dearest daughters & son

On the Occasion of Being Betrayed By Target

Because I'm not great at advocating for myself or at talking to other human beings, I asked my husband to handle this situation for me as it spiraled out of control. His solution was this entertaining letter. If I never get the chairs I ordered, I'll at least have this to laugh about. And who am I kidding? I don't need dining chairs anyway. I consume every meal standing over the kitchen sink, eating the scraps that the Dearest Daughters left on their plates.

Greetings Target Guest Service,

I worked at T-317 in Chico, California for many years (Employee #11233764) and served as a Cashier Supervisor and a Level II in the Lingerie, Hosiery, Jewelry Department, so I’m intimately aware of how important Guest Service is to Target.

Having this background and firsthand experience helping Target Guests for years, it was very disappointing to have recently experienced a Guest Service interaction and attempted transaction that failed on multiple fronts.

The Breakdown – A Four-Part Mini-Series

Part I: The Order
On October 17, we found a lovely set of dining room chairs on Target.com that we wanted, so we placed our order and requested it to be shipped to our local Target (T-1428), in San Leandro, California. The Charlie Modern Wingback Dining Chair – Textured Gray (Set of 2) for $170.00 were actually on sale, so with the 48-hour sale price and our REDCard 5% Discount, the total with tax came to $142.12 (an awesome savings of 22%) – I know, we were pretty blown away too! Order #102665657801 was scheduled to be delivered to Target San Leandro Bayfair between 10/22 – 10/27. It almost seemed too good to be true, order online, pick up locally and still get a bargain #SignMeUp

Part II: The Delay
So, on the day that we’re expecting to be able to pick up the lovely Charlie Modern Wingback Dining Chairs, we received an email from Target.com that shared, “We’re sorry, but your Ship to Store item(s) may not be available for pickup by the in-store arrival date you received with your original order. New in-store arrival date(s) are included below.” The delayed item(s) would now be set to arrive to the Target San Leandro Bayfair between 10/27 – 10/29.

Part III: The Lost Shipment, the Gift Card and the Cancellation
We put on our patient pants and looked forward to the chairs’ triumphant arrival … that never came. We called Target.com on 10/29 and they shared that the order had been delivered to the store on 10/26 and we even had a case number (#07612476) and Marcus sent us a Target GiftCard for $10.00 via email for our “inconvenience.”

We spoke to Target San Leandro Bayfair on 10/29, and they shared with us that they were very sorry but they had never received a shipment of two dining chairs for us. Then very next day, 10/30, we received an email from Target.com that our shipment on 10/17 was cancelled. That means that not only had Target.com been lying to us for a week that the shipment was “on its way,” “delayed,” “delivered” in the end, it was cancelled completely. Meaning, the two dining chairs weren’t coming to Target San Leandro Bayfair, nor were they being sent to our house. #NoWhereToSit

Part IV: The Guest Service Call with James
We were pretty upset at this point, so I called Target Guest Service to talk through our options and see what James, (Call Confirmation #07612476) might be able to do. I provided our case number that Marcus had provided (listed here for your convenience #07612476) and walked through our steps of ordering, waiting, frustration, disappointment and utter shock. We were basically told that this happens sometimes. People order things on Target.com, they are supposed to be shipped to a physical Target store and they just never arrive. Ever. It’s like something folks like James and Marcus know about but somehow it’s acceptable because, well, it happens. I asked if there was a way for us to simply have the two dining chairs now to be shipped to us directly and James told me that we’d have to place another order since our original order was cancelled … by Target.com. I asked if he thought that was pretty messed up and he shared that he didn’t disagree with me. When I then asked if there was anything he could do for our inconvenience, he said there was nothing he could do. And when I asked if there was a manager I could speak with, he shared that “there wasn’t” and then a bit later shared, “I’m just one person. I’m not very high up. If you want someone else, you’re going to have to email someone.” At that point, I just knew it was a lost cause and that Target and James had shattered our dreams and our belief that Target would do the right thing. #ASpikeLeeJoint

So that leads me to where we are now. Me, writing an email.  Us with no dining chairs. And don’t forget … I’m just a Target Guest, writing Guest Services, asking them to help us.

