Bedroom Facelift

BEFORE ...

AFTER ...

I adored my old comforter, but despite having two windows, I don't get much natural light in my bedroom because of the orientation of the windows and all the trees outside. My furniture and floors are all dark wood, so I really felt I needed to find a lighter comforter or quilt to give the illusion of light. I've been on the lookout for new bedding for a while, and I finally found some that I like and works with the existing paint. I painted this room before I moved in, and painting it again would mean moving this massive bed and painting the bathroom as well. If necessary, I would have painted, but I was hoping not to have to.

Last year, I bought two sets of navy sheets to go with my existing bedding, and they were quite expensive, so I wanted something that I could use them with. I may change my mind about the navy sheets and pillow cases, but for now, I'm going to use them ... for a pop of color if nothing else. I like the blue drapes, but they still made the room too dark ...

 

So I changed the navy out for white black-out drapes. They do make the room look brighter, but I'm not so sure I like them. It seems too stark or something ... and it's WAY too bright when the sun comes up. These drapes, while pretty, are worthless as blackout drapes. And the gold sheers looks white ... so back to the store.

I settled on gold black-out drapes. Despite promising 99% light barrier, they aren't as light filtering during the day as I would like them to be, but they look much better. The only time I need it really dark in there is for the grandkids naps. They sleep better when it's dark. I'm hoping these gold ones will be enough to let them get the sleep the need.

AFTER ...

CLOSE-UP OF THE NEW BEDDING ...

The color is off ... the background is a creamy white and the words are gold.

All in all, it's a much brigher room during the day, and it's plenty dark at night. Even so, I still like my old bedding better ... and we'll just have to see how well they work at naptime!

I've Been Under the Weather Lately

I apparently caught one of the norovirus's going around, and it's knocked me for a loop these past few days, so I haven't been posting lately, but hopefully I'll kick this thing soon and will be back to normal. I hope.

Eight Months Today

Sweet Davy at three years old.

Davy,

I can't believe it's been eight long months since I talked to you. Eight months with no hugs from you. Eight months since I heard you tell me you love me. We survived all the 2018 birthdays and holidays without you in the room celebrating with us, but you were always on our minds, and you'll forever live in our hearts.

I tell your babies stories of you every time they come over, and we look at all the pictures of you sitting around the house and on the tv screensaver. They always get very excited when they see a picture of you, especially when you're holding or playing with one, or both, of them. I will make sure your babies know you and how much you love them. How tragic that you can't be here to watch them grow up, marry, and have babies of their own.

I know you're in a better place, but I miss having you here, and I will miss you until I take my last breath. It's still hard to believe you're gone. Eight months later, I still think about you constantly. You will never be forgotten. Oh, how I wish I could turn back time and raise you again!

And don't worry ... we're still looking for whoever killed you. We may never find them, but we'll never stop looking and hoping and praying.

I Love You,
Mama

He Didn't Choose the Thug Life ...

The thug life chose him ...

This is an older picture of my youngest grandson (he's a whopping 20 months now!), but I came across it on my phone ... and it's just too cute not to share!

Detergent

I added a detergent dispenser to the laundry closet, and I love it! It's so cute!

Bottle Cap

In the days just after Davy was killed, I was so restless. I was trying to do my best to keep my mind occupied, but that was an impossible task. No matter what I did, I thought about Davy the entire time.

One day, I went for a walk in my woods and found this bottle cap. It was the ship on the bottle cap that caught my eye. Davy liked pirate lore, and was thrilled when we vacationed on Ocracoke Island, where Blackbeard was killed.

I picked up the bottle cap and put it in my pocket. When I got back inside, I put it on the shelf, above Davy's picture. It's been there ever since.

I looked up "Small Town Brewery" on the internet. It's in Wauconda, Illinois. It looks to be a fairly new brewery, so the bottle cap is not decades old ... meaning it's very possible it's from when his best friend, Zach, would come over. They'd sit outside, build a fire in the upper fireplace, drink a few beers, talking and laughing under the stars until the wee hours of the morning.

