To: My Panel Plagued Home

I used to live in a cave.  Or a dungeon.  Or a house built circa 1984.  Apparently, these could all be considered synonymous.  It seems the trend of that time was PANELING.  And let me tell you, the folks who built our home knocked it out of the park.  Paneling and light stained wood owned my home.  And, not in a sweet “doesn’t this remind you of your grandmother’s home” kind of way. . . It was more of a “paneling is the new black” kind of way.  (And who decorates home walls with black?!  No one.  Case in point.) 

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a grotesque amount, but it felt like I was in a log cabin sans the mountains and snow out the window.  No, all I see when I look out our windows are other homes, manicured yards, paved roads, and other signs of suburbia.  No ski slopes or pioneers.  Hence, the log cabin (paneling) needed to go . . . and by “go”, I really mean: BE PAINTED. 

Thus, our home’s evolution began.  And, like pulling a loose thread from your favorite shirt’s hem that you think will only be a measly inch or two, this project just kept going, and going, and going. 

“Let’s just start with the living room,” I said.  “Okay, now the kitchen HAS to be painted, too.”  That was two months later.  And finally, just a shy five months after that, “I’m painting the game room wainscoting.  And then I’ll be done.” 

Mark my words, folks.  This house project is the last of my attempt to weasel paneling/oak stained wood out of my home.  All the remnants can stay.  You win, guest bathroom cabinets.  I wash my hands of you, laundry room.  Because I can handle the paneling in small doses, a sliver here or a sliver there gives our house some character or charm, if you will.  But (hallelujah) it is no longer our home’s identity.  Our home is no longer a victim to the 80s, and I think I can sometimes hear it whisper “thank you” . . . or maybe it’s just humming an old Cyndi Lauper tune. 

All that to say, here’s a quick gallery of some before and after pictures.  This is not a step by step blog or a ‘how to’ . . . heaven knows I wouldn’t know where to begin on that venture.  I did paint everything myself (except the main living room paneling), but I did it out of sheer desperation, which is not an easy lesson to pass along.  Suffice it to say, if you don’t like something in your home – paint it.  You can’t mess it up, because if you do, you can just start over.  Reference that darn thread again. . .

Photo Disclaimer:  I'm not too great at taking "Before & After" photos, so a lot of these are just random pictures, but you'll get the idea. 

The Living Room (aka The Paneling Mecca):

The Kitchen Cabinets (aka The Kitchen Cave): 

The Playroom (aka The Saloon):

 So, Home, I hope you enjoy your new coats of paint.  Consider it a little concealer (something I never leave the home without) - it brightens you up and doesn't make people tired just by looking at you. I'd say that's a win-win.

From: Paige

To: Fans of Somber Fiction

When I Found You by Catherine Ryan Hyde
Book Review #2

Don’t judge a book by its cover?  Yea. Right.  I’m all about the cover.  Will I read a book with a cheesy or boring cover?  Sure, but it may take some convincing and a lot of awesome reviews.  This cover, however, tugged at my heart strings the first time I stumbled across it.  A little boy standing on the feet of a grown man?  Oh, please, someone grab the tissue box.  And that would be appropriate for this read.  Not a whole box, actually, just a few will do the trick. 

When I Found You is the story of an unlikely duo:  an older man wandering through the monotony of his simple life and a young boy with a chip on his shoulder.  Their worlds couldn’t be more different, but they’re united by a powerful event that haunts both of them.  For the older man, it gives him purpose and reason.  The younger, it gives him anger and a few years in juvie. 

Nathan McCann finds a cold and almost lifeless baby in the woods one morning on a duck hunt.  How tragic.  How scary.  How perfect, because if not for Nathan, young Nat would not be alive.  However, young Nat has a lot of skeletons to battle before he can appreciate such a gift. 

The two forge through much of life together, and life for them is anything but sunshine and rainbows.  No, sir.  The storms hit, and they hit hard.  However, Nathan McCann is a character you want on your side during the storm.  His wisdom, consistency, and level headedness are the perfect complement to Nat’s passion, temper, and edge. 

The story is heart warming and wrenching, all at the same time.  Ms. Hyde writes with a very cool and creative style that makes the read quick, entertaining, and thought provoking.  Her word choice and character development is unreal.  She can skip seven years in between chapters and not miss a beat.  Her work flows like a fabulous painting in an art museum.  One that is abstract and out of the box.  You’re captivated, not sure how the artist created such a piece.  You wish there was a longer explanation on the plaque detailing more, but you understand this is all the painter wanted you to know.  You appreciate the art, understand you’re not an artist, but you walk away and wish there was a bit more. 

