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Kitchen Nook

We redid this space a few years ago. Yes, I said years, but I just found these pictures so you're welcome.

Kitchen Before:

Doesn't that make you murderous? Sorry for the shite picture. Those are potted plants on the wallpaper, y'all. Potted. Plants.

Kitchen After: (with help from the supremely badass Karrie Kaneda from Happy Habitat. Also, since this photo was taken the floors have been restained to walnut.

So much better. Although, purposely left out is the rest of the kitchen which makes me murderous in a fruit-on-the-tile kind of way. Ick. 

wall color: Benjamin Moore Balboa Mist (We did the entire house in this color. It's lovely and soft)
table: IKEA (I feel it's small for the space but whatever. I send out wishes to the universe that a perfect big Saarinen shows up one day.
chairs: West Elm (these chairs are beyond gorgeous and quite possibly the most uncomfortable chairs in the universe, especially now that I am elderly with a bad back)
Fabric: Ack! I can't find the source. The benches are in a coated cotton because kids are gross. 

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Oh So Quiet

I quit Facebook and it was awesome.

I have been debating it for YEARS. Years, I tell you.

There were so many things I hated about it but I just kept checking it every 10 minutes like a trained chimp. (For the record, there were some great things too. Just not as many as the annoying ones.)

It was a lot of noise and distraction and frankly, stuff that I didn’t care about or need to know. There was also the element of “LOOK HOW MUCH MORE FUN WE ARE HAVING THAN YOU!” Something that has proven leads to depression in some folks. And that is definitely something I do not need help with, thankyouverymuch.

After deactivating my account, I felt immense relief. Like, crazy amounts of relief.
Then panic set in. What if no one misses me? What if no one knows I’m gone? Where will I put all of the pithy comments I come up with and all of the cute pictures? How will I know what’s going on?
A classic case of FOMO.
Fear Of Missing Out.

And the nurturing voice in my head said “It’s OK.”
And it is.

Hope your summer has been swell. I got semi tan for about a week and have eaten massive amounts of berries.

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Rare Bird

I recently read this quote by Steve Maraboli and was struck by how much it reminded me of our Hadley. Our extraordinary girl.

"She is delightfully chaotic; A beautiful mess. Loving her is a splendid adventure."

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Yesterday, we took my mom with us out to lunch and to see a Christmas musical called “Home for the Holidays”. It was really great to be out with her. As I struggle to find the Christmas spirit, she’s one of those people who just sort of carries it with her all of the time. I was hoping a little of her cheeriness would rub off on me.

When we got home, I went upstairs to lie down with a heating pad. The day took an enormous amount of energy and I was paying for it.

Often times, I have my laptop to read or watch something to distract me from the pain and fatigue. My body is exhausted but I can’t sleep.

Finn came in and wanted something, a video game on his iPod or something. I said no.

He became furious and said “Sometimes I don’t think you’re tired. I think you’re just lazy.”

I was stunned.

He left the room and I started to cry.

My one fear.

The main one, actually. The fear I carry around with me all day everyday, that people think I am faking or lazy, just came out of the mouth of my child.

I collected myself and called him back in the room.

I told him he hurt my feelings. He said he didn’t mean it. That he was angry.

I tried to explain more but 9 year old boys are impatient and he was so upset that he made me cry that I could tell he just wanted to flee the situation.

So I let him.

But what he said stayed with me. And probably always will.

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Self Love




I sort of cringe even reading the words “self love”. I feel like it’s every where. (a sign perhaps?) It just sounds so cheesy and often I think to myself, I don’t need to read about that. I practice self love.

And I do love myself. I really do! I love being me.

But lately, (is it turning 40?) a rude renter is taking up space in my brain preventing me from being good to myself. I’m not used to this voice and frankly, have been too tired to fight her. I purposely choose a female pronoun. This bitch is a Heather. She tells me I’m weak and lazy because I’m sick, that I’m not smart, attractive, talented, strong or worthy.

I’m cringing even reading that.

It’s not me.

I’m all those things. And a hell of a lot more.

