Monday, December 17, 2012

Three-ish Christmas Movies You'll Love

Friend, do you have some extra time this weekend? Might I steer you in the direction of some great flicks that are sure to warm your heart? I promise not to lead you astray. I love movies and I love Christmas, so you'd think that I would love all Christmas movies, wouldn't you? Not so, dear friend. Not at all.

Last year, Daniel and I borrowed a stack of Christmas-themed movies from a friend, hoping to love them, rooting for them all the way, but ending up bitterly disappointed. (As an aside, Why, Michael Shank, did you agree to that Thomas Kinkade disaster of a script? Why?!) In order to save you from a similar fate, I've put together a list of movies that I have loved. This isn't all-inclusive, but it's a fabulous start.

1. It's a Wonderful Life





Starring the ever-handsome James Stewart, this movie will touch even the coldest of hearts. George Bailey (Stewart) faces both despair and happiness over his young life, but this startling look at "What if?" brings it all into perspective. Daniel and I watch this every year.

2. Miracle on 34th Street (1947 or 1994 version)


Both movies have strengths and weaknesses, but each one is a great film on its own. Daniel and I agree, the newer movie's Mom character is quite mean, but it's a little more relatable in other aspects, simply because I'm more comfortable with 90s culture. The 1994 version also keeps Mr. Kringle a little bit more magical, not telling the viewer that he lives in a home for the elderly. Either one gets my seal of approval.

No picture available for this Netflix Streaming link, but I don't want that to discourage you. We just discovered this movie this year, and were pleasantly surprised at how great of a show it is. It's one of those movies that repeats a day over and over until the protagonist gets it right, so you'd think it would be tired and dull, but Daniel (who is one tough nut to crack) laughed out loud several times at the witty script. The romance was fresh, even twelve times over, and the dynamic leading lady was believable and funny on her Christmas Eve that will never end!

Don't hesitate to watch these. You won't regret it.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

For the someone who has everything


Kids sure do pick up on everything that you do. I don't even talk on the phone that much, at least not with the phone up to my ear. I usually have it on speaker and hold it in front of my face. But Gideon has somehow figured out that phones are for holding up to your ear, and everything he can pick up becomes a phone.

Since Gid loves phones so much, I've been searching for a phone ornament for his yearly Christmas ornament this year (a tradition carried over from Daniel's youth), and came across this gem: the Accoutrements Yodelling Pickle.
Accoutrements Yodelling Pickle

From the description: "Are you sick and tired of trying to teach your pickles to yodel? Pickles can be so stubborn. At last, the yodeling pickle you've been waiting for."

Yes, this is it! This is the yodeling pickle I never knew I needed!

I don't know why it came up in my search for phone ornaments, but it's so much better than a phone ornament! It's a priceless find that I think every five-year-old in your life would really appreciate. You saw it here first, kids! Now I need to come up with a way to convince Daniel that this surely-annoying toy with no sentimental value is a good buy. Can you imagine? A yodeling pickle!

 *That's an Amazon Affiliate link, there, meaning that if you buy anything on Amazon after following my link, I get a cut of the profits. So go forth and spend!

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

Story Time

Daniel and I have been married for two-and-a-half years, now. It's been quite the ride, learning how to peacefully cohabit. We're such different people, so it can be quite tricky sometimes to remember not just to be civil, but to be thoughtful. To be kind and encouraging takes forethought and impulse control. Marriage sure grows a person up, quick-like!

Since we've been married for such a short time, I'm still well aware of the vast amounts of information we don't know about each other. Tonight we played a fun game for our family night to give us a chance to fill in some of the blanks. It was super simple, one that I plan to play again, and often. It's a game of stories. We started with school day lunches, then went to playing after school, then playing during school. This is part of the stories we told:

When I was young, my brother and sister and I played outside on the block all summer long. We lived in a hilly neighborhood, but there was a flat spot many ups and downs from our house on which we would ride bikes around and around. I spent hours riding there, back and forth, growing and graduating from little two-wheeler to big-kid bike to adult-sized. We all rode with no hands (because that was cool), even if we had the wrong kind of bike for it. I nearly crashed several times while showing off on a little-kid bike.

