Senses

I see a very blank page before me.


I hear my girl, Layla Grace, on the piano.

I taste nothing, but soon we are going to BJ's, so all will be right with the world.

I smell nothing as my nose is beyond stuffy. I hate rabbit brush. Yes. You heard me. HATE IT. Ask around. I don't hate anything. Except rabbit brush. SHOOT! What if I can't taste my dinner because of the rabbit brush. CURSE YOU DAINTY YELLOW FLOWERS.

I feel tired. A little sad. Fearful. All done. Anxious. Melancholy.

Maybe This Defines Me

I have been Mike's girlfriend for longer in my life than not. I like it.

Maybe this defines me.

 I have five kids, and none of them are babies. I like it. Babies aren't so bad though. Especially when you color a mustache on their face with a marker. (I never did this, but a girl can dream).

 Maybe this defines me.

 I have kept a blog for seven years. I like it.

 Maybe this defines me. I have never had money. Not really.

Maybe this defines me.

 I have never truly been poor. Not even close.

Maybe this defines me. My best friend is a dude. Almost 17 years ago I asked him if he wanted to be my BFF, and he said, "I do." So we are. Besties.

 Maybe this defines me.

 I don't swear. I never really have. I have just always felt it was the easy road. The ignoramus road. The clearly-you-can't-come-up-with-a-smarter-come-back road. And it just isn't lady like. Unless you are in the bedroom.

Maybe this defines me.

I can memorize movie lines and tell you the name of any voice over and spout movie trivia that means nothing.

Maybe this defines me.

Maybe. But probably not.

Because the only thing that matters is that I am a sinner. Forgiven. Loved. God's. Everything else is just icing on the cake.

And I LOVE cake.

LOVE it.

Is It Inevitable?

Humans have so much to offer one another, but it's not just the good that seems to pass between us. When we get into relationships, we have happy times and aggravation.

Jesus was always so good at just accepting people. People who were probably defensive, offensive, and any other fensive you can come up with. Still, he loved.

Moreover, when asked if there was a line to be drawn, he said no. There isn't a point we get to where we say, "I tried being kind. I tried loving you. You make it impossible. Jesus is letting me off the hook with you." At least I have yet to find that scripture.

But how do I stay genuine when someone so seemingly awful is in my face? Do I smile and pretend there is no problem? Do I distance myself? Do I tell them they are so awful that I find it tough to be around them unless I am using Jesus' love? I do not know the answers to all of these questions.

The phrase "turn the other cheek" comes to mind. My mouth is shut when I picture this. It's probably for the best. Saying it all out loud means I am adding to the grumbling. I hate grumbling. Grumblers exhaust me. Just say it people!! If you are mumbling what you have to say because you aren't sure you should be saying it out loud, chances are this is more your issue than the one you are grumbling about.

And bee tee double you. All that grumbling is infectious.
Not inevitable. Lord, help me choose to love. Your grace is inevitable. Thanks for it.

This Weekend

I have things planned. I have things going, you know. I have offers.

I want to make this because I ate it, and it was delicious. It's called Chicken Parmesan Soup. I am ready for soupy weather. 

I want my door to look like this. Instead I realized the wreath I made was for a much shorter door. It's sort of like when you have a little kid, say 18 months, and then you have a new one. When you put them together, the first one looks like a human raised by elves. My wreath is a puny newborn. I am ashamed.

Instead of all that, I will probably be working on a new seating chart, lesson plans, and attending a staff BBQ where the phrase curriculum map would be considered a swear.

And then

I fell asleep with my eyes open. I feel like there aren't enough pieces of me. Ever have this feeling?

You Are On My List

Scared? Well. With my parents coming from the countries they stem from, it makes sense. But I am actually referring to my to-acknowledge list. Not so much my hit list. I suppose I should say that this doesn't REMOVE you from my hit list vi only mean to say I am not pulling from my hit list. Today.
Anyway. Here are some things on my list:

Sleep 8 hours

Stop being a super spaz hyper-hypo with sugar or put myself in a helmet and harness already.

Get me to the church on time tomorrow.

Double and triple check that every step is ready for my second week as a full time teacher.

Grocery shop at Raley's. And by AT I mean online. Then I drive to their Parking lot and push their buttons in a good way.

Pick up my guitar for more than dusting. Play until my callouses remember their place.

Make menu for the month

Prep lunch items for faster packing

Make it to the gym :/

Find my list

"have any of you seen my list? It's a piece of paper and it says Ross on it"?

