Making Our Nest

Whether or not we'll be in Pittsburgh much longer is still very much up in the air, but I figured, for the time being, What the hey? Why not paint the living room after all? The perfect opportunity found me last night when I dropped a baby food jar of turpentine all over my keyboard (the old iBook, not my still shiny and new MacBook, Bruce!). I quickly shut 'er down, removed the battery, and turned it upside-down to let gravity and oxygen work their magic. You see, I'd been working on this Winslow Homer copy for someone to give to their father as a Christmas gift; my reference image was on my desktop so I was painting with my laptop open. When disaster struck I was out of luck and couldn't copy from an image I couldn't see, so I took it as a sign that I should do a little home improvement. Zoe will be here in less than a week and I'd hate for her to think that we live in an urban hovel (though I doubt her taste in interior decor is on the too sophisticated side). Kellie had given me a few partial cans of paint - one a peachy pink and one sage - and I tested out the green on a smaller wall. Perfect. I slapped paint up on all but one of the walls, which I will probably cover tonight (unless, of course, I stumble upon some really killer vintage wallpaper. How I love an accent wall!). Now the room feels much more homey, though it's in desperate need of a lamp or two.

Much better, right? I should've included a before shot, too. Note the glow of the iBook on the drafting table. Still good!

You're probably wondering how Buggy's sleep has been improving. It hasn't. Granted, she's been taking longer naps, but those are only to make up for the hours a night she spends lowing. Last night was particularly awful. My original plan was to train her to sleep through the night before Ben arrived. When that failed I didn't lose heart; at least we had another visitor to anticipate and work towards a good sleeping goal. I figured December 19th gave us plenty of time to nail down good sleeping habits, but I'm dubious. While Rob understands and is supportive of letting her cry at night, Zoe is quite the opposite. She shoots me looks that could ice over Hades that can only say, You are a terrible, horrible mother. No one has known guilt until they've seen a look like this. It is the height of ocular punishment, so I need Olive to buckle down lest I be paid a visit by Child Protective Services.