Please feel free to email me back or let me know what day/time and phone number would be best to reach you.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Important Life Questions

Dearest Daughters,

A piece of realistic non-fiction--who am I kidding?--this is my life. Love it. Hate it. Mostly love it.

She knew what her life amounted to as soon as she pulled back that damp shower curtain.

Sometimes the mundane is purely the mundane. And sometimes, when the morning light hits it just right, when you can smell the freshly rain-dampened earth through the cracked window, when you’re feeling a little bent out of shape about that argument you had with your husband last night—sometimes everything feels saturated. Saturated with color and noise and meaning.

Where she once saw mold creeping its red veins across the shower curtain, she now sees time--endless, wasted, passing, demanding.

She sees the remains of last night’s bath. The murky, sandy water, never drained, forgotten, leaving its own mark. The plug pulled, the water drains away, revealing brownish rings, keeping track, telling a story, like the rings of a tree.

The sand and sediment settling as the last of the water swirls down the drain, stuck in Mermaid Dora’s long tresses, sitting at the bottom of teacups, rough against her feet as she enters the shower. A reminder of yesterday’s joy and messiness, of the exact moment when she had Enough with The Sand Throwing and The Whining, when she exploded, marching her children to the bathroom for a ritual cleansing—theirs and hers.

A deciding moment. Yesterday behind her, the day before her. What will this moment hold? The wash cloth disguised as a hippo hand puppet, the rubber ducks (indeed, there are several), the cups and spoons, the squirty submarine and sea creatures—a veritable war zone of toddler bathing paraphernalia.

She steps on a lone dragon wing, cursing its existence, its randomness, its (clearly) aggressive role in her otherwise peaceful morning. What did I ever do to you, Dragon Wing?!

And then the definitive question arises, as she begins her day—planning, pacing, envisioning, ignoring the muffled voices of her children from behind the bathroom door: Do I bother to pick this up? Or do I just let it be?

By now, her loofah lathered, she’s well on her way.

Hipster Party and Hipster Bingo FREEBIE

Dearest Daughters,

I have a competitive personality. For that reason alone, you're very unlikely to see your daddy and I engaged in any sport. We play the occasional Scrabble game, but that's only because my odds are good.

I'm also pretty independent. For a long time, I've seen dependence as a sign of weakness #totallynottrue. I'm currently reverse-brainwashing myself and learning how to ask for help not only when I desperately need it, but also when I begin to sense that a need will arise.

My point is: recently your daddy and I made a pretty good team. I asked for help with a "Hipster" themed baby shower I was working on. And, boy-oh-boy did your daddy deliver (no pun intended)!

It took more hours than I had, a computer with a faster processor than mine and more patience than was at my disposal... but your daddy saved the day when he made these Hipster Bingo Cards one by one, each of the 20 cards unique.

It seems such a waste of his four hours, laptop gHz (or whatever) and patience for these awesome cards to only experience one game of bingo in their whole lives, so I'm sharing them here for FREE!

Click to Download HipsterBingo_FINAL (20 bingo cards in PowerPoint)

Click to Download Hipster Bingo Master List (for calling the game in Word)

Also, a little sneaky peaky at some of the "Hipster" decor and favors:

donut "cake"

hipster picks

skinny jeans and onesies displayed in play suitcases

clip art freezer paper stencil shirts and onesies

applique tie onesies

tiger lovey wearing a knit slouchy cap and camera shirt

chucks, boom box shirt and bandanna bibs

bandanna bibs (tutorial here)

chocolate mustache pops (mold from here)

bow ties and barettes (tutorial here)

You're welcome!