Just down the hill from there was a wide ravine which the road traversed. My brother and his friends would clamber through the bushes and up the sides, into the forest it fell from, building forts and swinging from the questionable rope swing set up on one of the sides. That rope swing was quite a thrill, because you swung out from near the top of the ledge into nothing, not daring to let go and fly down the rocky, bramble-y slope.

Daniel didn't live by a forest. He grew up a football field's length from the river, and when they got old enough, they built forts down by the water. His family owned the nursery even then, and always had pallets available to play with. The boys nailed those pallets into every shape imaginable, from clubhouses at the river's edge, to garden beds, to tool sheds. That was the life. Once, Daniel and his brother drew up plans for an entire underground city, complete with different chambers and buildings. They dug for weeks, ready to build a most amazing wonder with their dirt and pallet slats, but had to give up because the ceiling of their hand-dug cave was unstable. Also, the neighbors probably didn't appreciate the gigantic hole the boys dug in their hillside.

At school, we both ate hot lunch provided by the school. One of my favorites was Taco Day, when we would choose between hard shell and soft shell, then get to pile on the fillings of our choice. I never once got the knack of taking just enough for my tortilla, but would always barely fold it over the hulking pile of deliciousness, only to squish most of it out with each bite. Messy. But oh, so good!

Both of us loved the mashed potatoes and turkey gravy option that was served occasionally. I don't know how they got it so good, but it was good. Neither of us has seen that same dish served elsewhere. "Classic cafeteria food," Daniel called it. Is it not served because it's not actually as good as I remember, or because it isn't fancy?

Our stories are so interesting to us! This game could be made formal, with prompts on pieces of paper or just made up, spur of the moment. Other interesting topics include first crush/kiss/dating experience, hardest part about high school, favorite games in elementary school, proudest moments of childhood, silly antics from those early memories that might not make total sense now, and so many more.

Do you know your spouse's stories?

Saturday, September 8, 2012

How to Find a Stud

When your stud finder fails at life:


Holes courtesy of Daniel's fancy Bosch drill and a 1/16" bit

Thursday, August 30, 2012

The Foolish Man Built His House Upon the Sand

I've always loved the song about the foolish man and the wise man. It's a common song throughout contemporary Christianity, has fun hand signs, and boasts a rockin' melody just perfect for head-sticking. During Sunday School this past week, the song came up, and I visualized the song in a whole new way.

As a child, I imagined a guy going down to the beach and slapping together 2x4s and a roof, which would crumple into the waves at the first big swell. Conversely, the wise man found a big rock at the beach and slapped his 2x4s down and it was fine. But people don't actually build houses like that. I grew up on the beach, and, while there are beach houses, they work a little differently.

On the southern Oregon coast, the mountainous land frequently ends in cliffs at the water's edge. Much of the land bordering the ocean is sandstone, a soft, easily crumbled, rock-like substance that grows ugly crabgrass, salal, and shore pines. When Californians retire, they see these picturesque cliffs and immediately go about slapping their houses on them. Sometimes they hit a rock/dirt composition; sometimes they don't.

In high school, I babysat for a family from Florida who's summer home was on one such sandy cliff. It was a gorgeous view, and the entire west side of the two story home was one giant bank of windows. This beautiful home had front row seats to one of God's most beautiful masterpieces: the Pacific Ocean and its coastal geography. They also had a fantastic view of the cliff's edge, which was crumbly sandstone. That edge crept, year by year, foot by foot, closer to the house. Some years it only lost a few inches; some years it lost three feet in one storm. But that edge still creeps on.

Eventually, the house will start slipping. It'll take years, but that's the fact of life on the coast: much of it falls into the ocean, some with startling regularity (there are spots along Highway 101 that slide completely every especially rainy year).

Men don't go down to the beach and slap some 2x4s together. They pick a spot on the cliff and build their dream home with granite and maple and double ovens and a gate, then watch, stuck, while the earth and the elements try to eat away at their paradise. Sometimes they get lucky and build on rock. Sometimes they get a geologic survey before they buy, and make an informed decision to stay away.

But after that house is built, you can't get out of a crumbling situation without losing a lot.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

The Sorry State of my Garden, or Don't Be Like Me

I've mentioned before that Daniel works in the family business. Well, the business is a nursery (with plants, not children at church) and he's something of an expert, compared to your average Lowe's-goer, on plants. That is part of the reason why this picture I'm about to show you is so dismally embarrassing, unexpected, and disappointing. Keep this lesson in mind when you plan your next foray into indoor gardening!

