seven

The date of this post and the state of these flowers should say a little something about life lately around here.

More soon.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched Neighbors. Read We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler, Orange Is the New Black by Piper Kerman, and Still Life With Breadcrumbs by Anna Quindlan.

life lately

We finally got our dining room painted, and we rehung these shelves so we could showcase this glassware.

While we aren't in preschool yet, we've been enjoying more group activities... soccer, for one. Go Turkeys!

And nature class with the Community School...

Boys in the woods

Friends

And weekly storytime with our favorite librarians at the Takoma DC Library, followed by lunches at Soupergirl. (Of course, that's Boy Beeton's favorite place to eat.)

Lantern, spider, snow globe, and falling down man

And some Halloween decorating...

And so very many good books!

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched This Is Where I Leave You and The One I Love.

yup. it's been that kind of month.

All you can do is keep sweeping, Martha

chalk

So excited to come home and find this...

There is no such thing as too much chalkboard paint.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Wild by Cheryl Strayed.

psa

The title of this post should really be "Awkward."

You see, lately, I've been having some trouble with people mispronouncing my name. When I dialed my voicemail late last week and heard the electronic notice "Messages for Caro-LINE Smith," it was the last straw. I've got to correct this problem, I thought. And fast.

To be honest, I haven't always had an issue with people mispronouncing my name. But, as Mr. Beeton noted when I complained to him of the problem, today, people more directly associate me with my written name; email, Facebook, and Instagram all mark me with a LINE instead of a LYNNE as my parents did. This "misspelling" didn't used to be a problem because when people first interacted with me I introduced myself as Caro-LYNNE, and since they were hearing me and others pronounce it more frequently than they had to read it, it never became a significant problem.

Whenever someone mispronounces my name, I cringe, but I usually let it go. More often than not, when I correct someone, they retaliate with, "Are you sure? But it's spelled Caro-LINE." I mean. What do you say to that? I usually flippantly respond, "Yup. My parents didn't know how to spell." Believe me, no matter how you spell it, it's Caro-LYNNE. At least, that's what it has been since I was born.

I had a whole snarky post written about how there are lots of "Caro-LINES" who are actually "Caro-LYNNES" - Caroline Kennedy and Caroline Ingalls. But, then I found these...





Okay. So maybe not all Caro-LINES are Caro-LYNNES. But this one is.

Keep sweeping, Martha

* My worst Caro-LINE moment came at my wedding when the minister presiding over the ceremony said Caro-LINE (an honest mistake on his part, again the spelling versus hearing thing). Mr. Beeton panicked, though, worried that we weren't officially married since my correct name hadn't been said.

with his merry men

Watched Girl Most Likely.

Keep sweeping, Martha

ocnj

blackout

Remember last summer? The summer of leaning back? Well, suffice it to say that the Summer of 2014 is a far cry from that.* It's been a bit of a grind. This administrative position, which I am so ill-suited for, has been stealing away the tranquil moments of last summer, the bubble blowing and popsicle eating. It's tough. And I'm not happy with it. But, I'm trudging onward.

It's times like these when you just want to curl up on your bed and draw the shades.

When we moved Boy Beeton to the guest room, we had reservations. The move made sense because the room was bigger, and it didn't have a shared wall with our neighbors. But, it's also in the back of the house and gets a lot of sun. In the winter, it sometimes feels like a greenhouse in there, all steamy and warm.

I knew, if we were to see past 6:30 am, we needed some serious blackout curtains. I looked online and found this tutorial. I had bought white fabric ages ago in the hopes of making curtains for our guest room, which looked like this:

But, I never got around to it. Instead, I used the white fabric as the base for Boy Beeton's curtains, and I edged them in this orange fabric, which looks curiously like a pair of shorts I own (channeling my inner Maria, I guess):

I ordered blackout fabric and cut it to size. I dug out some old curtain clips that we had bought on clearance when West Elm downtown closed and hung everything together. You wouldn't believe how well they work. The sun tries its best to sneak through, but these curtains are unstoppable.