It might not be Davy's, but I like to think it is, and it makes me smile to remember those two "boys" hanging out and having fun ... and I can easily see Davy flipping this bottle cap into the woods to see how far he could make it go. That's definitely something Davy would do!

So when I found it, it brought me a small bit of comfort ... I was touching something Davy had touched.

A Painting of Davy

Not long after Davy died, a childhood friend, Ben, told me he wanted to paint a picture of Davy. I was thrilled! He said he wanted to try a new technique he'd been working on ... painting on glass. He came over one afternoon and we picked out a dozen or so pictures of Davy.

Ben was a true friend all through Davy's childhood. They were thick as thieves. Ben lived a few houses up the hill, and those boys played from the time their feet hit the ground in the morning until they were called in for the night. They were always so dirty at the end of the day! I didn't mind at all ... it meant he had fun ... and the dirt was nothing a little soap and water couldn't take care of. Ben confided in me, just lately, that they would climb the massive pine tree in our backyard to see who could go the highest. That tree is at least 100' tall! I'm glad I hadn't seen it. My heart would have stopped!

Davy and Ben in the tree house in our backyard.

Ben came to the funeral home when Davy died. He was inconsolable. He was the same at the funeral. His family came to the visitation and funeral separately from him. Their adult kids were crying and the parents could hardly hold it together.

When we planted Davy's dogwood, it only seemed right that Ben be there.

A few weeks ago, he messaged me and said he'd had a dream the night before. In his dream, I came up to him, crying, asking him if he knew where Davy was. He just looked at me, knowing Davy was gone, then he started crying. He said he woke up thinking about the painting, that he had yet to start, and that it was really pressing on his heart that he needed to do this. Now.

Not long afterwards, he sent me a couple of pictures of the process as he painted Davy. He chose a picture of Davy sitting on my sofa, with a sweet, satisfied smile on his face, as his infant son lay fast asleep on his chest.

 Here's the picture he painted from ...

The beginning of the project ...

The finished project, with a white matte behind the painting ...

The finished project without the white matte. He said he was going to put a mirror behind the painting so that we could see our reflection, too, when we looked it.

 

I don't have it yet ... but I know exactly where I'm going to hang it once I get my hands on it. What an incredibly kind thing this young man did for me. His expression of grief and pain at Davy's passing was impossible to miss.

It touched my heart that pretty much all of Davy's childhood friends ... and many times their entire families ... came to both the visitation and the funeral. All of his friends were crying very hard or trying very hard not to.

Davy, I don't think you have any idea of how many hearts you touched. I miss you, Buddy.

The Laundry Closet is DONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is another project I have wanted to tackle since I bought this house, and it's finally DONE! I had everything in place and the shelves stained for while now, but the thought of hanging three very heavy shelves ... on a plaster and lath wall ... and making sure they were all level and spaced evenly really intimidated me. But, I figured the shelves weren't going to hang themselves, so I put on my big girl panties and went for it. While I was hanging the shelves, there were many, many, many times I thought I had bitten off more than I could chew, but I persevered!

The walls are plaster, so hitting a stud was essential. The shelves are heavy, so holding them in place by myself to mark the screw holes for the brackets was very difficult. Plus, I also had to make sure the shelves were level. This definitely would have been easier with another pair of hands ... but somehow I managed.

Here's the AFTER ...

When I moved in, my side by side washer and dryer took up most of the closet. There was a little space on each side and there was one long shelf across the top, so despite having a whole closet, in reality, I had very little storage. I left the doors on the closet (because the washer and dryer weren't very "decorative"), so I'd have to close one side to use the washer, then close the washer side to use the dryer. It was a hassle, but I lived with it. (First World problem, right?)

And now here's the BEFORE ... (the "line" in the middle is the light pull-string)

The old chest in the AFTER picture was in the closet in the guest room, and I needed that room for toys. Moving it meant buying a stackable washer and dryer and putting the old chest beside it. The chest holds a lot of Davy's things, so moving it  made sense. I had toys piled on it when it was in the guest room closet, so putting more things in the chest was a chore.