Butterflies Have Taken Up Residency

I don't love a queasy belly. I shouldn't have one, but I am still shady on that whole cast your cares bit. I tend to look at an overwhelming situation and escape to some of my most favorite places: Forks, Central Perk, Stars Hollow. This time I am diving into my book and God's word. I am saying, "suck it satan" when my belly rolls. (Not to be confused with my belly rolls, which I put there... and candy bars.)
I am four chapters in, and I am choosing to focus on God's promises rather than the list I feel I want to complete. Less tv. More purpose. Less nose in a book. More loving on my kids. Less hearts a flutter for a pasty vampire. More pitter patter for my pasty husband. ::blush:: Don't judge. We all have weird vices.
Happy first week of school.

I have a feeling...

..that every year at this time, from now on, this blog will seem dormant for a week or two. I have been busy organize our new school building (along with a gazillion coworkers), laminating, preparing my room for itty bitty kindergarteners. Busy busy busy.

..the muscles in my neck will never relax. They appear to be bringing friends along into their club. Picture a muscle holding his fish in his hands yelling, "WHO'S GOING WITH ME?!!" Only, in this case, there is no hesitation. Everyone seems to be in. Pray for my puny muscles.

..my hair hates this climate. It seems to want to imitate SNL characters: drunk girl, Jimmy Fallen dressed as Howard Stern, Mike Meyers being a phu-klempt Jewish mamma.

..I have so much to learn about so much. I cannot die. Ever. I just do not have time for it.

..my husband wants to marry me again. He said so.

..he will never call me his lady friend (as I have been asking for YEARS.)

..I may be able to convince him to call me his second wife after our vow renewal. Do you want to come? It's gonna be an excellent bash. I'll wear white, and he'll where out the words, "I love you." Except that I am wearing coral, teal, and red, but you get the idea.

..You haven't seen this picture, and you want to.

 (Spent time with this beauty. She may be my number one reason why I am happy to live here again)

 (Praise God with us. This sassy sweet bottom was just blessed with a house. Sucky distance from my being, but it will have to do.)

 (cousins. They are just sort of awesome)

 (Sorry. Were you expecting a caption? I got nothing)

 (This high schooler makes me feel old. BAH. Stop it high schooler. You are so pretty. Try to be uglier. For the love of my neck muscles and your daddy's heart.)

 (Thanks for your help honey. Giver)

(Dear Emma. You are my favorite teen in the PNW. Please visit again soon.)

Greedy Grip

My friends, Erin and Dan-O, once had a toddler. She is old now, but when she was an itty bitty sly thing she sneaked into the kitchen garbage can, where she confiscated a few stale Whoppers I threw away. When I caught her, she gripped her chubby little hands around those candies as if they were her last melons for the next million, billion years. I tried prying those puny fists open, but she gripped harder and screamed, "DON'T TAKE IT!! I NEEEED IT!" To that I cracked up laughing and had to call in reinforcements, because as it turns out, toddlers saving candy from the trash are infinitely stronger than me. This true story took place more than 15 years ago, but I think of it often when I begin to get the greedy grip.

We have been doing all of this back to school shopping. I really do love spending money. I love picking out school supplies. I love finding smokin' deals at thrift stores and dollar stores and re-purposing the oddest treasures into greatness. After two days of straight shopping, I left my body and viewed myself as the adult watching the toddler give a handful of Whoppers a new lease on life. I took stock and heard myself screaming, "I NEEEED IT!" Aren't you a little old for that behavior? Why yes. Yes I am.

Also, I am too aware of people who hurt and need and would really like some food. I have not taught my kids to be patient for things or earn them or choose the essentials so we have left over to give away. Oh, don't get me wrong. I wrote to God in my prayer journal this morning asking him for opportunities to give. He may have asked what in the world do I have left to give? There is a chance I had no answer. There is also a chance I made a disappointed face and felt like a schmuck.
Just look away. I can't take it.

 Now, I will be using this experience as a life lesson for my children. Not only confessing what I got caught up in, but I will also be asking them what in the world can we do about this now? Lots actually. But we will come up with a plan together. Then I will pray that they will not grow until next school year, so we can really get our money's worth. :/

And NOW, you may be asking yourself what this picture of Samuel has to do with anything. I will tell you. Nothing. It has nothing to do with anything at anytime, but you needed to see it. And, you are welcome. Someone give this kid his own show. No script needed. This picture was taken while he patiently waited for his cousin, Raine, to finish trying on her jeans. We just looked over, and there he was, on the couch at Children's Place, with the bib he picked out, and the face he knew only a mother could love. He wore it anyway, and here we are today. One step closer to having our own show.

