memory foam pillow? Yeah, it works real well.

And Nora never fell back to sleep.

And I never managed to flatten that pillow/mortar wall.

And Susannah had her 18 month shots this a.m., along with an exciting blood draw which included the nurses' third consecutive visit attempt to find her baby veins.

We are all Feeling Feelings.

And as of publication time, none of those "feelings" have been that of anyone's face hitting anyone's bed-like surface. Which is just as well-

My pillow clearly cannot be trusted, anyhow.

18 Months.

Susannah Mae- Suzy, Zuzu, The Zu, Monkey, Buttercup, Little Baby Seester-

Happy 18 months. This milestone is huge for so many reasons, among them the fact that you're no longer a baby and we get to stop annoying non-parents by counting your age with months. (Hey kid- you're one and a half! Wicked.)

Ready for anything.

You are awesomely smart and alarmingly impish. You climb- Good Lord, you climb. Before you came along and other parents bemoaned their little cabinet scalers, part of me thought to myself- Why don't you just tell them no? (Hahahaha.)

You know the word "no." You know time outs. But you also know body parts and animal sounds and what to say when your sister runs into a wall. ("Icee?") You've got buckets of empathy and the easiest laugh this side of vaudeville. You are a clown and a [momentary] thumbkin snuggle and a tiny dancer, spinning and singing soft la la las to yourself behind the curtain.

We love when you act out pages of stories as your Dad reads them to you. We love when you call hippos "hippies." (Because you know what? Maybe they are.) And we love when you stare at your sister with absolute hero worship, ready to squeeze yourself into an impossibly small space at her say so.

Today was your first gymnastics class and, as 18 months was the final cut-off, you were absolutely, positively the youngest one there. But I didn't worry. Because I know you never do.

Strong like bull.

When your teacher asked you to hop up on the high mats, plant those hands and pike, you did it. Never mind how on Earth you learned what "piking" was (although I suspect your sister), I was wildly impressed/not surprised/rather fearful that you just WENT for it.

I hope you always do.

Unless you're diving from cliffs or speeding around a racetrack. Then, I advise you to either wear the maximum amount of protective gear allowed by law, or simply paint a watered-down account for your mother after the fact.

I thank you in advance.

And hey, take your time on that whole race towards "two." I know you won't- because you don't pull any punches with races-

But let's both just pretend that you will.

(I love you, Monkey.)

Mini Kitchen Makeover, Part 2, AKA P.J. Gets Out The Power Tools.

You guys. Turns out, getting parts of your kitchen remodeled (and then repeatedly walking in and out of said room) is better than waking up to check your stocking or Easter basket or Valentine envelope or birthday table pile (what?) in terms of Immediate Gratification Awesome Feelings. 

Last week we got these ridonk cabinets resurfaced. This week? Oh my word, QUARTZ COUNTERTOPS.

Let's review what we had been working with:

Man oh man, those cabinets are purty. That counter is a little wonky, though. Can we get a close-up?

Yup, that sure is an impossible-to-remove stain. Boy, that must've been a joy to live with!

I can't stop staring at those rad cabinets! But there sure is a lot of that fugly countertop, huh?

Warped, stained, unevenly seamed Formica. Let's hear some offers, boys!

Yeah, it's over there too, offending my coffee maker.

Peej had been fully prepared to use the jaws of life to remove the counters.
Turns out, it's super easy to remove a counter if it's never been attached to anything, ever.

Anyone need a die? Some shelf liner? How about a flat razor?
(What kind of establishment have we stumbled upon?)

P.J. uses a power saw in the kitchen. Sure, he'll chase loud teens from our lawn and threaten
car alarms in his boxers, but a sawing in the kitchen at 9pm? The girls'll be fine. (They were.)

P.J. was pleased/dismayed to find how easy sink removal was.
Because the sink had never been bracketed or attached to our flimsy Formica.
Our cast iron sink was just hanging out on old particle board. Hooray!
(Also, Peej is wearing my Dad's flannel and it makes me wicked happy.)

Yesterday morning, guys from The Home Depot showed up and saw that P.J. had left some nice, neat
holes just right for new quartz countertops to fit atop of. So here's what they left us. (A shiny sink, too!)

Hey there, pretty lady.

It's so clean and sturdy and looks like a real kitchen where people could even live and prepare food!

Here is where there was oh-so-recently a stained countertop. It is no longer.

Let's be in love forever. 

Next up: Backsplash! Water re-connection!

And that fun moment where I never let anyone use the kitchen ever again.

Norman Rockwell It Ain't.

Happy Easter!

Love,
The Confused Todder (Awake Since 1:45am)
The Jellybean Thief (Vibrating With Sugar In The Background)
The Crab Apple Gal (Pondering A 4th Cup Of Coffee)
And The Determined Guy (Having A Magical Day, DARN IT.)