InstaFriday a la FriedOkra

As I mentioned, we've had a little chaos up in here. Last week I spent many hours trucking the contents of the entire main living space of FriedOkra Manor up the stairs into the guest bedroom.

I took this picture before things really got crazy, she said, twitching-ever-so-slightly.

Most of the furniture from the kitchen, living room, cozy room, and office has frozen its collective behind off out in the garage the past six days, except for a few pieces lucky enough to find themselves in the warm basement and the really very unlucky pieces too big to go either place, who just get shoved unceremoniously from room to room daily, depending on which area The Floor Guys (as we like to call 'em, now that they apparently live with us) are sawing and hammering and stomping around in that day.


Good times, people.


I'll share way more Before and After photos than you could ever want to see when this project wraps up, hopefully within the next 4 years.

Meantime, it's been nose-hair-freezingly cold here, so while Bean and Al have escaped to school and work, Peabody and I have been faced with the choice of staying cooped up in the master bedroom with our hands over our ears, intermittently crying, or schlepping our half-frozen selves around from public place to public space (as we inevitably wear out our welcome after a time). We've created a cocktail of both options to "amuse" ourselves. When this is over, Panera and my bedroom are both dead to me.

Peabody asked me, on the way to school today, "Where we going fer lunch tidday Mom-mom? And don't say PAMERA. We've been dere evvyday fer evver."



When I wasn't availing myself of the hot bevs at Panera, I found respite in my Keurig, which we relocated to our bathroom. This, my friends, I could get used to.



My one huge worry about getting our floors done this time of year was that one of the kids, or one of us, would be sick during the process. Twenty-four hours into the whole deal. BOOM! Peabody sunk like a stone.



See, the day before, he'd taken his first car nap in many, many months. Possibly over a year, and I said to Al, "I hope he isn't getting sick."

(These are the times I realize I've been given the spiritual gift of foretelling doom.)

Fortunately, he didn't have the flu, just some little quick virus, and even though I felt pretty bad hauling him out and all over town in Are-You-Freaking-Kidding-Me Below Zero temps, I must say that it was nice to have him just lie in my lap for a few hours at the library while I read him every book Maisy ever wrote. Maisy and I are tight now, y'all.


Not shown, Maisy Gives Up on The Floor Guys Ever Finishing and Moves to Tampa/St. Pete with Only a Box of CheezIts, a Few Panera Napkins, and The Clothes On Her Back.

Illinois is one of the most heavily-indebted states in the union, and I can explain why that is. We spend an incredible amount of money on our public parks and public libraries. It's noble, when you really think about it. I guess we just know we'll need a cozy spot to camp out when The Floor Guys take over our homes.


This statue in the courtyard (yes, one of our two local libraries sports a courtyard), reminds me so much of another cutie in braids who loves to read in this very same position.



I really, really love this place. And I'm not the only one.


"It spewz MAFFEW. And it's FABLEEUS." (It is truly fableeus. I can't deny that.)

(Do y'all remember that Bean called Peabody "Maffew" when he was born? It is so good to hear that sweet sound again. Maffew is now pretty much my favorite name, ever.)



As I mentioned, the other local library? Has a fire place. This is the same library in which I honked Gramma a few years ago. Back when Maffew was less than a year old.

Maffew is now four. He loathes four because, understandably, he wants to be six. That's when he'll get to ride on the bus and go to "Bean's school." (Which will no longer be Bean's school, but never mind that.) Every day for the past many months, Peabody has wakened up and stormed into my room at A Quarter To Dear God, I Really Can't Keep Doing This. Seriously. o'clock and demanded, "Mom, is de FOUR off me yet? Am I six?"

Sigh. I really don't have the heart to tell him about that whole FIVE thing.



Have a great weekend, y'all! xoxo

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