Love,

 

Roses are Red

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Miracle-Gro for SocialSpark. All opinions are 100% mine.

Dearest Daughters,

I have a poem for you today:

Roses are Red
Violets are Blue
I know nothing about Roses.
Or violets for that matter.
That's it.
No, really. That's it. That's my poem.

We've owned our house for a little over three years. And we've done a good amount of work indoors and out.

But by "good amount" I mostly mean that we've neglected the well-manicured lawn and misc. other plants that we inherited. I pulled out some plants I thought were stinky. And I've done a half-hearted job at keeping the hibiscus from being devoured by aphids.

We have a very lovely Meyer lemon tree. Although, it's not techinically in our yard. So, there's that.

Our backyard has two tiers. On the upper tier we killed (or let die) three fruit trees, pulling one out finally. Covered some square footage with a chicken coop and run, and recently some raised beds, that still lay empty.

In the lower yard we built a sandbox (with some active grass-murdering) and now have a trampoline that covers up our embarassingly patchy, simultaneously under-watered and over-grown crabgrass.

Having unintentionally (or passivly) let our front yard grass get cray cray over the past two years, I asked Granpa to help us envison a new drought-tolerant, low-maintainence front yard. Having started in on our first steps towards that goal, our front yard has laid, a barren, roto-tilled wasteland.

It can all get a little depressing and overwhelming, being a naive, busy and un-motivated home--or, rather, yard--owner.

But, the one thing that has held it's own, that is abundunt, prolific despite me is our rose bush. It is lush and a vibrant pink. It smells like heaven.

And no matter what I do to it or don't do to it, it comes back. It keeps blooming, right there by our front porch, reminding me I'm home.

While the rose bush has been "easy" to maintain with a basic google-d knowledge of pruning, I've been long overdue for a little tutorial on how to best care for my most beloved of my inherited plants.

I don't know about you, but I always have a hard time pruing--because you have to make small sacrifices for the greater good. If I had it my way our rosebush would be a scraggly, sprawling mess, just so every bud could fulfill its potential for beauty.

Here's a video from the Gardenieres site on Rose Bush Pruing and Training that helped me to face the facts and to prioritize what needs to go (agressive branches, small ones) and what can stay not only this season, but also with an eye towards larger plant and landscaping goals.

(Oh, also? I guess I should be feeding my rose bush? Doh! Maybe a little something from Miracle-Gro? I'm such a gardening newbie! Maybe I outght to visit the Miracle-Gro Facebook page a little more often!)

Love,

This Delicious Life

Dearest Daughters,

I had a panic attack about a week ago, two Saturdays ago. It was mild. And utterly embarrassing.

Because I'm supposed to be better, to be getting better. And most of the time I am. But when I'm not, I'm really really really not.

Good friends asked us out to a movie and I thought I could handle it. I dared to think that my life was back to normal, was a life wherein I could play all day and party at night, a life wherein I could throw caution to the wind and say "yes" every single time, never striking out.

Between my psychiatrist, my therapist and me, we could provide you with a myriad of reasons and theories this panic attack struck. This one. And all the others.

But, the thing that I know best now about anxiety and panic attacks is: there is an end.

There is another side. The world won't end. I'll be able to breath freely again soon. My sweaty palms will dry. My racing heart will slow.

I just have to push through to the other side. To ride the proverbial wave. To squeeze your Daddy's hand under the table as hard as the day you were born. To keep breathing. To mindfully control my thoughts, not letting them drift and spiral into darkness, holding myself in the present.

Until it all passes.

The waves and pangs of anxiety, breaking against the shore, crashing, finally diffusing into the sand.

Another day dawns. And another. And another.

Letting go of the past, I moved forward into the week, noting all the delicious things that fill the space of my life, the space where all is calm, all is well, all is right with the world.

“Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror
Just keep going
No feeling is final”
― Rainer Maria Rilke

The giggles and the screams of cousins playing.