A couple of friends moved out my old washer and dryer and hooked up my new ones. They put the vent for the dryer hose above the electrical outlet, but there's no way I could get three shelves with it located there ...

So I moved it below the outlet ...

I had bought a 2x12x12 and had it cut into three, 4' pieces for the shelves ...

And stained them ...

Then I hung beadboard on the back wall of the closet. I didn't bother making it neat around the outlet because I had bought fabric to hang just beneath the bottom shelf to hide all the hoses and wires. The string for the light makes it look like I messed up on the beadboard, but (again) that's just the light pull-string ...

Finally, and with great trepidation, I hung the first shelf ... (and added an angel (temporarily) at the end of the light pull-string). This shelf was particularly maddening because I had intended to use the brace on the side wall as guide to keep the shelf level. After I hung the first shelf, it was not level. Not even slightly. It was then that I realized the side brace wasn't level. Ugh! I had to remove the shelf and brackets and start over. Second time was the charm ...

Then the bottom shelf ... (This time, I moved the light pull-string out of the way before taking the picture) ...

Then the middle shelf ... and it's done!

To someone who knows what they are doing, tiling the bathroom and hanging these shelves would have been a piece of cake ... but I do NOT know what I'm doing ... so for me, they were NOT a piece of cake!

There are other projects I want to tackle, but after the bathroom and the laundry closet, I'm not exactly anxious to dive into another project, so they're going to have to wait. Plus ... I still have to grout the tile in the bathroom. The plan is to do that tomorrow (which will be "today" because I'm not posting this until tomorrow!), then I will be 100% done with both projects. What a relief, and what a sense of accomplishment I feel!

Another House I Drew

This was the childhood home of a friend, so I drew this for her. I can't find the picture I took to draw from, but here's the drawing ...

I Admit I'd Starve as an Artist

I drew this for a friend in 2010. I thought this drawing turned out pretty good!

Grief

This is so true ... and I know I need to move on ... I just don't know how.

I Did It! All By Myself!!!

I still have to grout, but the tile is FINALLY hung! If anyone with even a modicum of experience laying tile had watched me do this, I would never be allowed in Lowe's or Home Depot ever again! It's not perfect, and it's not done, but I'm so proud of myself!!!

BEFORE and AFTER

When I first looked at this house, I thought the tile behind the hall bath was nauseating. I hated it! Three years later, I finally did something about it.

First I took off the old (extremely) ugly tile.

The tile hadn't been installed correctly, so water had seeped in behind the bottom tiles. After spraying Chlorox to kill any mold, I attempted to chip away the damaged areas, but they were so badly damaged, there is no way an amateur like myself would be able to obtain a smooth surface to adhere new tile.

Then I had an epiphany! Styrofoam! I'd use styrofoam to cover the wall, filling the joins with FlexShot to make sure no water could get between them.

 

With a smooth surface to work on, I measured a grid and started laying the tile. (I don't know why the tub looks like it's gold ... it's not ... it's bone.)

 

And now it's ready for grout!

I can't WAIT to get this grouted and be able to mark this off a three year old to-do list!!!

Heaven Really IS For Real

I have a book called "Grief Recovery" that I have been putting off reading. A friend loaned me the book "Heaven is for Real", which I figured would give me some peace before reading the book on grief.

Long story short, a little boy (3 years old) claimed he had gone to Heaven when he was in the hospital near death. After he was well, he knew things he couldn't have possibly known. Over the next few months and years, he kept telling him mom and dad more and more about Heaven and Jesus.

They showed him all kinds of pictures of Jesus, asking him, "Is this what Jesus looks like?", and he kept telling them no. Then one day, someone told him about a girl, Akiane Kramarik (then 12 years old) who claimed to have visions and had met Jesus, and that Jesus told her to paint her visions.

The little boys parents showed him the picture she had drawn of Jesus. He became excited and instantly said, "Yes, that's him! That's what Jesus looks like!" They described the picture they showed him as Jesus's face being half in shadow. I got on the internet to find the picture, and to find out more about this amazing little girl. Neither was hard to find.