I am thankful for that face and second chances.
 

Things That Make Me Cry. Every. Time

Singing God's name: Yahweh- Thanks Chris Tomlin for putting it to a catchy tune.

The National Anthem: Seriously. Every time. It's my favorite part of every event. Olympic years I set records for the number of tissues this house sees.

A teaching on Joshua: Our hearts are linked. Some day a Joshua will live in this house. Even if he goes by another name. And he will have hair not totally unlike mine. And he will come with a nice tan. (Dear Africa, please send your babies here. Sparks, Nevada.)

When the pastor cries: Boys crying= really serious. Even if I haven't been paying any attention to what they have been saying the previous 30 minutes. I hear a hitch in their get up and I am a blubbering fool.

How about you? What brings you to a quivering lip?

Morning Thoughts on a Saturday

I awoke this morning to my husband getting ready for work. He's a good man. In fact, he is The Man. Ask around. I am not even kidding. I decided to make something of my day since he was off to save lives. I mean, I want to have something to say to him when he comes home with the list of lives he saved on his 48 hour shift. Laundry seemed like a logical beginning. Then coffee. Then Jesus. No, it doesn't bother me that I did two things before I read my Bible.

I have had this discussion with people. I think God cares more that I am paying attention and coherent when I sit to learn and listen instead of insisting I open my eyeballs and pick up my Bible. I usually fall asleep if I do that. And, while I am sure God isn't offended, I am sure sometimes he thinks, "Silly girl. Too many rules." So, I wake up, maybe spend a few minutes with my groggy and still snuggly kids, and then make my way to my Bible.

Here is what I realized:

I take too much for granted. I feel like things will be there when I finally decide to get to them.

I have blessings
more than I know
I am not thankful enough

I have love
more than I show
I do not share it enough

I have time
more than I spend
I do not use it enough

I have a song
more than I share
I do not sing it enough

I have a gift
His name is Jesus
He alone is more than enough

I take for granted too much. I want to be arrested in my heart. Bleeding for those who are too drained after a lifetimes of grief to bleed anymore.
I am too lacking in compassion. I do not hurt with people. To be honest, someone will trip and I giggle a little and THEN ask if they are OK. Well, that isn't always a big deal, but I find it rolls over to the serious moments.
Yesterday I read a news caption on one of those tickers on the bottom of the TV screen. A pilot of a small plane crashed into the Truckee Airport. He died.

My first thought was a prayer, "Lord, please don't let it be someone I know." I felt terrible for saying it, even in my mind. Why would that matter? So that I would not hurt? What about that man's family? His mother? His wife? His kids? What did I just say? That it's OK for him to be dead if I am not affected? Is that what I meant?

So, I asked for forgiveness for my narrow-minded heart and began again. I prayed for that man's heart- that he would be with Jesus. I prayed for his family and anyone affected. I prayed that God would use this time to be heard by those left behind. I put myself in his wife's place and it hurt.

I read once that you should be a part of what breaks your heart. I think I get too busy to know what that looks like. No matter what I try, my calendar overloads. I want to be radical. I even know some of the drastic moves I need to make, but they are counter intuitive and they make me have to focus on things inconvenient and not self satisfying.

"Would you open up my eyes so I can see? Would you open up my ears so I can hear? Would you open up my mind so I can know? Would you open up my heart so I can love you more.
I wanna serve you my God. I want to give you all of me?"- Shawn McDonald

I want to mean this with all of my heart. I want to make room. I want to see all that God wants me to see. I want my eyes to be closed to all the nonsense that keeps me from living with purpose. No exceptions. I want to clear the stage.

I love this song by Jimmy Needham



It breaks my heart and makes me hopeful that I am not as callous as I think sometimes. It challenges me to seek.

Friday Link Ups

Oh how I have missed you! And so appropriately, today's topic for Five Minute Friday?

HERE

go.

I am HERE blog world. I have internet, which means I get to participate in...well, the world. We moved into our new house about a month ago. I called almost immediately to have the interwebs installed. Several sweaty and apologetic men later, we finally have a hook up. And we didn't even miss all of the Olympics. Speaking of here, I wish I was there.