The aforementioned apple pie.

The stifling inland heat that pushed us to the shore, salty and cool. The ocean, vast, boundless--as Lola remarked--our view and vision suddenly flooded by the sparkling water of the Pacific, as we turned onto Highway 1. The way my heart sung at its sight, feeling the sacredness, the holiness, the weight of the ocean, it's cleansing and powerful nature.

“I finally figured out the only reason to be alive is to enjoy it.” ― Rita Mae Brown

The love between a grandmother and her grandchild, also boundless, playful and stern. I think, a perfect love, unadulturated by the parental scars of expectations and put-your-shoes-on-now and time outs.

A baby, still a baby, sick and helpless, crawling into bed at night, which defies all the rules, but her body, sinking down into my arms with the weight of sleep feeling so right.

Extra days spent with my sick baby, cuddling on the couch, playing on the floor, listening to her enjoy her free older-sister-less range of the house.

“What day is it?"
"It's today," squeaked Piglet.
My favorite day," said Pooh.”
― A.A. Milne

Creation, creativity, a space to experiment and grow. The kitchen table, overrun by scratch paper and crayons, where everyday I find a new treasure
to behold, proof that they were here, where I now stand, looking down, hours or moments ago.

“Forever is composed of nows.” ― Emily Dickinson

The strong personalities that surround me. Danjo, who insists on wearing either nothing or a full ballerina skirt--or "mina" as she calls it. The adventures Bel leads her little sister on, throughout our house, in closets and corners and the couch cushions, the reason and knowledge she tries to bestow upon her little sister, explaining as she goes. Danjo, ignoring, but always a shadow.

“Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.” ― Walt Whitman

How an idea can spark and catch. And a painted toe becomes a painted leg becomes a reason to take your shirt off.


And those baby bellies. The embarrassment with which you will look back upon these pictures. But, the beauty I see. In your play. In your personalities, reckless and meticulous. In your spirits.

Pizza night and a fortunately misspoken request. Full tummies, we are thankful for, always.

“Be present in all things and thankful for all things.” ― Maya Angelou

Your daddy, who sometimes gets home early and saves the day. Whose lap is big enough for two daughters, waiting for dinner to be ready.

The autumn sun, pouring into and warming our home, as the days and nights cool.

A certain puppy dog, always near, patient, concerned when his babies cry, and a little bit jealous, wishing he could crawl into my lap too.

The cookies. That is all. (Recipe here.)

And joy and freedom. Getting dirty. And wet, when Mommy relents, finally letting you play with the hose.

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other life but this.” ― Henry David Thoreau

And stillness.

Refreshing quiet and calm. Awestruck, taken-aback, re-focusing moments. Peace. And love.

And a week has passed. Like that. Quick and easy. Too fast, sometimes too real.

Literally and figuratively delicious.

Love,

Wherein Pepperoni = Macaroni

Dearest Daughters,

When I asked Bel on Pizza Day what she wanted on her pizza, she replied, quite confidently I might add, "MACARONI AND CHEESE."

Genius! She's onto something, I thought. But then after a quick google, I discovered Macaroni and Cheese Pizza is a real-deal-evander-holyfield thing.

So, I looked at a few recipes and settled on this one. The photo attached to the recipe looks gross, but it sounded yummy. I mean, hello? Bacon. Nutmeg. Two kinds of cheeses. Be still my beating heart!

No, literally. This could quite possibly still a beating heart.

The pasta was delish on it's own, but extra cheesey. Cheesier than your run-of-the-mill mac and cheese, because you gotta think of it as a pizza topping, something spreadable, you know? Something that makes those stretchy cheese strings when you take your first bite, pulling away from that slice of goodness.

(As with all pizzas made in our household, I used the pizza dough recipe from my trusty Joy of Cooking which somebody put on the Internet here. But, you could use store-bought dough. The star is really the cheesy noodles in this case!)