And, this is how I feel at the end of the book.  I loved it.  Enjoyed every chapter.  Couldn’t put it down, but I wanted more.  Not in the plot or the epilogue.  I get what happened to the characters, but I wanted more for all of them.  I’m not such a sap that I can’t handle the lack of a hunky dory ending, but there wasn’t enough closure for me.  The characters, young Nat especially, carried so much hate and bitterness.  He was like the Pandora’s box of pains and scars – you never knew which emotion would drive his next decision or reaction. 

I guess I just wanted there to be more healing.  I wanted more cleansing.  I wanted redemption.  I wanted forgiveness.  I guess, not in attempt to speak “Chriastianese”, I wanted young Nat to experience Christ.  He grinded through his battle scars with will and gumption, but I know those eventually run out.  The support he was surrounded by was fabulous, but that will one day fail.  The golden rule mentality he eventually adopted is refreshing, but it just may not hold up if the large storms come again.

So, the story telling was so magnificent and the novel’s constructions so precise, that I felt a connection with the characters.  I didn’t just know their story or their descriptions - I ached for them.  I cried for them.  I wanted more for them. 

Then, amid my ponderings, I’m kindly reminded (by the Lord) that I should translate this empathy and desire over into the NON FICTIONAL sector of life.   DUH.  Am I really mulling over the sanctification of fictional characters?  Wake up, Paige.  And, thank God for grace.

And, so, Ms. Hyde, whether or not you meant to you, your work has compelled and reminded me to seek out the young Nats of this world.  They’re everywhere.  We’re all a bit like Nat, but the truth is: there is So. Much. More.  Pain, loss, rejection - - it’s all a PART of who we are, not WHO we are.  Time doesn’t heal wounds, Christ does.  Your work makes me want to act.  To move.  To be a part of the bigger picture. So, thank you for that, for that is the epitome of great literature.  (And, thanks for the cover.)

From: Paige

To: Mother Nature

(Actually written: Feb. 2, 2014) 

I did not read the Farmer’s Almanac this year (or any year, for that matter), but I wonder if it predicted a cold winter.  If so, that thing is on the money.   Maybe it’s because now I stay at home with a young child and the weather effects much of the day, but I feel this has been a cold winter for those of us here in Texas.  Lots of school closings, many days in below freezing weather, several threats of the dreaded “wintry mix”, and minimal sunshine.  Texans aren’t equipped to handle all of these things for a few days, much less a few weeks.  Yet, here we are again…going on another week where the cold weather threatens our plans and causes everyone to stay indoors.

Stay indoors?  You ask.  Yes, it is what we Texans have to do during these icy and cold days.  At best, our adaptability to the cold is laughable and our gear is a joke.  I know this to be true and have experienced first hand many times.  Playing in the snow SOUNDS like a fun idea, until you remember it’s actually ICE, and you spend the duration outside walking like a moron for fear of falling.  A photo opp with the white background is a must, until you discover your three pairs of socks, fuzzy gloves, hoodie sweatshirt and NorthFace fleece REALLY don’t do the trick. 

Here are some photos of failed winter gear on Molly.  Take note of the following:  fleece pajamas with mary jane shoes, my gloves, her dad's hat, & a fleece zebra blanket.  Seriously, Paige?  I can almost hear that breeze laughing at us.

I know all of this, yet, I was lured back into the tundra last week.  However, this time I did not come empty-handed.  Nope.  This time I came bearing my 17 month old daughter.  She’s young and fearless, right?  Her zeal for life and new experiences should be off the charts, right?  Ha, spoken like a true new mom.  Let’s just say all that “zeal” never made it past the backdoor threshold. 

Here's how our venture in the snow progressed. . .

"What's all this white stuff on the ground?"

"Why are you taking my picture?  It's freezing out here.  I'm not so sure about this..."

"Okay, this is a bad idea.  Even my Burt's Bees can't bring me comfort."

"Get me out of here!!  This outfit is dumb, and I can't feel my fingers."

So, we’ll just stay inside and read another book or work on another puzzle.  No need to prove anything else to you, ol’ Mother Nature.  You win this one.  And probably any other time we will attempt to compete. 

From: Paige

To: New Mothers of Daughters

Written:  February 2, 2014

I knew it would happen.  Don't we all?  After all the “hoopla” I caused in my younger day, an apology to my mother was destined at some point in my own journey of motherhood.  I knew one day I’d have an “aha” moment and all those years of “miscommunications” and teenage attitudes would resurface in my mind, and I would clearly see her perspective.   I would call her up, we’d have a sweet moment, share a laugh, and I’d tell her what I was experiencing with my own daughter.  She’d respond with, “I completely understand, sweetie.  Let me give you some advice…” I could see it.  It seemed like one of the many ways life would come full circle.  It would happen some day, I just knew it.  I just didn’t think it would happen when my daughter was SIXTEEN MONTHS OLD.  No way.  I was definitely thinking more like SIXTEEN YEARS.  Ha, joke’s on me. 

