Down with chalkboards

As an HGTV junkie, I feel compelled to talk about a design trend that I don't get. Namely: chalkboard paint.

When it became popular a few years ago, I thought it was a neat idea. "Oh look! You can paint a little message board right on your kitchen wall! What a great place to write grocery lists!"

Adorable, right? From bspokeblog.com

That lasted about 30 seconds. Then I contemplated actually *writing* my grocery list on a chalkboard. Am I the only one who gets chills whenever I write on one? It's not worth the trip to Goosebump City when I just want to jot down that we're out of Diet Sunkist.

I'll admit, there are some cute applications for chalkboard paint out there. You could do a colorful chalkboard mural in a kid's room and let them draw on the walls, for instance, and I do kind of love the chalkboard globes I've seen. But as a public service to anyone contemplating one of the following projects, I'd like to point out some potential problems.

Chalkboard dressers and other storage pieces:

Again, adorable! From afurnitureblog.com

It's not that these storage pieces aren't cute, because they really are! The problem is, every time I needed, say, some markers or stickers from this craft dresser, I'd reach for the drawer, brush one millimeter of a fingernail against the surface and OH GOD NO CRAFT TIME IS OVER.

Another version of this same problem? As soon as your kids figure out how annoying the nails-on-a-chalkboard sound is, scratching it just to drive each other (or you) crazy will be their new favorite game. So maybe that mural in their room isn't such a good idea after all.

On to lamps:

materialicious.com

The whole point of the chalkboard paint trend is to write and draw on it. So why would you put this paint on a fragile object that will fall over as soon as you try to do that? This same issue goes for vases and wine bottles, which I've also seen.

And a personal note to whoever wrote this particular lamp message: You probably shouldn't encourage too much drinking and merry-making in a house with chalkboard lampshades. Before long, it'll be "Heyyy, wherezzzachalk? OK, lemme draw you a pisshure. Imma draw a pretty heyyy, whyzza lamp fall over? Izzat a fire?"

Kitchen cabinets and backsplashes:

Design Sponge

For the cabinets, the same "can't touch them without wanting to die" issues apply here, and that's a problem for cabinets that you touch 50 times a day. If I had to risk scraping a chalkboard every time I wanted a bowl for ice cream, I would weigh about 30 pounds less. Which... hm. Now I'm rethinking this.

For the backsplash: yes, it's customizable. Yes, it's easier to draw a new pattern than re-tile when you're tired of it. And yes, you will have chalk dust in ALL OF YOUR FOOD! Mmmm. 

Now, I really do think chalkboard paint is a great *concept*, and I don't want to discourage anyone from being creative. In fact, if you've used it, please comment here and tell me how it went! I'd love to see photos... just as long as I don't have to actually inhale any chalk dust.

Spreading the love

My friend Mary recently gave me a great present: a Liebster Award! It's a way to recognize your favorite smaller blogs -- ones that you love to read but that currently have 300 or fewer followers. Thanks Mary!

Mary's online home is called The Tulip Patch, which I love because tulips are my favorite. She's a talented quilter who's been featured on Moda Bakeshop, and she's also one of the funniest people I know. So go check her out.

Now it's my turn to spread some blog love. I'd like to give a Liebster Award to...

BabyMooHoo

Super-cute baby girl? Check. Funny and relatable stories? Check. What else could you need? Oh, and according to her bio, she spends her free time "napping & avoiding horror movies." So, yeah, I'm pretty sure we're twins. 

That's it for today. I promise I'm working on more posts, but scrapbooking is calling my name this evening.

Wordless Wednesday - Snow Day

Failing at filing

Things that are in my "Manuals and Warranties" folder in the filing cabinet:
-the warranty card for a TV/VCR combo I no longer own
-the manual for the ice-cream maker Matt insisted we register for
-instructions on hooking up the printer we got rid of two years ago
-the manual that came with the fan we bought last summer

That last one should tell you how obsessed and careful I am about keeping instruction manuals. You never know when you're going to forget how to PLUG IN A FAN. (Or, as the manual calls it, a "power air circulator.") And that's why this next one is so frustrating...

Thing that is not in my "Manuals and Warranties" folder:
-the manual that came with Lindsey's car seat

You know, only the more important, potentially life-saving piece of baby gear we own. The one that has about a million ways to install it incorrectly. The one that we'll need to take out and re-install facing forwards in a couple months. Grrrr. Why did you leave me when I needed you most, Filing Skills??

But on the bright side, if anybody wants to make dust-flavored ice cream, well... I'm your girl.

Somebody grab that scarf I dropped, please

So we meet again, Coat.

First things first: you have read Why I’ll Never Be an Adult, correct? If not, go read it! (And then read everything else on Allie’s site, too, just promise me you’ll come back here eventually. Unless you can’t because you are DEAD FROM LAUGHING, which is a real possibility.)

Anyway, in the spirit of that “I’m not really an adult” post, I thought it’d be fun to share one of my little adulthood barriers. Here it is:

I cannot put on a coat like a grown-up.