We have, attached to our home, an added-on sun room. It's a lovely room, with big, bright, southern-exposed windows. Since we haven't yet fenced in the back yard, we thought it would be the perfect place to grow a few of our favorite summer vegetables safely away from the nuisance deer. So, we got some tomato plants, big tubs of dirt, cute little saucers for the tubs, and fancied ourselves farmers.

At first, it went swimmingly. The plants shot off, getting taller and taller, then they got leggier and leggier. That was odd, we thought, but not the end of the world. Then the leaves started looking wilty, but not every leaf. No, just a few branches got curly and wilty, then dried up and died. But the whole leggy plant looked positively ill.

Maybe they needed food. So we got on the ball and started feeding with every watering. Waited a week or two. No dice. Then we decided there just wasn't enough sun in the sun room. The sun is so high in the summers that there's only a few hours of direct light every day. It's really a poorly designed room in that regard (the previous owners went pretty cheap on it). So I put them out on the step in the mornings and returned them in the evenings. Still no improvement after several days.

By this time, they were so sick that Daniel wanted to give up. We had just seen the tomatoes in the in-laws' garden, tight little balls of juicy green energy, and lost all hope. On our plants, there were a few fruits that had started developing before the blight got them, and those weren't exactly coming along swimmingly. So Daniel carried them into the yard behind the sun room. The deer won't get them, he said. They never come into the yard itself anymore, seeing as it's a 100'x100' patch of dirt. And if they do, well, they can have them. Sigh.


The moral? Make sure your plants have good ventilation. The final diagnosis stands: fungal infection. Had we aired out the sun room a little better, we would be enjoying beautiful, red tomatoes by now.
These plants have been trimmed a little by the deer (I assume the selective trimming has to do with the extent of the fungal infection). But these plants are goners. Oh, what a world! Thank goodness we can mooch off of the in-laws for garden-fresh produce.


Tuesday, May 22, 2012

Making a Special Anniversary

We just had our anniversary, and let me tell you, it was a great day. Daniel ended up having to work for part of the day (it's the busy season at work), and while he was gone in the morning, I set up a little surprise for him. I'm not one much for fancy printed paper or well-executed scavenger hunts, but I combined those two ideas for a quick game of Hide and Seek.

I made up these little cards out of yellow cardstock that I had kicking around a closet. They said things like, "I love you!", "You're the best dad in the whole world, you know that?", "Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest girl in the world, then I think, 'Well, duh!'", and "Shh! The baby's sleeping!"

I left them strategically about the house (bathroom counter, hanging off of a canvas in the hall, coffee table, foot of the bed) and then left a larger invitation card in front of the door he would enter after he got home. The front said "Hide and Seek" and the inside said, "Come find me!" And I put a picture on the computer desktop just to make sure he didn't miss it.

When I heard the garage door opening for the car, I hurried to my hiding place and waited for him to find me.

It turns out my hiding place was a little too good (I was on the back step) because he didn't find me in five minutes. After letting him hunt inside for a bit, I came in and we got to go on the day trip we had planned together.

The park we went to was a 40 minute drive from our house, but we packed water and the stroller. When we got there, we got to see peacocks! The park is a 1000+ acre ranch that was donated to the county a few decades back. Parts of it still function as ranch land, and the whole thing is open to the public to hike through and explore. And did I mention there were peacocks by the old farmhouse?! We trekked through pastures, horse/bike trails, streams, cattle, and barns. What a fabulous way to spend a Friday.

When we'd had enough fresh air, we came back to town and had Mexican food. We both love it, it's generally inexpensive, and we can often share a dinner plate. But even if we don't share, we can eat for less than $20. That's my kind of dining out. 

It was a simple, easy way to put a little more fun in the day and he really appreciated it. You don't have to go crazy with cutesy things to be nice to your spouse! Just do with what you have.

Thursday, May 10, 2012

What Housewives Do With Their Days

Sometimes I don't know what to pray for and I just plead for help. Please help me. Please just help me! Echoing over and over inside my head.

It's not so much about desperation as it's about an utter cluelessnes and lack of inspiration. I don't know what I need in order to do more, be more. I don't know how to feel best or react best. Please give me something--anything. Give me what I need.