London, right now, is probably insanely crazy and traffic riddled and expensive. Still, I want to sit at at least one Olympic even in my lifetime. Australia would be a good venue. Somewhere in Africa would set my heart a twitter. But, hey, I am easy. I'll go to Rio. I just want to be there!

But I am currently happy with the here I am experiencing. New house. New towels. New neighborhood. New view. New stores to call my own. New city. Here.

stop.

Can you write on the topic "HERE" for five minutes? Link up with this Gypsy Mama and show us what you have got.

And to really celebrate that I made it back to the land of the living, I am linking up with Ms No Dots for a Friday flashback. You can join her by clicking HERE

Here is my flashback. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK

stove top pizza bites

I want pizza. For lunch. On the fly. This recipe is a crowd/kid pleaser.
I am always seeing coupons for biscuits, and the rest of this stuff I always have on hand. If I don't have mozzarella cheese, I just substitute whatever cheese is in my fridge. And yea, marinara and pizza sauce are interchangeable to this Italian. Easy.
Here are the ingredients:
1 teaspoon Garlic Oil or olive oil
1 can (6 ounces) refrigerated flaky buttermilk biscuits (5 biscuits)
2 tablespoons pizza sauce
1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
2 tablespoons (1/2 ounce) grated fresh Parmesan cheese
Directions:
Preheat oven to 500°F. Brush Stainless (8-in.) Sauté Pan with oil. Arrange biscuits in a single layer and crimp edges to form one piece; press into a 6-inch circle. Place dough into pan; spread evenly with sauce. Sprinkle with cheeses.
Place pan onto stovetop and cook crust over medium heat 2-3 minutes or until bottom is golden brown. Transfer pan to oven and bake 4-5 minutes or until crust is cooked through. Turn broiler on HIGH. Using Oven Mitts, move pizza to top rack. Watching carefully, broil 1-3 minutes or until cheese is golden brown. Serve immediately.
Yield: 10 sample servings

Nutrients per serving: Calories 80, Total Fat 4 g, Saturated Fat 1 g, Cholesterol 5 mg, Carbohydrate 8 g, Protein 2 g, Sodium 250 mg, Fiber 0 g

Cook's Tips: Variation: Thin-Crust Stovetop Pan Pizza: Brush Stainless (10-in.) Sauté Pan with oil. Prepare biscuits as directed, rolling on a lightly floured surface to an 8-inch circle. Proceed as recipe directs.

For a thick-crust variation of Thin-Crust Stovetop Pan Pizza, use 1 can (12 ounces) refrigerated flaky buttermilk biscuits (10 biscuits). Proceed as recipe directs.

WARNING: not all pans are created equally. Pampered chef pans can withstand oven temperatures of 450* so don't get crazy.
TIP: the Pampered Chef has an outlet. Right now they have an 8" sauté pan for only $28! That amazing. Plus it comes with a silicone trivet that's dishwasher safe. Sometimes I feel like I am sold on something just because it's dishwasher safe. I don't get out a lot.

Eat up and share a quick and easy meal with your kiddos. Serve this with bell peppers and carrots on the side and presto. Lunch or dinner is served.

Good Times?

JJ Walker would disagree, but this morning I am holed up at the only 24 hour Starbucks in Reno with my computer, free wifi, coffee, and a bacon gouda sammy. YUM. I get to just work. So, naturally I am blogging.
I already worked on some of my Pampered Chef stuff, and the rest of my time will be happily spent writing on my book or writing lesson plans for those itty bitty kindergarteners. The amount of work I have to do would never cram into this three hour window, but I am grateful for it. I am also grateful that the Charter cable providers are on their way to my house to set up interwebs and the Olympics. I realize other shows will be included, but I care not about them. I care about the Olympics.

Me and Bobby McGee just came on the musac speakers. My day is complete. Happy Tuesday people. Make it a good one. Be an accomplisher. Gone are the days of procrastination. Here are the days of mastered to-do lists. WHO'S going with me?? What have you been dragging your feet across? Turning your eyes away from? Averting glares with? Just pick it up. Do it.

Incidentally, the man at the next table is alone on his interwebs. He is very giggly. I am excited for him. He is on Craig's List. What a happy guy.

What I am doing now? A Giveaway

Today, because I heart Pampered Chef, because I want one of everything, and because I have a need for a few extra hundred bucks a month of fun(fine. Debt) money, I am at the Pampered Chef conference in Sacramento. And. I am giving you the chance to win a $10 coupon toward anything you want from Pampered Chef. Here are the rules:

Leave a comment and tell me your favorite Pampered Chef product and what you make with it or why it helps you get dinner on the table.