You know that move where you pick up your coat, then put it on by swishing it around you like a cape? I love that move. I am entranced by it. It’s so graceful, so sophisticated. THAT is how an adult prepares for going out in the cold.

Yeah, I can’t do that.

It’s not for lack of examples... People do it all the time. Some people even get all fancy with it -- capping it off by flicking their hair out from under the coat’s collar, or swishing their coats on while walking out the door and holding a conversation. Show-offs.

I can’t always hear the conversations, but I imagine them going like this:

“So, my fellow grown-up,” (*swish*) “where should we have lunch today?”
“Well, friend, I would prefer a restaurant where we can discuss our stock portfolios while eating sensible meals that will definitely not include chicken fingers. It is great to be an adult, am I right?” (*swish, hair flick*)

Now, let’s compare that to my coat-donning technique. Have you ever seen a four-year-old boy try to put on a coat? Then you’ve seen me do it. This method involves sticking one arm through the sleeve, then helplessly flailing my other arm around behind me as I walk. The show gets even better when I’m carrying a few things, because then I have to switch my purse, grocery bags etc from one arm to the other as my halfway-on coat drags behind me. Bonus points if a glove falls out of my pocket during this process and I don’t realize it till I get to my car.

I am a moronic one-woman outerwear parade. But come join me anyway! We can go get chicken fingers!

What about you? What weird thing is standing between you and “real” adulthood?

Steppin' Out

If anyone is in the market for funny stories and photos of the most adorable, doe-eyed toddler ever, may I recommend The Haps? It's one of my favorite blogs... Mandy shares little snippets of her life with two-year-old Harper, and manages to keep it both entertaining and family-friendly. Lots of writers can only manage one or the other.

My blog wants to be The Haps when it grows up. But until then, I'm joining Mandy's link party in a shameless, desperate attempt to be connected in some small way! She hosts Steppin' Out Saturdays, when readers are encouraged to share a photo of their efforts to step it up a notch, sartorially. So here's mine... a Christmas Eve shot of Lindsey and me!

And since this is what most people on Steppin' Out do, I'll list where our outfits are from: My sweater is from NY&Co, cardigan from Target, Lindsey's dress from Target. Oh- and Lindsey loooooved my necklace from Express... It kept her entertained during church that night.

And after.

"Oooh, shiny!!"

Aaaaand then she was done with it. That face cracks me up.

"That was five minutes ago, MOM."

So that was us, Steppin' Out... Matt looked very snazzy too, but you'll have to take my word for it. I hope you all had a great holiday season!

-kendar

Advil

A couple days ago, I was picking up my lunch at Planet Sub and overheard this at the register next to me:

"Anything else for you today, ma'am?"
"You don't have any aspirin back there, do you? I've got a splitting headache."
"No, sorry..."

I glanced over and saw the headache victim: a short lady with long blonde hair and a striped sweater. I opened my mouth to say "I've got some Advil!" because hey, what's the point of lugging around the entire contents of your bathroom cabinet if you can't help people out? But then I realized how shady that would be. "Hey, stranger, have some pills out of my purse! They're fine, I promise. Bwa ha haaaa."

So I closed my mouth, picked up my takeout bag and walked towards the door. I turned back around for a second and opened my mouth again, this time to say "The convenience store next door sells aspirin!" But again I stopped, and walked out the door instead. "It's none of your business," I told myself.

I was headed to that convenience store myself, since Planet Sub doesn't have Diet Mountain Dew, and as I filled up my fountain drink I replayed that scene in my head. She really did seem to be hurting. "But she's not helpless. She's a big girl," I thought. "She can find headache medicine without your help." But for some reason, I found myself walking to the first-aid display in the store and grabbing a couple packets of Advil. Even while I paid for them, the negative thoughts kept coming. "She's probably gone by now. She was just venting anyway. You don't do things like this! It'll be weird! She'll look at you funny! Stop it!!"

The voice in my head was right: I really don't do things like this. Way beyond my comfort zone. And yet there I was, walking back into the restaurant, Advil in hand. The woman was about to leave, but I marched up to her and said "Excuse me, are you the lady who had the headache?" Her emphatic "YES," along with her weary-looking eyes, indicated that it really was a bad one -- probably so bad that she didn't think to question why a total stranger was asking her about it.

"Merry Christmas," I said, handing her the packets of medicine.

Surprised, she began to smile, and thanked me. I wish I could say I smiled back and breezily tossed a "Hope you feel better!" over my shoulder, but I just looked at the floor and stammered something about the store next door, and um, yeah, so, before walking away.

Before I'd gotten 10 feet away, the negative thoughts started up again: "What if she's allergic to that brand? What if she doesn't celebrate Christmas? She's probably calling her friends right now to tell them about the nosy weirdo at Planet Sub."

But this time, it was easy to ignore that voice. I hadn't solved all the world's problems today, but I had tried to help a stranger with a headache. It was something. As I waited for the elevator back to my office, I sipped my drink, and I smiled.