It later dawned on me, after reading various twitter and faceook replies that maybe Bel meant to say "pepperoni and cheese". But, by that point I was all in. I was too personally invested in this carbo-licous-ness to back out.

Turns out, neither of you girls wanted to touch the Mac and Cheese pizza with a ten foot pole. Meanwhile, you ate almost the entire pepperoni, olive and cheese pizza you helped make "for Daddy."

Maybe it was the panko-crumb topping that threw them off? Though the topping really communicates "homemade, oven-baked mac and cheese," I'd probably leave it off next time. And let the exposed cheese do it's bubbling, browning cheese thing it does so well.

As it stands this pizza was more like really awesome, super cheesy bacon mac and cheese served on a decent homemade piece of flat bread, the combination of which was more novel than necessary.

If I made this again, I'd probably add tomato sauce under the noodles to make it more pizza-y. Beadle suggested adding more meat. But, his mind was busy concocting the next great pizza: meatloaf pizza. Not sure about that one, but chunks of ham could do this pizza justice, either mixed in with the pasta or sprinkled atop.

Thanks, Bel. You're a genius.

Love,

 

My First Pie

Dearest Daughters,

Given my love of cooking, baking, pureeing, ice creaming and schnitzling, you might be surprised to learn that I've never baked a pie.

That is, until Sunday.

Dun. Dun. Dun.

In our family, Lolopop is the baker. The legends of his masterful pastry skills abound. Not just pies. Oh, no, Sireee! We're talking tarts. And puff pastry. And chocolate leaves. And filigree. Whatever that is.

So. One: I never needed to bake a pie. Lolopop makes the delish pumpkin pies (which he doesn't even like!) and apples pies that fill our tummies and hearts during the holidays. And two: due to the aforementioned deliciousness, it kind of felt like a lot was riding on my first pie.

But, when life gives you seventeen pounds of apples. And your older sister requests a caramel apple pie (for the second year in a row). And you've sort of been observing your dad's pie-making from the sidelines for twenty-something years. Well, you just can't balk at circumstances like that. You have to put aside your trepidation. And you have to accept your fate, no matter the outcome. All apple-y and caramel-y, though it may be.

So.

GUYS!? I totally baked a pie! Actually, I baked two, because the dough recipe I used produced enough pastry for two pies. And the first pie went home with my sister.(And recall: we picked seventeen pounds of apples.)

So, logically, a second pie needed to stay home with me. And it was a vast improvement over the first, but don't tell Auntie Mommy. Because I'm a quick study, like that. A smart cookie. A clever cream puff. A crafty cannoli.

Did I go to far?

Everyone's ready to party, I mean, pastry!

Those are Lolopop's hands; he was a helpful sideline coach/apple corer, peeler, slicer, stir-er.

In the oven with it's pumpkin pie spiced crumble.

TA DA! My first pie. Not the prettiest, but you really can't go wrong with freshly picked apples and homemade caramel!

The second go-around... sorry about the bad lighting, this was a late-night pie. As opposed to a midday pie which are known the world over for their good lighting. Or not.

The recipe for Deep Dish Caramel Apple Pie can be found here, though I used a different pastry recipe - one that combined butter and shortening.

Dearest Daughters, I'm sorry I wasted so many years, living in fear of pastry dough and yellow apples. I only hope you'll learn your lesson from me.

And take advantage of each and every opportunity to combine flour, butter, shortening, salt, water, apples and large amounts of sugar.

Love,

Finally! Starting our Fall Garden.

This is a Sponsored post written by me on behalf of Scotts Miracle-Gro. All opinions are 100% mine.

Dearest Daughters,

I had a vision. And a plan.

And it was derailed by life. Aren't they all?

But, Lolopop in a burst of energy, knocking things left and right off of his "Honey-Do" list, has been working on building our raised beds in the back. Excuse me, the "backyard," as Bel will quickly and adamantly correct you. Let's be more specific and literal, please?