I suppose there are easier ways of getting what you want. Supplicating deity has a way of making your burdens light, but not normally by making them easier. And I'm generally looking for light, with a side of easy.

Maybe I should change what I pray for. After all, there's no law that says you can't ask God for what you truly want. But that leaves me with an unexpected rub.

The problem now is considering the age-old warning: be careful what you wish for. I may get exactly what I want. And that may be the scariest possibility of all.

Monday, April 30, 2012

My Husband Says Candida Would Be a Lovely Girl's Name


I must get curtains up in my kitchen, ASAP. My neighbors are the type that likes to go outside occasionally (and they should, since they have a beautiful, fenced-in back yard with a glorious garden, lush grass, and a volleyball net). Mr. and Mrs. Neighbor can see directly into my kitchen while jumping during a game or standing idly on the raised deck.

Normally, that’s not a problem. There really aren’t a lot of interesting things going on in my kitchen, except lately. Let me explain:

I have the yeast infection from Hell. It has been passed from my baby’s mouth to my nipples (and back) several times over the past five months. He is currently smilingly thrush-free. I, however, have run out of the uber-expensive compounded antifungal ointment, given up on the heavy-duty Nystatin cream, scoffed, (purple-ly) at the Gentian Violet, and I still feel a stabby burning whenever my milk lets down.

The last bit of advice the midwife gave me, after hearing how dismally the prescriptions and useless folk remedies performed, was to switch to cotton nursing pads (I need better air circulation) and use the blow dryer regularly. Since I am well-gifted in the lactating department, I will often leak a whole ounce of milk from the side not in active use during feedings. I can’t use cotton pads. I soak through them and have to sit in milk until I can change my icky pad, bra, undershirt, and shirt.

So I recently decided to try one last trick. I have no other options. This is it. And thankfully, it’s been working as well as my $60 tub of Newman’s Ointment! I go topless around the house. It gets a little chilly, but the yeast is making a slow retreat. If I were more religious about my crusade, the yeast might have already reached its (final) death throes.

So today I resolved to get on that curtain thing sooner, rather than later. Neighbor Girl (a teenager) has sporty friends over all the time talking and texting on the deck and bouncing the volleyball back and forth. They seem like nice girls (not that I’ve ever met them), and I don’t want to be The Neighbor That Never Has a Shirt On.

No pictures will accompany this post.


Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Social Anxiety

I suck at social pleasantries. An example: Daniel works with his dad in the family business. Often, he'll be at his parents' house doing work-y things, so if I need to talk to him during work hours, I call there. His mom will answer and I will say, "Hi, is Daniel there?" and she will reply, "Oh, hi, Bethany! How are you?" Then I will feel like a jerk for not asking how she is first, or at least introducing myself.

Then we spend the few seconds it takes to find him discussing what, exactly, is up with her and with me: "Oh, you know, same-old, same-old," I have very little spice in my life. "The baby, he grows. He occasionally doesn't sleep well. I exercised this week." But what I am thinking is insert something (anything!) interesting here! She's got to pity me by now! She is the type that has things going on and thinks that's the best way to live! I am pitiful and boring! And she tells me some interesting tidbit about her plans, or her children (all of whom I love, but don't talk to because HELLO, this post), and I am glad I get to talk to Daniel finally because I can just say, "Hi, this is the reason I called you. I hope you can answer this question soon, which is why I interrupted you at work." The end.

It isn't that my dear mother-in-law is unreasonably interested in sharing lives with me. She is not the only one with whom I fail to make small talk. She is a lovely woman whom I love and enjoy being with. I just don't know how to make small talk. It doesn't even cross my mind to think of small talk-y things until it's too late and I come up with something lame like, "Oh, not much," to say to someone when they ask what I've been doing lately.

But I am an interesting person! I craft! I build shelves and I make reverse Roman shades and sew neckties and I'm growing wheat grass in a pot because it's cute and green and springy! How does one train oneself to keep these salient facts at the TOP of one's brain, rather than in the foggy, foggy depths thereof? Who knows?

Another facet of my social inability is one of not reading peoples' conversation cues. I don't mind talking about your life and how it's going, and, in fact, am interested in how this or that went for you. But I don't know when people are done talking about it. The other day, I went into the paint store for supplies (hint: I LOVE what we did with the family room!), and I was toting Gideon. (As an aside, "toting" sounds like it's just no thang to throw my little baby in the car and go, when in reality I mean that I was TOWING this monster of a 30 pound car seat and child combo, limping around with it knocking against my thighs and jolting the kid with every step).

