The joys of home ownership

Yeah, so we bought a fixer-upper. We knew it, especially Dada, our resident handyman-slash-interior designer. Dada was excited about putting his manly-version-of-Queer-Eye touch to the place, which was quite liveable, but a little outdated and in some cases in need of serious work.

Each week of summer he has chosen a different project, one that was supposed to be a few hours or even a full day, and allllllways manages to stretch into the full week. You know how it is. Something always comes up. His first project was to rescue me from my nightmare Sink of Death in the bathroom -- this turned out so beautifully it deserves a post unto itself. An ongoing project is the rescuing of the lawn from the weeds and poison ivy. The current project is the refinishing of our porch. It looked like this last Sunday morning:


Now the porch is covered by artfully tiled sandstone, which is too lovely for words, but Dada won't let me take a picture of it yet. He is obsessed with removing the paint from the woodwork, which was already flaking off and exposing the wood below. But the paint, it taunts him with his sanders and his chemicals and his power washer. He power-washed the front door to the point of swelling, and now I can't open it without nearly giving myself whiplash. Sigh.

So while he fights that super-fun battle, I am left alone most of the weekend and then again during weekday nights with the twin screamers. I'm going a little freaking insane.

It's getting hard to come up with things to do all the time, so every so often we have Munchie Picture Fiesta. I don't know why, but sometimes it helps me to survive their brutal onslaught by just stepping back and enjoying that I can look at them in the stillness of picture. In picture form, it is easy to focus on how simply beautiful (and quiet!) they are.

Here's Isaac, fiercely concentrating as he plays hard with his Toy Story Toys:





We play a lot in Isaac's room. It's close to Jacob's room and therefore diapers for everyone are easily obtained. Sometimes Sir Jake will deign to sit in his exersaucer and leave my hands free for a second, but his exersaucer doesn't quite fit through the door. It is at that point that I start to resemble a spectator at a tennis match. How's Jacob?


What's Isaac doing?


Why's Jacob making that noise?


Isaac needs me to find what toy for him that he's thrown behind the garage?


Could it be that Jacob is still happy in his 'saucer?



It is also at that point where I shake my head in disbelief at those remarkable women who can juggle three (!) of their own children at once. Yeah, that is NOT me.