Follow me over there (see me pointing?) If you don't already.

No purchase necessary.

Make yourself a healthy and delicious dinner that costs two dollars a serving in under 30 minutes. Can't do it? Gimme a call. I can teach you everything you need to know!

It's that easy.

It's Friday

And my interwebs don't work in our new house. No. That isn't a joke. It's a glimpse into hell. FINE I am being dramatic, but seriously, I would be in a stupor if it weren't for my iPhone and 3G.
(Side letter, Dear Charter. Stop being lame. Just do your job. I know you can do it. Come on. Chop chop. Go go. Don't make me get hostile. I have a big mouth. My first grade report card confirms it. Just fix my internet and install my home phone. (Double side letter, Dear Verizon, your service sucks around Hubble and Vista. Please make a note of it and step to as to remedying it.))

Anyway.
Our house? It's so cute.
Our jobs? a little hectic on my side, but excellent for the man.
Our kids? Need routine. We are lacking routine. The bigs will be leaving Monday for a five day camp. We are thrilled. I mean sad.


I mean thrilled.

To celebrate this rare internet connection, I am linking up with this girl. Her name is NoDots. She is awesome and I love her and she is so pretty. Tell your friends.


I am linking this flashback to a post that still reflects my nights. Hairy, scary, and not enough booze.

We came. We saw. We found a foam finger

Best mamma/daughter date ever. Layla Grace was so surprised when she found out we were going to Stanford for the big tour!! She jumped and whooped and screamed a little. But the whole weekend was great. Itinerary as follows:
-Depart Reno
-Drive to Walmart for pedicures
-Score some smokin classroom supplies for cheap while we wait
-Drive to Ikea to browse and dream an swoon
-settle on a few practical items and a couple of artificial plants
-lunch it up with salad, chicken strips, and chocolate cake. Obviously.
-Drive two hours to our hotel all the while Layla Grace asks questions about our BIG destination along the way (each question will receive a yes, no, or could be answer)
-Stop at in n out for a potty break and Layla gets her epiphany. We are going to Stanford. WOOHOO. we jump around in the bathroom a while and Layla insist on calling their bathrooms "a magical place"
-Check into our hotel, get dinner in the lobby and bring it back to our room to eat while we watch 13 Going on 30.
-debate whether to watch Just Like Heaven or something else.
-Decide to take our books and sit in the courtyard outside of our room by the fire pit. This lasts at least an hour. It was my favorite.
-Find a map of Stanford in the lobby
-Layla memorizes said map before we sleep
-wake up to a flat tire. Boo
-I put on my wonder woman costume, cape and cuffs included, and change my tire
-bahaha and by that I mean I call roadside assistance
-we head back inside for breakfast an gather our beeswax before heading up the road to Sears where most of the people who work there are awesome. Most.
-arrange for tires and tire business to be conducted later. After Stanford.
-park downtown, just outside Stanford's entrance and "happen to" run into Layla Grace's BFF from Reno.
-they run to meet each other in shock and awe and happiness.
-drive for 15 minutes looking for a parking spot on campus. Sheesh people.
-look at any and everything from the church to the mailboxes, statues to the bathrooms, ice cream counter to the gift store bursting with foam fingers.
-visit the top of the Hoover tower. Awesome.
-hug our happy goodbyes and take tons of pics
-Layla Grace promises the halls she will be back in no time
-I remain strong and do NOT buy a Stanford mom sweatshirt. I want one. But well. Maybe it's too early.
-We head back to Sears for tire repair and walk next door to the creepiest mall ever while we wait.
-realize size 0 is still too big on Layla even though she is taller than many women.
-get the car and head home
-Layla Grace leans over and says "thanks mamma. This was the best date ever."