The paint guy made some comment about what a big boy I've got, which is true and doesn't bother me at all, then asked how much he weighed when he was born. I replied with the number and it turns out the paint guy's daughter was the same weight! Hah! So he knows how I feel, right? And just as I finished my chuckle and started to ask a question about the paint, Paint Guy goes on to say that his son was such-and-such weight, and I realize that he wasn't done talking about his children. Jerk. (me, not Paint Guy).

This happens ALL the time, especially on the phone. I really would love to hear about how your children acted or your feelings on the subject! I just didn't realize you had so much to say!

My hypothesis is this: many cases of social anxiety are not so much about people (I love people!) but about an inability to do a particular social thing. LIKE SMALL TALK. It can be damaging, at times. Like right now, I am putting off calling my dentist because I kind of know the receptionist, but not KNOW know, just kind of. And, though I know she won't interrogate me about how I spend my days, she will ask me how I am and how Gideon is and I could say, "Just fine," but I can't JUST say that because it sounds weird and is a conversation ender and "Fine, how are you?" is just so FAKE and obviously an uncaring social pleasantry. And that's just the greeting part of the call. This conversation thing is so stressful.








Friday, February 17, 2012

How to Be Happy

The thing about feeling down is that is goes away when you work at it. I'm not talking about actual depression. That stuff takes actual counseling, sometimes medication. But doldrums? Work. Work for someone else, preferably. But you've got to be able to overcome the down to make yourself get back up again. Very tricky!

My darling son is sometimes a trigger for unhappy thoughts (will you please, please just stop wiggling, stop needing to be rocked,stop wanting attention and let me sleep?!) but more often he is a big source of joy and laughter. Mr. Distractable has recently become enamored of me (more than he already was, if that's possible) and has taken to staring lovingly at me while he eats instead of eating. He latches on, sucks enough to get the milk really strongly flowing, then looks up at me suddenly, making sure I'm still there. Those big, black eyes peer up, all innocent-like. And milk sprays all over his cheek, his eye, his ear, and my front. Thank you.

I would like to explain to him, "Kid, your food and I? We're well attached. As long as you're eating, I'm not going anywhere." But still he stares.

Then goes down to latch on agai--PSYCH! Hi, Mommy!

Now it's time to tuck in--Gotcha! You still there?

...Until I give up and hand him over to the less-mammarily-gifted adult to deal with, because I am done.

But you can only stay mad at this face for so long.




Saturday, February 4, 2012

Don't Say the D-word.


Here I was, sitting bored, when the thought occurred to me: I’m not really interested in my blogs anymore. It was surprisingly startling to me, especially given the recent weeks in which I’ve been reading only to keep the unread count manageable. Sure, they’re interesting still. My favorite writers haven’t changed very much; I have.

I thought on this news with a small inking of hope. Maybe this means I’m at the threshold of a new phase, one marked by productivity and prolific blogging and fabulous mothering. Then I thought again. That sounds like a lot of work. Tired all the time? Check (though unnoticed, what with the three-month-old who doesn’t nap long enough for me to fall asleep). Unmotivated? Check. Uninterested in things that used to interest me? Check. Irritable? Holy cow, check-check-check. Irrationally anxious? Check. Hopeless? Not quite there yet. At least not all the time.

I really don’t want to be dealing with life and the many challenges it presents. And yet, life goes on.

Enough about the symptoms. How do I fix this case of the doldrums?

Step number one: exercise. I know that. I may hate the fact that that’s the best first step, but I know it. After that, I’m not sure. I don’t want to go out and join new, fun groups (being with people and making conversation can be stressful. I don’t even answer the phone if I can). I don’t have the money to join the Y or something like that. But mostly, I just don’t want to put out effort. I am tired. Uncomfortable things, though good for my health, are still uncomfortable. Any thoughts, internet?

Monday, January 30, 2012

I've been watching my nephew and my own son growing up lately, and I'm led to wonder: are babies really as happy as they seem, or do they smile all the time because they only see people smiling at them?

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Floating Shelves--Done!


