Ceci 2.0

Amanda and me at her baby shower last month. See my wavy hair? Amanda taught me that.

Amanda was 25—a friend of a friend's whom I "just had to meet", because "we had so much in common." I, on the other hand, had just pushed into my 30s and had given birth to Caedmon 10 months prior. I was still sporting a prominent baby bump, had the tell-tale ring of post-partum fuzz at my hairline and traces of spit-up on my shoulder. I was tired and run-down. An image of a bedraggled dog—the mother of our childhood puppy, Indee—had been etched in my memory oh-so-many years ago and resurfaced now each time I looked in the mirror. Once a prized Sheltie, Indee's mom now had fur that was long, stringy, and limp. Her teats hung low and heavy, and she had looked worn and unkempt. At 16, I didn't have the maturity to see the bigger beauty in a mother's sacrifice; all I saw was a wreck of a once-beauty, and I felt sorry for her. Fourteen years later, I had become Indee’s mom.

This was the state I was in when our matchmaker friend set up a lunch date for me and Amanda.

Upon arriving, Amanda bounded up to me, bright-eyed, perky, no baby flab in sight. Her hair tumbled down her shoulders in loose waves, and she wore a bright blue blouse with cheery white polka dots and a red felt flower pinned jauntily to her lapel. This was over a pair of tailored skinny jeans that I knew, for me, were about a bajillion lunges away. Her ensemble was polished and exclaimed classic yet fun. I'm pretty sure I wore a potato sack.

But despite our apparent discrepancy in appearance, we, indeed, had much in common. Too much. This is how our conversation went:

    Amanda: "So, Cecilia, what do you do?"

    Me: "I was a teacher until I had my son, and now I stay home with him."

    Amanda: "Oh, I used to teach, too. I got my Masters in Education and then I taught for 5 ½ years.                         You?”

    Me: “Um, no Masters. And I only taught for two years until the kiddo came…” And then to change                 the subject, “Um, I really like to bake...”

Not yet sensing the self-effacing danger I was in, I offered, "When I first moved up here, my sister-in-law and I set up a bakery of sorts. We sold a few items to friends, but it was mostly for fun." I chuckled, remembering our bakery that was more of a grown-up lemonade stand, born out of our shared boredom and temporary unemployment.

    Amanda: “Oh, that's so funny! I actually started my own professional bakery! I make wedding cakes                     and cupcakes and French macarons. In fact, I have 200 rattle-shaped sugar cookies                        cooling at home before I decorate them for a baby shower this weekend."

My eyes narrowed to slits.

    “I run.”

    “So do I!”

    

    “I like to craft and make things with my hands.”

    “I love crafting. I am in the middle of painting my dressing room walls with giant gold polka dots,         and I have this vintage dresser I found at a thrift store that I’m refinishing.”

    "I have two dogs," I offered, warily.

Need I say it? Amanda, of course, had three.

Our conversation was turning all too predictable, and I was turning all too pathetic with self-loathing. When we said goodbye, I made a beeline for my car. Can you blame me that I wasn't super keen on furthering this demoralizing friendship with Amanda?

Later that night, while getting ready for bed, I related the day's earlier events to Wayne. "It was just weird," I said, "how much we have in common. It's like she studied my life but somehow did everything better.” "It’s Ceci 2.0!" He grinned at his joke, because this was clearly amusing to him.

I turned my head haughtily away, and as I did so, I caught the heavily-bagged eye of Indee’s mom in the mirror. He was right. Amanda was the younger, cuter, more successful, less lumpy version of me. She was, indeed, Ceci 2.0. And I did not like it one bit. I quickly waved it off, though. It didn't matter that there was a beta version of me jogging with her three dogs around my town, because I had no intentions of pursuing this friendship.

But Amanda had a different idea. Not only was she younger, cuter, and more successful, she was also friendlier and more generous, and so shortly after our lunch date, she called to hang out again. 

    "Aw, I'm sorry, but I'm busy next week," I said. 

    "The next week, then?" was Amanda's reply. 

I pretended to flip through my planner. "You know, I have this thing..." 