Boy Beeton's room is now the ultimate place to curl up and shut out the rest of the world. That's probably why - when I'm laying in there at night as Boy Beeton falls asleep - that I fall asleep too. I'm blaming the curtains.

Keep sweeping, Martha

* Borrowing R's asterisk technique. Don't worry about me too much. We did manage to get to the pop shop, and we have blown our share of bubbles. Our friends from Savannah came to visit, and we also snuck in quick trips to Deep Creek Lake, Raleigh, and Annapolis. And, last night was glorious - dinner and a movie with a dear friend.

Watched Boyhood.

nodding off

Stop sweating me so hard, Land of Nod.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Bringing Up Bebe by Pamela Druckerman. Watched Frozen.

happy fourth

We are loving our new Fourth of July tradition - the Takoma Park parade at our friends' house on Maple Avenue (they throw a fabulous party!). Nothing says the Fourth like the 9/11 Truth Seekers and the Attachment Parenting Group all marching together in harmony.

2014

And flashback a year...

2013

I realize I've been missing in action a bit lately. I promise to return soon with a more complete update of our summer adventures. 

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading Donna Tartt's The Goldfinch (loved).

iii

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading (or listening to?) The Snow Queen by Michael Cunningham.

so this happened

swatch watch

mccormick and schmick's

republic happy hour

brunch at bread & chocolate - twice

drybar bethesda

georgetown cupcakes

lucky strike bowling

the friends

the family

the exhibit

If this, my friends, is forty, I'll take it. 

Keep sweeping, Martha

100 happy (or at least 5)

It was raining today. Hard. And it's the end of the semester. Also hard. So, just a few things that have been making me smile lately.

upper left: my younghouselove octopus; upper right: my teal lamp from Target; lower left: my jade plant; lower right: my display of necklaces

Also, pic stitch (Thank you, babysitter!)

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri.

life lately

cherry blossoms on their way

my recent pastime

garden fun

only boring people are bored

Keep sweeping, Martha

je bave (because everything sounds better in French)

Can we all just drool over this house? That piano! That secretary desk! That successful Etsy shop!

Keep sweeping, Martha

the cruelest month

Things have not been going very smoothly over here at the Beeton household. Right now, we have this tally... Bridget Jones' style.

1 new car, 1 new car sideswiped

1 experiment completed, 1 cold room heat-up, resulting in the combustion of said experiment

1 stressed out toddler who "Doesn't want to go to the nanny share!!!!"

1 momma who is trying to juggle teaching her class, being a competent administrator, and writing an academic analysis of Betty Draper's parenting practices for a conference next week

And it's snowing. Again.

That's why - no matter what - on the only nice day in a while, you just have to head to Brookside Gardens. A little green makes everyone better.

Even if it was followed by projectile vomitting in the backseat of the new car on the way home.

Keep shoveling.

Martha

moody

I love the mood boards that home design bloggers often post to show their inspiration for certain rooms. In high school, I obsessively collected various home design magazines (Country Living was a favorite), clipping photographs of inspiring rooms and tucking them away in a folder. I still have that folder in one of the drawers of my desk, and I pull it out occasionally to see how my taste has - or has not - changed.

Though I have a mood board for the kitchen and one for the dining room, I didn't come up with one for Baby Beeton's room. Instead, I realized as I was putting pieces that I loved together that those pieces were the inspiration for the room.

The felt board the elves made for Christmas.

The Seattle print that Great Aunt K gave us one year along with a clementine box that I saved because I loved the colors.

The mini-rocking chair that Great Grandpa made with the seat cushion that Great Grandma made.

These items - with their navy, orange, red, and turquoise hues - are what has defined Baby Beeton's room. They dictated that I bring in an old yellow and aqua owl bank from Mr. Beeton's Grammy as well as Mr. Beeton's Snoopy bank from when he was a little boy. It's the reason why a photo of Ella and Baby Beeton rest on the side table next to a Westie plant potter that Mr. Beeton got me one Valentine's Day.

