He ain't heavy, he's my coffee table...

Here's the final set up with - the 120 pound concrete coffee table - looking quite fabulous in the living room. Yes, I said concrete coffee table. Solid concrete as in Tony Soprano could drop somebody in a river with this bad boy.

Hubs asked if I thought the table might be a hazard to the kids. You know, with all the rock solid angles and such.

Hmmmm. I suppose it could do some damage. Then again my last table didn't last three days before being chipped by somebody's princess dress up shoes, so I think I'll take my chances with this one. Besides, that door next to the painting leads to a playroom (where the shower curtain window treatments are proudly hanging), so I usually try to shoo the kids in there when things get a little crazy.

The living room is adult space and we grown-ups actually do hang out in there. The other night my neighbor dropped in with the current issue of La Cucina Italiana (porn for pasta lovers) and we had a glass of wine while discussing the deliciousness that is saffron risotto. Like the risotto, the table is the perfect mix of rustic and modern, but you can totally prop your feet on it.

As long as you slip off the pink plastic high heels first.

Training or train wreck?

Things I am considering as an alternative to my current potty training efforts:

1. Giving up. Why not? He could stay in diapers until kindergarten and then we'll let the five year olds shame him into it. Sure there might be some longer term psychological repercussions, but we could dip into the the college funds for a little therapy.

2. Hiring an expert. There has to be someone else who can do this. Super Nanny? Potty Whisperer? She comes in and follows him around with the spray bottle of non-toxic cleaner and the constant doyouhavetogo. Plus, she does laundry.

3. Leaving it to Hubs. Like the expert plan, but cheaper. I leave home until it's all over. Where should I go?

I know its going to happen, BUT good grief.

Summer Camp Closing Soon

Ah, the endless days of summer, and I don't mean that in a good way. Summer always means just a wee too much family togetherness and we all feel a little crazed by the end of it, but this year even more so. Girlie got out before Memorial Day in Phoenix, but Boston schools don't start until after Labor day, so we got three extra weeks of summer this year.

Three extra weeks of breaking up the bickering. Three extra weeks of packing snacks and schlepping to the park, the zoo, the aquarium, and the children's museum (which is lovely, but I swear it always smells a little like poop). Three extra weeks of not getting any time for myself.

Three.

Extra.

Weeks.

I am craving my routine, a quiet(er) house, and a little break in the pressure to keep these kids busy. Camp Mental Momma is coming to an end soon, closed until next year. We don't have a theme song, but I'll be doing a little dance anyway.

Magic carpet ride

Pardon the so-so photography, taking a photoshop class is high on my list of to-do's, but until then you'll have to suffer my amateurish snaps. So here it is, the craigslist rug of my dreams, a beautiful woven wool rug in the perfect shades of washed red and pink and brown and cream. It works amazingly well with my artwork and gives the room a chic ethnic vibe without being too matchy.

And it was less than $200. Yep, I have used up every last drop of my craigslist karma. From here on, I will only find crappy things or expensive things or crappy expensive things. But it was worth it.

Next week I will add this coffee table and the living room will be done. I've been on a roll with the cheap chic lately. Stay tuned for a peek at the shower curtains I used as window treatments in the playroom. Um hmm. I said shower curtains, but trust me, they look fab.

Break-throughs and fixes

My writing class? Thanks for asking. You see, I have been doing some discouragingly crappy crappy writing during my incredibly amazing and inspiring class.

The class format is such that we do a little reading, some discussion, and then end the section with an in-class exercise. Writing on the spot in a room filled with people, all furiously scribbling away? Notsomuch. Rarely do I come up with anything decent during class. As we read aloud, I am blown away by the fairly developed things my classmates are bringing to the table. So I'm a hack, a housewife with a hobby... waaaaaa.

And then today it happened. There I am, writing away, a little frustrated, repeating this sucks, this sucks, this suckity suck sucks, three pages of scribbling in one horribly wrong bad awful illegible direction, when I suddenly realized what I wanted to write about. And then I did. And the writing wasn't so bad.

Wow. Okay then.