It's not May anymore, as I had originally aimed for getting something in the ground, but September is good enough for me. I'm excited to approach gardening as a process, watching things grow, mindfully and meditatively tending to our crops.

And with our undocumented chickens gone, sent to live the rest of their days in the Oakland Hills, the garden will be good way to continue teaching you about the source of and amount of labor that goes into the food on our table.

Thank God (for many reasons, but this one in particular), we live in California, so it's never really TOO late for a garden. There's always something that will grow and definitely someway to Find beauty in the Fall.

I know from experience that chard will grow well in our yard. In fact, it won't go away. Even when I tell it to let go. It just keeps holding on for dear life, like Danjo at the doctor's office.

Aside from chard, I'm not sure what else to plant.

Miracle-Gro's site for Fall gardening suggests, in addition to chard, planting lettuce, potato, onion and garlic for a Northwest Climate. And potato, tomato and carrot for a Southwest climate. Truly, we're somewhere in between.

(While you're perusing all manner of advice on Miracle-Gro's site, also take a minute to like the Miracle-Gro Facebook page to continue getting helpful advice and stories from other gardeners as the seasons change.)

Another font of true knowledge, I hit up Pinterest. A search there, gave me some gorgeous pictures (of course it did, Pinterest, you tease!) and lots more ideas: parsnips, beets, bok choy, radish, kale!

The possibilities are starting to feel limitless!

Nevertheless, foresee a lot of bacon and chard in our future. Yum, yum, yum!

Bacon and Swiss Chard Pasta recipe on Pinterest.

Chard with bacon and apple recipe on Pinterest.

Clam, chard and bacon pizza on Pinterest.

I guess if we want to start eating,  we better just dive in to those handsome 12" high raised beds and get our hands dirty. Time will tell us what grows and what don't! (And I'm sure a little easy-to-apply sustenance, like Miracle-Gro's LiquaFeed product, would help things along! I'm notorious for forgetting to feed myself, my kids and my plants.)

Love,

Mommy (not yours, but theirs)

P.S. If any of our Dearest Readers have some good ideas for our fall garden, leave a comment here or on the DD Facebook Page! Thanks, mucho for being a part of our adventures, today and everyday!

Danjo's Honey Badger Party

Dearest Daughters,

Here are a few pictures from Danjo's Honey Badger Party.

Click here to see the Pinterest Board I kept to prepare for the low-key, but aptly-themed party. I didn't do most of the things on there, but it was fun to think about what a viral video, turned nickname, turned party could look like.

As usual, I forgot to take as many pictures as I would have liked, but this will suffice to illustrate how awesome of a time was had by all:

Testing out the jumper before the other honey badgers arrive.

Waiting for the party to start in your home-made honey badger hoodie.

Snake cake made from a slightly sculpted double layer vanilla cake, topped with a small bundt (from a half-filled bundt pan), some pieces cut from extra cake I made, frosted with green and black frosting, with M&M eyes and a red vine tongue.

Goody bags sealed with a home/zazzle-made "Danielle don't care" sticker. Inside the nonchalant paper bag: whoopie cushion, band-aids, hand sanitzer, honey peanut butter, honey nut cheerio cereal bar and a Schleich toy badger.

Honey badger got hops!

Snakey face-painting by Auntie Tammie. Blends in with cake face, too!

Telling your baby cousin, "come bouncy house; I hold her?!"

I love you no matter what, my little honey badger,

Manic Monday: Or Not? - DD's Big Girl Room

Dearest Daughters,

I might be in denial, but let me just say this: it was your daddy's suggestion!

I mentioned last week that Danjo seemed ready to transition to a Big Girl Bed. On several occasions you have asked to go "ni ni," Lovey and Baby tucked under your arms, pointing or pulling my arm out of it's socket in the direction of your bed. Even when you verbally protest the notion of sleep, as soon we enter your room, you're eager to get into bed. And you snuggle in, your legs tucked beneath you, your head burrowing into your requisite blankies and lovies.