Slowly, the room is coming together. We have a radiator cover that we got on craiglist that we'll paint navy, the grating white. We'll stack books on top with these bookends. I'd love to get a Color + Plus turquoise lamp for the dresser. And these Superhero prints from Etsy. And a big wall clock like this one. Maybe a bird cage or two. And a crazy quilt for snuggling.

Decorating is the best.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Finished reading It Sucked and Then I Cried: How I Had a Baby, A Breakdown, and a Much Needed Margarita by Heather Armstrong.

in the middle of a snowstorm

a little self-shaming never hurt anyone

It's been a rough week here at the Beeton household. I've been transitioning to a new position at work. Mr. Beeton just got his spring class schedule and found out that he's teaching at exactly the time I am teaching on Tuesdays. We've been scrambling to find childcare for that afternoon. It's just been bleck.

Not to mention this...

What is that, you ask? Well, it's a certified mess. A few weeks ago we decided to transition Baby Beeton into the guest room and move our guest room into Baby Beeton's nursery. We were full of good intentions, but life got in the way. I feel like I need a shot of motivation to get this project going again, but I'm not sure how to do it.

And then I remembered people like Yuka. When I taught a course entitled "The Personal Is Political: Writing About Women's Autobiographies," I did a segment on documentaries. We watched Yuka's Fat Chance - a really delightful and thoughtful chronicle of her struggle to lose weight. At one point, she addresses the fact that it's a little nutty to document what she sees as shameful - her extra body weight. But, she laughs, a little self-shaming never hurt. My post here is in that spirit. Maybe sharing this photo with all of you will kickstart something here on Quackenbos Street.

Of course, right before I sat down to write this post, I went through the mail and found this:

Talk about adding insult to injury?! Now I have to go to the thrift store and look for an old card catalog to refurbish into a toy chest.

Keep sweeping, Martha

Watched Lost in Translation. Watching Dexter: The Final Season. Finished Homeland: Season Two.

in the meantime

I saw a post today on Facebook about poetry. A friend of mine from graduate school had assigned another friend of mine from graduate school the poet Amy Lowell. The idea behind the assignment was that my second friend would then make her own assignments to anyone who liked or commented on her post. Reading these exchanges first and foremost brought back excellent memories of a study abroad trip to London (TOX02, Wagamama, weekend trip to Dublin, creepiness) - both friends were on that trip. But, it also got me thinking about poetry - something I rarely read now but read a lot of while living in the first state.

I posted Deborah Digges's "For Sylvia Plath." I hadn't read much of Digges and didn't know her tragic story, but of course, I'm a sucker for anything Plath. And reading that poem prompted me to re-read the poem that Plath wrote for her son, Nick. It resonated with me as I laid out the rug in Baby Beeton's big boy room and as I sang "Away in the Manger" to him tonight.

Keep sweeping, Martha

PS - I know that I owe a post about our trip to the Sixth City. It's coming. I promise.

Nick and the Candlestick

I am a miner. The light burns blue.   
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears

The earthen womb
Exudes from its dead boredom.  
Black bat airs

Wrap me, raggy shawls,  
Cold homicides.
They weld to me like plums.

Old cave of calcium  
Icicles, old echoer.
Even the newts are white,

Those holy Joes.
And the fish, the fish—
Christ! they are panes of ice,

A vice of knives,  
A piranha  
Religion, drinking

Its first communion out of my live toes.  
The candle
Gulps and recovers its small altitude,

Its yellows hearten.
O love, how did you get here?  
O embryo

Remembering, even in sleep,  
Your crossed position.  
The blood blooms clean

In you, ruby.  
The pain
You wake to is not yours.

Love, love,
I have hung our cave with roses,  
With soft rugs—

The last of Victoriana.  
Let the stars
Plummet to their dark address,

Let the mercuric  
Atoms that cripple drip  
Into the terrible well,

You are the one
Solid the spaces lean on, envious.  
You are the baby in the barn.

Finished watching Girls: Season 2.