Akiane Kramarik is a self-taught painter and claims that Jesus spoke to her when she was four years old, encouraging her to draw and paint her visions. She began to draw at the age of four, was painting at six, and began to write poetry at seven. She painted a portrait of Jesus, called Prince of Peace, at the age of eight.

You can go to her website https://akiane.com to see all of her incredible work. It's truly jaw-dropping that a little girl had that much talent at such a young age.

So, if you've ever wanted to know what Jesus looks like, here it is ...

Photo courtesy of Akiane Kramarik, https://akiane.com.

Hobby Lobby

My house could be a showroom for Hobby Lobby. I love their merchandise, and I love that they are a Christian company and play Christian music in their store. However, I don't need anything else. I have no wall space I need to fill, and I hate clutter, so I can't buy little decorations to sit around.

Still ... I really want to go to Hobby Lobby!!

Rooster Trivet

My sister gave me a rooster trivet for Christmas. I don't need another trivet, but I kind of really needed a rooster in my kitchen! It sat propped against the back splash for a couple of months while I pondered where I could find it a "forever home" ... and I found it!

I Keep Getting Blocked (Temporarily) From Blocking Ads on Facebook

I have more ads on my news feed on Facebook than I do from my friends, and I hate ads ... so I block them. The fastest way to block them is the click on "Why am I seeing this?" From there, you can block all posts from that advertiser.

But, if you're scrolling through your posts blocking ads "too quickly", Facebook will slap you like an impudent child by blocking you (temporarily) from using this feature!

There is still a say to block the ad, but it takes a few more clicks of the mouse. First you have to click "Hide ad". Then you have to select a reason why you want it hidden and click "Done".

However, you are NOT done yet.

After you click "Done", you have to tell it it hide all ads from that particular advertiser, then click "Done" again.

I'm sorry, Facebook, but if my news feed wasn't filled with so many ads, I wouldn't be blocking them "too fast"! How about you put more posts from my friends in between the ads, then I wouldn't be blocking them "too fast".

So True ...

Davy

When I leave for work in the morning, it's pitch black. The streets are nearly deserted, so it's a pleasant, quiet drive ... most of the time. Every once in a while, I'll see something in the street far ahead, and I panic. Big time. Is it a body? Did someone hit this person and leave them to die like the person who hit and killed my son, then drove away to keep from getting caught?

I always slow down to take a good look, to make sure it's not someone who needs help. It's always been a garbage bag or some other discarded object, but it takes a long time for me to calm down.

It's been 7-1/2 monthes since Davy was killed, and we are no closer to finding out who did it. My prayer is that I will find out who did that to my son while I'm still alive, but as each day passes, the reality is that they will never be found.

Sometimes, when I'm at a stoplight, I'll look over to the next car ... full of 20-something's like my son, and it makes me so sad. How come those kids get to live and my son had to die? I don't wish anyone to die, it just seems so unfair that it was my son that God called home late at night on June 22, 2018. I was the mother standing in front of the coroner and a deputy in the wee hours of the morning on the 23rd. It was my legs that buckled and forced me to sit on the cold concrete porch, shaking my head "no", telling them they were wrong. It wasn't my son they found. God had a plan for my son ... he would never take Davy before he had completed whatever mission He had for him.

I was in shock and denial for months. I knew he was gone, but it didn't seem possible. It still doesn't seem real. My son CANNOT be gone! But he is. I honestly don't remember much of last year. I was just going through the motions.

Despite my pleas to God to let me go back to the day of his birth and raise him again, I wasn't angry with God or anyone else. I didn't even hate the person who did that to him ... I just wanted to know why they didn't stop.

I think I've now moved on from shock and denial to depression, not full-on depression, but a deep, profound sadness that won't leave me ... not even for a moment.

The picture I have of Davy in my living room, as part of his "shrine", is covered in my fingerprints around his lips. Every time I pass that picture, I kiss my fingertips then touch his mouth and tell him how much I love and miss him. I hear his windchime tinkle and say "Hi Davy". When I leave, I tell the windchime (Davy) where I'm going and that I'll be home soon. It's silly, I know, but it makes me feel good to "talk" to him. I know I'm not really talking to him ... I'm talking to a windchime my daughter bought me.