    "No problem,” Amanda chirped, “my calendar is open the following week!" 

Apparently, she was also dogged and relentless. There were only so many "things" I could be involved in, so eventually, we settled on a date to meet up and craft.

Over fabric shopping and reupholstering our chairs, I found out that she, too, owned the same yellow paisley picture frame that was sitting in my guest room (of course), that we both got married on vineyards (where else?), and get this, the tag lines to our bakeries, that we had come up with on our own years before, were worded almost exactly the same: my Sweet treats for those sweet occasions to her Sweet treats made to order for all occasions (I mean, what the heck?!). It was unnerving.

But then I also learned about Amanda's classroom and how she stuck mustaches on all her students one year for a class picture, her unsuccessful efforts to end her tutoring gig that somehow resulted in an addition of more hours to her already busy schedule, and that, when we got deeper, she had battled extensively, sometimes fiercely, with her self-image in college and is now all the stronger for it. And that's when something began to change. Against my initial will, Amanda was fast becoming a friend. When we said goodbye, this time, I was the one who asked when we could hang out again.

Later on, we would collaborate on numerous crafting projects and make frequent trips “to town” (what I’ve dubbed Roseville, our closest city with an Anthropologie and Crate and Barrel), and I began to trust Amanda’s friendship, as well as her sense of style. It was over these subsequent trips that Amanda helped me out of my post-partum jeans-and-loose-cotton-tee rut, and challenged me with more flattering silhouettes, bold colors, and pairing—gasp—patterns with patterns (who am I kidding; I’m still not that brave). And over clothing racks and lunch, we’d share more stories of life—listening, relating, and offering advice when applicable.

It has been almost two years now, and Amanda has become one of my dearest companions. I am so thankful that I—or Amanda, really—didn't let my cattiness and insecurities get in the way of what has become a true-blue friendship. 

Amanda will be having her first baby in January (a boy—another thing we will have in common), and I can genuinely and passionately say that I am so excited for her in this next life chapter, and to be able to share all the ups and downs of running after a little one. And if, though unlikely, she ends up looking and feeling like Indee's mom, I'll be there to tell her that I've, too, been there. And we'll commiserate, and do some crunches, and go shopping, and laugh at, yet, another shared experience between my second edition and me.

Garbage Man Caedmon

Friday mornings are charged with excitement and anticipation, because it's garbage day! The trucks usually start coming during breakfast, and everything stops in our house for this weekly spectacle. At the first distant rumble, Caedmon's face lights up in an urgent smile as he points towards the door. "Mama! Mama! A-vvvah! A-vvvah!" (A speech therapist has recommended a hearing test for Caedmon to help diagnose his speech delay, but I should have mentioned his canine hearing when it comes to vehicular reverberations. I'm pretty sure, for this reason alone, his hearing is fine.)

Off flies the bib as I quickly work to remove his highchair tray. His arms are already upstretched and primed as I whisk him onto my hip. In a flash, we're out the door—me, running awkwardly in Wayne's oversized flip-flops, and Caedmon, bobbing like a rag doll and shrieking with giddiness as we approach the sidewalk. And then we see it. A blue beast with blinking lights, roaring as it swallows our neighborhood's trash, house by house.

It's always the recycling/yard waste truck first, rumbling down from the northwest, and then soon, the garbage truck will follow, rounding the bend from the east. (I know their routes by heart.) The fact that they drive by (four times, thanks to our corner lot!) in Caedmon's favorite vehicle is reason enough for celebration. But they don't just drive by. Mr. Rod and Mr. Chris always stop to say "hello" and offer Caedmon a lollipop. (Which I stow away. We have been collecting two lollipops a week for the past year, and yes, I gave them out on Halloween... is that bad? Only recently has Caedmon realized he can eat these things, and so sometimes, I do allow him a few licks.)