To make a short story even shorter, I’ll put it like this:  Molly is a mama’s girl.  Not that she doesn’t LOVE and ADORE Daniel (c’mon, ‘daddy’ was her first word), but she is simply a mama’s girl.  When she is cranky, sleepy, hungry, in need of something, or unsure, she has always found comfort in me.  I am not prideful about it, but I do CHERISH it.  I love her with every ounce of my being, and I feel that she understands that in her need of me.  For now, I’m her advocate.  I’m her peacemaker.  I’m her safe place.  God has given her to us to raise and nurture, and I take the role seriously.  Believe me, I know one day I will not be the resolution to her problems, in fact I may become one of them, but I enjoy the role of “mama” now. 

With that all said, last night she DID NOT want me.  And, not in a “I love Daddy!” sort of way.  No, it was a “cry/flail your body/reach for the door/don’t touch me” kind of way.  She and Daniel had been playing, and I came in to start the bedtime routine.  Clearly, that set her off because a battle for the ages quickly ensued.  I tried rocking.  I tried singing.  I tried reading a book.  I tried a sippy cup of water.  A sippy cup of milk.  Nada.  Nothing.  Wails and tears were everywhere, and I finally called Daniel back into the room.  She had never done this before at bedtime, so I needed the reinforcement.  Was this her first “tantrum”?  How should we parent this behavior?  Oh no, we haven’t read any of those parenting books yet!!  

Then, as Daniel reached to take her, she threw her arms out to him and there was SILENCE.  In that moment, I felt relief, but it was immediately followed by rejection.  I know it may sound a little dramatic, but I’m being honest.  My mind was a whirlwind as I watched her cling to Daniel.  I was usually the one on the other end of this situation, and this new role kind of hurt.  I got up out of the rocking chair, so Daniel could put her to bed and left the room.  Tears stung my eyes a bit as I peeked in and saw her sweetly reading books with her daddy.  I loved seeing them in that moment.  Loved that she wanted him and felt safe with him, but it hurt that she had NOT wanted me.  I quickly walked into my bedroom and called my mother. 

My mom (aka Sweet T): Hello?
Me:  Mom?

Sweet T:  Yea, what’s up?

Me:  I’m sorry for all the times I was so mean to you and gave you attitude.

Sweet T:  What?

Me:  Molly wanted nothing to do with me tonight, and it hurt my feelings.  So, I’m calling to say sorry for all the times I did the same to you.

Sweet T:  Oh, I see.  What happened?

Me:  Nothing, really.  She just wanted nothing to do with me, which has never happened before.   She cried and screamed until Daniel came back into the room.

Sweet T:  That is so precious that she loves her Daddy, Paige. 

Me:  I know, but that’s not my point.  She didn’t want me, and that hurt.  So, I’m sorry.

Sweet T:  Well, this won’t be the last time you learn this lesson or feel this way. 

Me:  I know.

Sweet T:  And tomorrow is a whole new day.

Me:  I know.  Okay, Daniel is in here now.  I want to hear how it went.

Sweet T:  Paige, you know how it went.  She had a sweet time with him.  It’s okay. 

Me:  I know, I know. 

Daniel:  Who are you talking to?

Me:  My mom.  I called her to apologize for all the times I was mean to her and hurt her feelings.

Daniel:  (Walks out of the room) I’m going to go watch TV, this one could take awhile.

Me:  Very funny! 

Sweet T:  Talk to you later, babe.

Me:  Okay.  Love you.

Sweet T:  Love you.

I lay in bed that night feeling a bit dramatic, a bit sad, and a lot reflective.  Had a sixteen month old baby really hurt my feelings?  Well, honestly, yes.  My mom had been so sweet on the phone, but I knew I had given her a run for her money through my adolescent days.  As I connected the dots together in my head, it FINALLY hit me. 

God doesn’t lay around sulking and sad each time we reject Him.  He doesn’t talk to his friends about the struggle in our communication or read a book on how to decode our actions.  No, he ACTIVELY continues to pursue us, no matter what.  He dives into our messiness and fights for our hearts.  His love for us outweighs our tantrums so greatly, the scale’s needle doesn’t even flicker when we rebel.  I lay in my bed that night and feelings of humility and joy quickly drove out my pity party. 

Here's a day when she was a mama's girl.

Sweet T was right, tomorrow would be a new day.  And the Lord’s words that were weighing on me were also VERY right, “Don’t lean on your own understanding.”  In other words, “How you’re handling the situation or what you’re thinking is most likely wrong.  Come ask me about it, and I’ll show you the bigger picture.”  I figured if I was going to keep at this parenting thing, I better go ahead and put that in my back pocket.    

Even still, Sweet T deserved that apology…and the many more she may will receive along this journey.  So, when you have to make that apology call earlier in the game than you planned, know you are not alone.  

From: Paige