But when the tape in your head plays negative nelly on a never ending loop, you just start to nod and say yeah, you’re right. I’ve been brainwashed.

I knew shit had to change when I would say something and Peter would look at me like we’d never met before.

“This isn’t you” he finally said.

It’s not.

Onward and upward, MFs.


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It’s Not What You Think

Peter’s on my laptop a lot doing various things, or I should probably say UNdoing various things that I have unknowingly done, to make my computer run better.

One day recently he said “What is this file on your desktop?”

“What file?” I say.

He points to it and says “I always forget to ask you about it.”

It’s a JPG with the name “masterbat…”

I immediately start laughing and have been laughing every time I think of it.

This is the file, which is a picture.


Get it?

MASTER BATH. (I enjoy the tiling, floor, rug, and glass door)

But the “H” was cut off.

MASTERBAT(the invisible “e” is from your dirty imagination)

I think he was expecting something a little more titillating.

Laughing again.

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Taking refuge in the guest room


Feeling awful around these parts. Like, crying awful. It’s the fibromyalgia flaring, perhaps mad after surgery. (Oh yeah, recently diagnosed with Fibromyalgia. And the surgery was for a hernia. Jealous? Woo fucking hoo.)

Here’s a good place to start if you don’t know much about Fibromyalgia.

My skin radiates pain. I ache as if I walked up 54 flights of stairs while carrying a dresser on my back, looking up the entire time. It’s akin to the ache of a really hard work out on top of having the flu. I try so hard to explain it…I hope that helps. It’s different than lupus, but shares a lot of the same symptoms.

Tears streamed down my face this morning as I put Hadley’s lunch in her backpack and said “HAVE A GREAT DAY!” in my best fun voice, with my back turned to her. Finn thought the tears were because of him, because he was being a little shit this morning, so he apologized again, genuinely. (side note: He lost his screen privileges for the day – WHY does that happen on days when I REALLY need him to be occupied by a screen?)

I exhaled deeply after they left, ate cereal and took all of my meds like a good little patient.

The housekeepers were on their way over so I took pain meds, grabbed my sweetest Ollie dog, and shuffled into the guest room so they could clean the rest of the house and here I remain. Housekeepers are the biggest luxury I have in my life and I am grateful every single time they come. It is a medicine of sorts. It calms me to have a clean house plus I don’t have the energy to do it. If you know someone with a chronic illness or someone who is sick or has had surgery, a baby, what have you, send someone to clean their house. It’s the ultimate.

In happier news, it’s almost summer y’all. I am not as anxious as I have been years past. Maybe that is because it’s still 2 weeks away but perhaps it’s because I feel prepared. Finn’s doing a parkour camp, lacrosse, skateboarding, and rock band camp. Hadley is doing rock band camp as well, but has deemed all other camps “stupid.” Hm. I think I’m more relaxed because they are older, so I don’t have to be as involved. Finn will be 9 in July and HJ is 11. Good independent ages. (Although, talk to me 2 weeks into summer when I start drinking at 3 because they’re making me crazy.)

I took the kids to Old Navy a few days ago to get a few summer necessities and I told them that they may each pick out two things. I knew Hadley would have no problem (two maxi dresses) but I was interested to see what Finny would pick out since he doesn’t usually shop with me. Both Peter and Finn don’t care what they wear as long as its comfy so I usually just buy stuff for them.

He chose a straw fedora (? – so cute) and a pair of slip on addidas like flip flops. He wanted them, but he was torn because all of the other kids wear between the toe flip flops and he didn’t want to be different. I leaned down and said “Who Cares? Uncle Vince doesn’t wear between the toe flip flops either because he doesn’t like them and he’s the coolest.”

Finn’s face relaxed and he smiled. That was all it took.  “Oh! Ok, good. Then I’ll get these.”

While they were perusing, I collapsed on a bench near the dressing rooms. I somehow got involved in a debate between a woman and her girlfriend about which bikini looked better on the girlfriend. It was one of those moments that I love where you develop a familiarity with strangers really quickly that makes them feel like dear friends and that we’re all in this life together, which we are.


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