It is for this reason I know Mr. Rod attends car shows and recently celebrated a birthday, and Mr. Chris has a daughter who just spent a summer abroad. It is for this reason they know I have a sister and nephew who are far away and who I miss dearly. It is for this reason that it is not just Caedmon who looks forward to garbage day, but I do as well, because it reminds me that there are yet genuinely kind and decent people out there who will stop and give a kid a lollipop and spread some good cheer and camaraderie.

For Halloween this year (which happened to fall on a Friday), Caedmon dressed up as Mr. Rod and Mr. Chris. They make our morning every week, and I hope that yesterday morning, we helped make theirs.

Caedmon was actually very overwhelmed with all the sudden commotion and attention. Though he LOVES these trucks, he's still a super shy boy and kept looking down, even after Mr. Rod gave him a lollipop. (Note Wayne's flip-flops on my feet.)

It looks like Caedmon is running with open arms towards Mr. Chris. I'm going to keep this real—Caedmon is backing away.

And then he whines when Mr. Rod and Mr. Chris get back into their trucks to go. This is the case with all people he expresses displeasure at upon meeting. (And I have to explain, "He really does enjoy your company...")

And then, see? He's happy again.

my little introvert...

While trick-or-treating, Caedmon carried his candy in his garbage truck. I was actually VERY proud that he braved walking to strangers' doorsteps! We had to watch a few groups of kids come to our house first, but this is testament to how much he loves candy!

Going through his loot while Lucy looks on... What a fun day and night!

The Heart of Tithing (and How Caedmon is a Pig)

Don't touch my strawberries!

The spring of 2004 was when I first learned about the heart of tithing. I had just graduated from college, and as a young professional recently moved home, this was a timely and powerful message.

The then-head pastor at the church I was attending (The River in San Jose) spent weeks on a sermon series in which he explained not just the necessity of tithing, but the gravity and holiness of the act. He exhorted us to give faithfully, because our monthly tithe is not just a commandment to follow, but it is communion and worship of our loving God. As an experiment, the tithing buckets by the door were whisked away, and instead, our time of tithing became incorporated into the service during the portion of worship through song. Low tables, alit with candles, were set up at various locations around the darkened auditorium, and we were invited to come and kneel before our God, bringing our humble offerings to His feet. (Much as how, perhaps, the ancient Israelites approached God's altar and offered their tithes—their tenths... minus the slaughtering of goats and rendering of fat.) It was intimate. It was so incredibly joyous. It was worship. And I grew so much more fully aware of God's goodness. Even after I moved out of my parents' home and on with my life, this experience has stayed with me.

Recently, I've been reminded of this truth and also given an added perspective on God's desire for our offerings, at the unlikely place of my dining table. 

Caedmon, like all littles, is so completely selfish and greedy. Given a bowl of strawberries, he will eat the entire thing without any awareness of those around him. Sometimes he even shows off, holding up a strawberry like a prized jewel. "Mama!" he chirps, turning his gem side to side as if to catch the light, flaunting his wealth. But if I so much as touch one of his precious morsels, he raises a loud ruckus, shaking his head and reaching for the stolen goods.

And so we've joined the chorus of baby-infested (I mean, -blessed) homes across the world. "Share," we croon and cajole. I give Caedmon his portion of strawberries and intentionally ask him to share with me. I give him as much as I know he can handle. I give to him in hopes that he will learn to give back on his own volition.

Isn't that like God and how He asks us for our first fruits?  God doesn't need my portion any more than I need strawberries from Caedmon, but I ask, because I am asking for Caedmon's good. I ask in order to condition his heart to love, to obey, to keep a loose grip on his things, to put me above his possessions... and I ask because I have another basketful of strawberries I bought just for him in the refrigerator, that I can't wait to give him.  But I must tend to his heart first. And so I keep asking. Afterall, I want him to give with a cheerful heart. 

He squawks. He usually just stuffs the fruit in his mouth before I can do anything about it and gives me a mischievous grin. Sometimes, he even opens wide his mouth to show me its contents, as if to say, "You want some? Here, come and get it!"

Tonight was another round of baby-bartering.

"Share, Caedmon." I asked him brightly. "Please." He stuffed the strawberry in his mouth and grinned.