The floating shelves are done! We're trying to figure out what to do with the wall, now. I don't know what to do with decorative shelves since I have nothing to put on them.

But have no fear! I have a few things in mind that I'd like to try. We found a box of antique books in our attic when we cleaned it out (one of the few non-junk items) and I have some vases that might work. I'll be switching those items and more in until I find something that looks like it might actually belong.

In the meantime, here's a photoshopped version of what our room could look like in the future. We'll be working on it.













And for my next trick, I found a sign that I think would look very nice in my newly-painted beige laundry room.  I'll be making it while I try to figure out how to fix my sewing machine.
Source







Monday, January 23, 2012

Our Little Chunk


Gideon is the cutest thing. He's been working on growing quite the mane, lately. I miss being able to kiss his bald head, but I suppose it's nice to have a baby with hair.


He sleeps all night (about 10pm-6am) usually and I am SO glad, because I'm ready to get some sleep around here. We just had his two-month checkup, and according to the chart, he is in the 99th percentile for weight and 95th for height (14 lb 8 oz and 25-3/4 in). That's about the size of an average four-month-old. And my, he feels like it, too!

All the pregnancy sites/forums tell you to get some cardio/aerobic exercise in because it'll help you have an easier labor and delivery... I had a relatively easy time with the L&D stuff, even though I was in poor shape. But I wish I had taken the advice of my sister to weight train for carrying around this squirmy baby! I should have been hefting ten pound bags of flour around to train for motherhood. Flour doesn't wiggle as much as a baby, but it's a good approximation of my little chunk in the beginning!



Saturday, January 21, 2012

Floating Shelves

Our living room needs some decor. It's beautiful, but plain. Since Daniel and I are new to home ownership, we don't know much about decorating. I decided to trust the Rule of Thirds for the long wall and knew I wanted floating shelves in my last third.


Scouring the internet brings up options from $20-$200. But here in Ruraltown, USA, the nearest IKEA is three hours away, and I want something a little better quality than the blue store's finest without spending a fortune. So the project got put off. Maybe when we have more in the budget.

Cue my discovery of Ana White, HomeMaker: she has actually built a house. With her husband. They built their house together. She knows how to build floating shelves! And she does it with super cheap cuts of wood! And my husband loves woodworking so he can teach me! I pretty much ran into the trifecta of project get-up-and-go. I went to the lumber store and had them cut all my pieces for me. What gentlemen! Then I got home, measured the cuts with Daniel, and we re-cut every piece. So much for saving time on the saws! Together, we sawed, glued, screwed, nailed, puttied, and sanded.




Gideon even got to help!

But he's easily distracted.

The fully assembled setup, ready to paint and install.

We'll screw the frames into the wall then slide our box-shaped covers right over them. I'm sanding and putting the final coat of paint on today, then Daniel will help me install them tonight. Pictures soon!



New Face!

We're in the process of slowly redoing our whole house, it feels like. Adding a shelf here and there, painting this wall and that; the work will probably never be done (at least not with the current home improvement budget!).

One of the projects I am really proud of is our front door. When we moved in, the door was a rusty brown color, complete with dents and scratches--complements of the years of life the door has seen.


 I contemplated replacing the whole shebang with a brand new door set, (hah!) but the price of a new entry door and window ensemble would about equal what we have spent on home improvements in the last year. My solution: paint it!

I love daring doors. I have always had a soft spot for glossy red and funky purple doors. My husband, though, will have none of that on his front door. The next best thing? Black, for sure. I told the husband, then forgot about it for awhile while we demolished the jungle that was our entire yard:


Then one day after the yard had been barren for a while, the itch got too much to bare. I had to get rid of that awful door color! So off to the paint store I went. While I was there, I called the husband at work to confirm: "Honey, you remember how I mentioned wanting to paint the front door black? Well I'm at the paint store. Did we want eggshell or semigloss?"

"Um, you want to paint the door? Black?" Whoops. Should've communicated better on that one. "...sure, I guess. Probably eggshell is best. It's an old door."

And so I gleefully told the paint man to give me a quart of his blackest black. After a morning spent sanding, (in the freezing cold! why didn't I get to this in late August or mid-Septemberish?) we carefully filled, sanded some more, then finally painted that old door.

Me, 7 or 8 months along with Gideon
The result is phenomenal!



Those windows will get a makeover someday.

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