We had a really beautiful weekend and I spent much of Sunday outside, with "Davy" tinkling to me. I told him I loved his tinkles, but I wish I was hearing his voice instead.

Luckily, we have video's of him, so I'll never forget his voice, but I can only watch them for so long before I'm too emotional and have to stop. I know one day all the photo's and video's will bring me comfort, but right now, they just scream to me "YOUR SON IS DEAD. HE'S NEVER COMING BACK."

It's only been recently that I've given myself permission to cry. I didn't want to cry for Davy because that meant he was really dead, and I couldn't process that. Now, I cry all the time. Most times I'm in public or at work, so I have to fight hard to keep from bawling, but in the silence of my home, I cry a lot.

I lost my brother in 1975. He was 21. I lost my father when I was 25 and my mother when I was 35, so I know time has a way of making the pain not quite so raw ... but this was my son. There's a BIG difference in losing a parent or sibling and losing a child you grew in your belly and gave birth to. He fed at my breast and he fell asleep in my arms every night when I rocked him to sleep. He'd RUN to my room when he woke up to give me a big kiss and hug (all the kids did).

I'm the one who took him to school every day, to the doctor, to the parks, and the ocean. I'm the one who delighted in his wrestling wins, and praised him even when he lost. I'm the one who took him to karate and saw him get his black belt. I'm the one who stayed at the hospital with him when he was on a ventilator after his car accident in 2014. I'm the one who he walked to and hugged when he came out of the coma and was finally able to walk (with help). I cried so hard! After all the fears of what the future might hold, I now knew he was going to be okay. I was the one who slept in his hospital room in Louisville when he punched a window and severed the artery in his right bicep. I'm the one who took him home when he was finally allowed to leave.

I never left the hospital when he was hospitalized for Intussuscption when he was three years old. They had a surgeon on standby if a berium enema didn't push the bowel stuck inside itself. Fortunately, it did, and he didn't have to have surgery ... but I'll never forget standing outside the procedure room and hearing my little boy calling for his Mama ... and they forbade me to enter.

I never left the hospital when he was hospitalized with the flu when he was four years old. He needed a nap, but he didn't want to sleep, so I crawled into bed with him and held him, his little arms wrapped around me. He fell asleep in no time.

I was there through all the bad times, and I was there for the good. I got to see his excitement on his birthday, Christmas, Valentines Day, Easter etc., when he opened his presents. I got to be there when he saw the ocean for the first time. I was the one who helped him learn to ride a bike. I was the one who took him to swimming lessons and was amazed at how fast he learned to master swimming. I got to see the complete and utter joy as he watched the Blue Angels fly over the riverfront.

I got to watch him learn new tricks on his skateboard. I got to watch him flying around the backyard and the tree fort with his friends. I got to watch his entire childhood, and I felt blessed.

Davy was so funny. He had a wicked sense of humor. He often said something so funny I was laughing so hard I cried. He also had a huge heart. The last time I took him to Louisville to have his arm looked at, he brought me some cookies ... because he knows I have "a cookie problem".

I miss my son. I miss his jokes. I miss hearing him laugh. I miss talking to him. I miss him telling me, "I love you, Mama". I even miss his "painful" hugs.

The only consolation I have is that Davy was a born again Christian, and I know full well he is in Heaven, and that I will see him again one day.

My daughter pointed out to me that God knows exactly what I'm going through, because He went through the same thing. He had to watch is only son die an excrutiating death on the cross. Jesus suffered greatly, but Davy was killed instantly. At least I didn't have to watch Davy die in profound pain.

When I get to Heaven, I'll have the answers to all the questions swirling around my head. I will know why God called Davy home that beautiful summer night. Until I'm called home, though, I'll just have to trust that this was all part of God's plan. I don't understand right now, but one day I will.

Peace. Definitely Peace.

What Else COULD He Have Died Of?

A man was shot to death by police. The coroner concluded the man died of multiple gunshots to the torso, which led to internal bleeding.

Our tax dollars at work.