"Caedmon, Mommy gave these to you. Can you give one to Mommy? It is kind and loving to share." Another strawberry flew into his mouth. 

"Look," I gestured to the bowl of strawberries on the table. "Mom has so many more strawberries to give you. I'm asking that you give just one."

At this, Caedmon picked up his last strawberry, and slowly brought it to my waiting mouth. "Awww," I gushed. My heart filled with warmth, and I swelled with pride. My boy was learning to love.

I brought my mouth closer to his offering, and just as I started to bite down, Caedmon yanked the strawberry back possessively so that what I got was just a sliver of fruit. He cackled and stuffed the rest of the morsel into his mouth. Tithe = 10%, right?

Yeah... we're working on it.

Old Stomping Grounds: San Diego

Back in July, Wayne had the opportunity to attend an AP conference in San Diego (so whimsically named "AP by the Sea"), and so we tacked on a few extra days and made a family vacation out of it! I've already alluded to some of the horrors of traveling with a toddler, but as a whole, and even in individual parts, it was a very fun time! Because even a spirited two-year-old can't (completely) spoil our time seeing dear friends and visiting old stomping grounds in a city which Wayne and I hold so, so dear to our hearts.

One of my favorite parts of the trip was bringing Caedmon to the beach for the first time. He LOVED the sand and was AMAZED when I showed him how to make "sand castles" by flipping over a bucket filled with damp sand. AH-mazed. He also had his first taste of genuine SoCal fish tacos from South Beach in Ocean Beach (a mouthful, I know), but the best was when Caedmon met the ocean. I can still hear his shrieks and giggles... (mostly because Caedmon loves replaying the video clip over and over and over... and over again).

Wait, what?! How did you do that?

He's enjoying himself so much that you can kind of see some drool glistening from his lips.

Taking a bite of South Beach's incredible fish tacos... NOT a meal for the napkin-less.

Hm... I shall write it up as... inventive yet unpresumptuous.

We had just suggested that we walk into the waves. I love his look of concerned anticipation.

Here it comes!

And then he loved it...

... until he got some water up his nose, and then he didn't want to go in anymore.

Another highlight was visiting UCSD again. Oh, my goodness—how it has changed! And how we have, too, made especially apparent by our little guy running around our old campus.

Our block on Library Walk! This shot took about a gajillion takes. Caedmon's zombie-gaze is due to the video we're holding up as a carrot next to the camera lens.

This kid is forever climbing...

forever running...

dancing...

... and sometimes pontificating.

Peterson Hall is where Wayne and I met that fateful night of the Harvest scavenger hunt. Who knew that out of that night would emerge an enduring friendship, and then many years later, this rambunctious little boy! (Though if someone had told me this that evening, I would have FREAKED. OUT.)

In the Muir Quad. My Freshman dorm window was the fourth one down from the top, facing the quad (right above Wayne's little fluffy hairs). 7th floor Tioga!

Geisel Library

 And here are two last pictures of us in the Gaslamp...

... running, as usual.

... and wreaking havoc on the traffic signals. That's my boy!

Hello, City Bus!

Caedmon, like many little boys, has an obsession with all things motors and wheels—the bigger the better. You can imagine what it's like to drive down the street with this kid as we pass 3+-axled vehicles—trucks, big rigs, car transporters. He does not yet talk (much), but that in no way curbs his enthusiasm: "Mama! A-Mama! Eh! Eh! Eh! A-Vvvvvah! A-Vvvvvah!" And it only escalates if I don't acknowledge the grand splendor outside his window; he just needs to share this with the world!

Lately, we have witnessed a new emotion—pining. Whenever a bus drives by, Caedmon gesticulates wildly—flailing, grunting, squealing—and then my little piglet points desperately to himself: "Inside!" We've noticed it since our trip to San Diego when, walking along the streets of the Gaslamp and getting up close to the dense traffic around us, he made a discovery that probably rocked his world: people sit inside these great glorious machines. He's been wanting a part of this action since.