Since you girls were headed out of town to visit your cousins, your daddy suggested we get new beds for you this weekend.

I've been keeping a Pinterest board of decorating and layout ideas for your room since forever, trying to figure out the best way to aesthetically fit two beds into one small room. I was determined to NOT be manic-ly impulsive about this, so the planning continued (per Lola's suggestion) with a scaled diagram of your room. And teeny tiny pieces of furniture cut from paper, also to scale. No, this isn't manic at all. I'll tell you what it is: anal.

Then, the real adventure began!

On Saturday, having planned and prepared myself, your Daddy and I set out for IKEA. And guess, what? I wast TOTALLY fine. No anxiety. No panic.

WAHOO FISH TACOS! as I like to say.

I find that if I actually want to do something (and prepare for the situation as well as for the possibility that the situation might not go as planned), it's not so bad. I'm finding ways to deflate the pressure from anxiety-filled activities.

And, hooey, for now, for the stuff I don't want to do! Baby steps, right?

After IKEA, we hit up Best Buy, Home Depot and (even!) went out to lunch at your daddy's fav-o: Taco Bell! (This is not a Dearest Daughters endorsement of the preceding stores. This list serves only to blow your mind at the number of crowded places I rode in a car to and maintained my sanity in. Over and out.)

AND THEN: two days of spray painting and assembling new furniture. Whew!

I got in way over my head. Also, did you know that you can buy an ergonomic attachment for spray paint cans? No? Me neither, twenty cans and two sore hands later.

So, I was perpetually doing all weekend, but I wouldn't say I was manic. In fact, painting and assembling, were in many ways meditative and mindful. I wasn't busy worrying or over-thinking as I sprayed and screw-drivered. I was present with my sore hands and stubbed toes. I wasn't doing from a place of mania or as a coping mechanism, in order to avoid feeling. I was doing on my own terms, because I wanted to, not because I should or because I felt compelled.

And from a good place, comes good stuff! Or viceversa.

The big reveal! The girls didn't even know we were doing this!

So far, the reviews are good. Bel was so excited. You bounded up onto your bed and began a five-minute run-on sentence of love for your new accommodations: "I just love this and it is the best bed ever and my bed is a spaceship and my spaceship is a bed and I love it."

Bel's Big Girl Bed, Snuggle Cave and Kitchen Playspace

Danjo took some convincing, but once I told you it was your bed, you climbed right in and snuggled up the way you do at bed time. You haven't figured out how to climb into your sister's bed yet and I'm not encouraging it, but I give it three days.

Danjo's Big Girl Bed - slept in one night, no problem, easy peasy!

Military locker from my own teenage DIY room (stores puzzles, art supplies, toys, extra diapers, etc.) and new white dresser to replace the black one we had there!

And someone else wanted to show off his new Big Boy backpack. From IKEA, of all places!


Now, for a week of rest and recovery! And, maybe, just maybe, another adventure or two.

Love,

P.S. For curious minds:

Reversible loft beds (x2) - IKEA Kura - disclosure: you're supposed to be 6 to sleep on the lofted bed, so I don't endorse letting your three year old up there. But Bel's super mature. She's like fifteen in Bel Years, so I lofted her bed.

Curtains and duvets - IKEA Renate Flora

Dresser - IKEA Hemnes

Floating shelves - IKEA Lack

Table and chairs - thrifted

Wall paint - Kelly Moore Bird Bath Blue #KM3138-1

Wall clouds - fabric I cut out, applied with homemade starch

P.P.S. I wish I had a Before picture, but to tell you the truth, that room has undergone so many different configurations from one child to two, toys stored in the room and not, furniture found, borrowed, bought and given away! But, here's a photo of the room from before we moved into the house, featuring tiny sixteen-month-old Baby Bel:

 

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