Dreams

When I was a kid, my parents said I could be anything. I had lofty career goals. A few of them stuck, but not before making plans to be an oceanographer, a lawyer, an astronaut, and a vet. The whole vet thing was ruled way out when I observed people who actually LOVE animals. Not me so much. Nope.
I actually talked with my high school counselor about being an oceanographer, but again ruled it out because I don't like the ocean. I really don't. I mean. I LOVE the atmosphere and all, but I like the ocean on a cloudy day under a blanket with a book. Oh. And again with the animals and blood and grossness. Can't do it.
Middle school was my NASA phase. It was legit. I watched Space Camp more times than you have said "Tom Foolery" and I even did a fundraiser to send myself to space camp. In Florida. The real thing. My best friend went. I got grounded for sneaking out of the house for a boy. Sigh
The lawyer lost out to the teacher because I hate suits, I hate panty hose, and frankly I just didn't want to spend that much time at university to get my degree. Also. God told me to be a teacher. I was seven and I was standing in my room drawing on a chalk board teaching my stuffed animals.
So, when Layla Grace, my brilliant ten year old, came home from school and said she wanted to go to Stanford for college and could I please look it up to make sure it wasn't too far from home, I happily obliged. That was first grade. She has sprouted a love of knowledge and determination that can only be stirred by the Holy Spirit. She regularly asks me questions about college and what I think college will be like at Stanford.
About a year ago, I sat us both down with a cup of coffee (we are decaf drinkers) and we pulled up Stanford's website and answered any question she could possibly think of. We looked at every page. Hours later, she got up from that computer more determined than ever. She asked if her grades in elementary school matter to a university like Stanford.
For her birthday this last March, we had a friend arrange for us to purchase a hoodie, tree and all, from the gift shop on campus. THE CAMPUS. it was perfect. She hasn't taken it off much. Not even this summer.
In June, she took it upon herself to write Stanford admissions and ask them all sorts of questions about bettering her chances of getting accepted. I love this girl. How can you not love this girl???? Try it. You won't last. She's rad. The end.
Anyway. We contacted our sweatshirt buying friend a few weeks ago. She said she could get us in for a tour. So this morning. After I type this blog. My future tree and I get to load up and take a road trip. Beach. Books. Bookstores. Coffee and lots of it. And lunch and a tour of Stanford.
She may have been seven when she came up with this little plan, but she has been devoted to it since. Sometimes parents can help fan a spark that one day leads to greatness. That's my plan. Not to tell her to stop worrying because it's so far away. Not to brush her off and say she probably just heard about Stanford in a movie. Not to douse her dreams because I know that university costs $52,000 a year. I know what it's like to carry something since you are seven. God put many people in my life to fan that little spark. I am so grateful. My students are grateful.
See you on the flip side! I gotta go fan some sparks.

Two Face Tony

Sometimes I put my big fat foot in my mouth. Down there, see me pointing, I went ON AND ON about how much Pintrest overwhelms me. I thought about joining a support group. I thought about getting my drink on and putting balls to the walls till I mastered that website. (what a gross saying. I won't ever use it again. What does it mean!) anyhow.
Then. Last night. Or rather, this morning at 4am. I found that Pintrest offers an app. FOR FREE. I was on there for a smooth 20 minutes. Or an hour. Whatevers. I got the app. Happy!!?

I figured it out

Sometimes I want to change my house around and liven the colors and be spontaneous. Usually I say, to no one in particular, "I am wanting to change my house decor. It's been the same for so long. I kind of know what I want." and that person throws out endless questions to help me put my new vision into words.
The problem I find is that most people want me to visit pinterest, only that site makes my nostrils flare and my hairs stand and my fingers coil. I love when someone shares something they learned on that site. I don't mind talking about things ON the site. But things happen when I visit and have to begin searching for things. I confuse easily, apparently. Well, I won't subject myself to that.
Instead I will do a Google search and spend no less than one hour scrolling through images until I begin to sense a theme in the pictures I have saved.

I know what I was trying to say now. My new house is gonna be decorated in the oh so my style of farmhouse chic. A little old. A little new. A little this. A little that. A lotta red. I am thrilled to put a title to it. And to be honest, I feel like this research gave me a label for my entire lifestyle.

I am not quite a Flower Patch Farm Girl. I am no PW. I wish I had the skills Organizing Made Fun throws out. And I lack the ingenuity of Mothering with Creativity. Instead I am farmhouse chic.

My Espresso leather chairs that flank my dark and tattered table will blend fantastically with the red, beat down rustic farmhouse shaker chairs. My faded leather cowgirl boots will side nicely with my grey old navy flops. My hand embroidered throw pillows get along smashingly with my dilapidated rustic garden gate hanging on my wall.
My vintage green owl necklace pairs well with my banana republic tan cardigan and designer jeans.
Yup. That's me. Art town meets hay field. Tractor meets Lucky jeans. Pot bellied stove meets Tiffany lamp. Tattoos meets vintage paridot ring set in chocolate diamonds. Farmhouse chic. Let's get to it, shall we?