It's funny that he's only recently made this connection, because we've been reading a book with him called Hello, City Bus! for the past year. In it, little animals wait in line and ride the city bus across town. (Spoiler alert: they get to their destination. It's riveting.) But I guess when you're two, and your world is not only new and unfamiliar, but also filled with a bunch of UNTRUE stuff (like little animals who wait in line and ride a city bus across town), it takes some time to figure out what is real and genuinely awesome. Riding the city bus is one of them.

And so a few days ago, we, being the amazing parents we are, cleared our morning schedules to make our son's dream come true. We looked up bus routes and times—or I should say, Wayne looked up bus routes and times, because this little suburbanite gave up with the maps and time tables and handed it over to her husband. (This is why, despite the fact that I can swim really well, I would make a sucky partner for The Amazing Race.) After counting out exact change for fare, we were off on our adventure... to Target! And if you ask Caedmon, I'm sure he'd tell you it was the best day, which is all that matters.

(Actually, he'd probably just grunt. But you get the idea.)

Here comes the bus!

We are getting on the bus! (Though the real reason I included this picture is because it captures the good hair day I was having. These are few and far between and must be celebrated.)

This is the face of a boy whose dreams are being actualized.

Contentment. Right here.

After our trip to Target and a scarfed down lunch at L&L (hurried, in order to catch the bus—who knew bus-riding could be so stressful?), Caedmon excitedly announced the bus's approach: "Mama! A-Mama! Eh! Eh! Eh! A-Vvvvvah! A-Vvvvvah!"

"Are we done yet with this selfie business? I want to get back to my window."

And then it was time to say, "Goodbye". I look a lot more distressed than Caedmon, but what you can't hear is Caedmon's whimpering as he points to his chest: "Inside!"

So sad. Next time, Buddy!

Giving In AND Being a Good Mom

We are on Day 6 (of 9) of our San Diego/LA trip, and while we're having a grand ol' time, Caedmon is surely feeling the strain of constant late nights and early mornings.  On Tuesday, I took him with me to meet with an old friend for lunch, and all of these late nights and early mornings manifested itself into one horribly whiny, restless, screaming toddler who could have been a poster child for birth control.  I think I spotted little horns sprouting from his head. 

It was definitely the worst experience I've had with him at a restaurant yet, and though I took him outside several times to discipline him (which usually works), it did nothing to quell his tantrums.  To rub salt into the wound, next to us were two tables practically brimming with highchair-aged children, all sitting prettily and obediently.  I was mortified. And I was frustrated that I didn't get to catch up with my friend very well at all.  I found myself explaining apologetically, "He's not always like this", which is really what moms with misbehaving children say to make themselves feel better.  There was no question about it, I was paying for her lunch; I felt so bad. 

Afterwards, I kept thinking about what transpired earlier that day. In the back of my mind and diaper bag had sat a guaranteed solution to Caedmon's tantrums—an old disconnected smartphone that we use as a video device. Caedmon loves videos (what toddler does not?), but I try to limit his screen time, because well, that's the Good Mom thing to do. A Good Mom feeds her children healthy, well-balanced meals without too many sugary snacks in between.  A Good Mom teaches obedience with firm yet gentle rebukes.  And a Good Mom most definitely limits screen time. A Good Mom doesn't sedate her child every time she needs him to behave, which isn't obedience at all but a state of comatosis.  And a Good Mom definitely wouldn't give her child the device as a reward for his ill-behavior.  And I want to be a Good Mom.  Still, I couldn't help but think that by sticking to my no-screen-time convictions, I had simply set us all up for failure.

Though I don't want to be an indulgent parent who creates a virtual monster, I also don't want to be so rigid that in training up my child, I miss the larger perspective that along with striving to be a Good Mom, I am also a wife, a friend, a sister.  Balancing and valuing these different roles is just as important as embracing my role as mother. Caedmon's problem was that he didn't know how to exercise self-control at the table, and he surely wasn't going to learn how in that moment while I was out with my friend, when he was already tired and cranky.  Perhaps I should have been more acute to signs of early meltdown, and considering the priority of meeting with a faraway friend I hadn't seen in years, offered the device as a reward for doing something good, anything good (and then kept a mental note to work extra hard on this obedience thing at home). 

Today, I had another lunch date with an old coworker and dear friend, and with my diaper bag slightly bulgier than usual, I was armed with a smarter and fuller arsenal.  And I wasn't afraid to use it.  BAM!  Out came the freeze-dried fruit chips *gasp* before lunch.  ZAP!  Graham cracker cookie bites are oh-so-yummy instead of the quesadilla ordered for lunch. POW!  Whining? Have some fruit snacks.  I was prepared to pull out the bazooka—the smartphone—when I realized I had accidentally left it behind (blast!), but thankfully, there was a bulldozer shoveling dirt RIGHT OUTSIDE THE WINDOW. I kid you not. It was like God sent me an angel in the form of a Cat construction vehicle.  

And so Caedmon was stuffed with sugary treats (more or less wholegrain and made with all-natural fruit juice, this defensive mommy insists on adding), but he was content, and I was too, because this friend and I were able to talk and reconnect and reminisce, which is salve for any soul.  And when we return from vacation, we'll work on table manners—apart from long-awaited reunions with friends and unassuming diners trying to enjoy their meals. Sugary snacks and Veggie Tales galore will not be a norm, but sometimes, I need to know when to give in a little, for my sake as well as his.  

Because, really, I'd go broke if I kept paying for lunch. 

How to Train Your Dragon

According to the Chinese zodiac, babies born in the year of the dragon are dynamic, powerful born leaders who, on the flip side, are also feisty, aggressive, irritable, stubborn, and insistent upon getting their way.  Such is the yin and yang of life, isn't it?  For every virtue, there is an equivalent vice, which is really just the virtue in its raw, unhoned form.  

True to his birth year, Caedmon is most definitely such a dragon.  And at 26 months, he is right on cue in reaching his terrible twos. This, coupled with three weeks in the care of overindulgent grandparents while I worked an abnormally full schedule, has resulted in Caedmon showing more of his vices than virtues.  He is, indeed, feisty, aggressive, irritable, stubborn, insistent upon getting his way, and may I add, volatile.  He is definitely in his unhoned form.  I think if he could breathe fire, he would.  

I understand that all toddlers test their limits, but Wayne and I are also recognizing that Caedmon seems especially strong-willed.  We recognize the traits—fierce independence, a tenacious spirit, stubborn resolve, and fearless abandon.  To our chagrin, we suspect that Caedmon is simply a reflection of our strongest attributes—Wayne’s stubbornness and my passionate nature.

So then my quest is really how to train my dragon, to discipline my child.

Of course, I've done my research.  I've talked with other moms.  And naturally, me being me, I've read books.  

I am encouraged by author and theologian John Piper who recently wrote a compelling piece on his blog, exhorting parents to teach their children obedience not simply because it's commendable, but because it's imperative to their eternal well-being.  Or Ted Tripp in Shepherding a Child’s Heart or Ginger Plowman in Don’t Make Me Count to Three who teach that we must tend to the hearts of our children, where the root of the undesired action lies... yes, to use the rod, but to do so responsibly and in constant conjunction with loving communication, a solid relational foundation, and regular review of the Word which maintains that our Father desires our obedience for our GOOD.  We are to discipline our children not merely to elicit behavior modification, but to foster true character growth.  I am not just convinced, I am convicted.  There is so much I want to teach Caedmon so that he grows in the way of the Lord. 

And so I'm girded with practical advice, Biblical references, and the best of intentions... I am ready to tame this beast.  Cue heroic music.  

But then Caedmon screams while I'm checking out a book at the library.  And I feel the disdainful looks of the other moms whose children are quietly flipping through The Rainbow Fish and Amelia Bedilia (or maybe these are looks of empathy, but I'm too self-conscious to notice).  He melts into a pool at my feet while I'm trying to get to the bathroom, so that I am now shuffling and dragging a wailing toddler behind me.  He clenches his fists while his face turns red, his tantrum reaching a new decibel—all because we turned off his Veggietales.

In one fiery bellow, Caedmon has set my well-meaning plans aflame, singeing my outward confidence and my baby hairs, but not my inner resolve.  I will press on, because I believe my efforts are significant… even though the “how” in the equation is still (quite) a bit elusive.

I am heartened by the small bit of progress we’ve seen recently.  In the two weeks that summer has begun, and I have been home with Caedmon exclusively, we have made significant headway in obedience-training.  And by “training” I am really referring to myself, because I am learning to set limits for a two-year-old, to be firm with my baby, how to teach what is right and wrong, and how to administer loving discipline when he falters.  (And how to keep a straight face when he, say, draws all over himself with markers or brings me a clump of Lucy’s poo.)  This is no small feat, and just last week, I was able to change Caedmon’s diaper without his throwing a tantrum!  Get this—I said firmly to him, “Caedmon, Mommy is going to change your diaper.  I do not want you to cry or whine.  If you do, you will get a spanking.  Understand?”  To which he nodded, “Yes.”  And… he took my hand and QUIETLY and HAPPILY walked to his room.  Whoa.  I was floored, and honestly, still am a little.

Small steps.  But I’ll take small steps if they’re headed in the right direction.

Training my dragon on the obstacle course.

Moving In Together: Our New (Old) Home

To make more room for Caedmon to play and for (potential) future kiddos (no, we are not expecting!), our little nest has been going through some minor reshuffling and redecorating.

Our major obstacle in maximizing our three-bedroom abode was maintaining a space for both me and Wayne to work on our individual projects--me with my scrapbooking and crafts, and Wayne with his... computer games.  (Okay, I guess there's also lesson planning for work and preparing for Bible study... but definitely plenty of computer games.) Our ultimate solution was to purchase a smaller desk for Wayne and move both desks into our bedroom, along with our brimming bookshelves which were originally in the guestroom.   Before babies were in the equation, we both had our own entire rooms, so this moving in together took some adjusting to.  We joke that our new arrangement is reminiscent of dorm life, or that with all this added furniture in one small space, it's like living in an IKEA showroom, but actually, I quite like our new set-up.

Here are some before and after photos:

 Master Bedroom--Before

I can't believe we lived in this sad, sad cell for over four years before putting up any sort of decor or color!  Since it was a room that most people didn't see but us, it became last on my priority list.

After

This is much happier!  And a smarter use of space.  1. Framed fabric, inspired by a friend's crafting post.  2. Wayne's smaller, sleeker desk operates as a work station and nightstand.  Side storage compartment houses messy computer wires and a built-in USB hub.  3. What a difference one decorative pillow makes!  4. Billy bookcases from IKEA lined in the back with shelf paper for a custom look.  5. These lamps from Target placed up high were an economical alternative to recessed lighting.  6. My big, honking desk fits!  Yay!

Wall gallery of photos FINALLY up!

Living Room--Before

After

1. I constructed this window seat using two IKEA Kallax shelves, following this tutorial.  2. IKEA Drona fabric bins in white are painted with fabric paint to coordinate (I used Martha Stewart satin finish craft paint in "wet cement".)  3. Envelope pillow covers are my new sewing obsession!  4. Rug from overstock.com.

 Caedmon now has so much more space to play, and his toys are neatly tucked away when not in use.

Some window seat tutorials recommend attaching legs to the bottom of the structure, but when we did, the seat was too high for my short limbs, so we had to take them off.  Another roadblock we came across was how to level the window seat, since ours rests partially on the rug and hardwood.  What we ended up doing was inserting random pieces of thin wood under the seat on the hardwood (an extra shelf from a bookcase and leftover wainscoting from the previous homeowners)--simple, economical, and effective!

Guest Room--Before

After

This room is definitely still a work in progress, as I'd like to put up curtains and, perhaps, reupholster the armchair, which right now, is a complete eyesore against the grays and yellows. Still, I don't want to invest too much into this room, since it will be probably be Caedmon's before long, and I'll have to change everything again.  I do absolutely love the map art from my sister and brother-in-law; it will work even when this room becomes Caedmon's.