Cozy Little Fixer-Needs Your Help

1.5 years ago we bought this beautiful tudor fixer upper in the most perfect corner of Indianapolis.

Jack was this big the night before we moved in:

Now he's this big:

We gutted two bathrooms, gave a kitchen a facelift, refinished floors, added crown molding, added some light fixtures and painted a few rooms. And by "we" I mean my extremely handy talented husband.

But now it's time for the outside. 

Our plan is to clean up the brick, give the trim and stucco a fresh coat of paint, add a front patio, add a back patio and add a sidewalk. And yes, we're doing it all on a pretty aggressive budget.

I have so many paint choices bouncing through my head. 

Could use a little help here...

There's this look:

Option1:

Option 2:

Option 3 with white trim/windows:

Option 4 with dark blue trim:

A Day Made for Mother's

You and me sitting at a coffee shop sipping something sweet and sharing a piece of lemon cake while you point at every bird, car, motorcycle and bus floating by. I wish we could start every Saturday just like this Saturday.

I awake to you singing in your crib.

"Let it go, let it go, let it go." (reference Frozen).

I roll out of bed with three big stretches and sneak into your room.

"MOMMY!" you scream.

"I'M MOMMY!" I scream back. We kiss through the crib because that tends to be the way you like your kisses these days.

I pull you out of bed as you protest.

"I go night night. I go night night."

"Ok," I say throwing you back in your bed. I pretend to leave the room as you protest again.

"No, no, don't leave, mommy."

And then you get dressed and we read a few poems and we go on our long walk to see the ducks. This time there are babies. The neighborhood is alive with pooping dogs, owners scrambling to clean it up and laughing couples with giggling babies. This neighborhood is my dream and my reality wrapped into one.

This mother's day weekend all I need is you and me sharing a piece of lemon cake on a busy city street.

The Simple Life. The Good Life.

On a routine call to my Gram during a routine review of her daily activities she informed me she was shredding papers and tidying up a bit.

"Are you getting ready to move closer to mom?" I asked.

"No, I'm getting ready to die." She said.

We both had a good laugh. Unexpected statements are funny especially when they aren't intended to be funny. She further explained how she didn't want her kids to have to work too hard cleaning out her house when she finally left this good earth.

I get it.

Her statement kept me up a few extra minutes that night. The next morning as I walked down to the basement to move laundry I stubbed my pinky toe on a pile of furniture.

That's when it hit me.

Why am I holding onto all this? It has no sentimental value, no true functionality in our home. It's just sitting there in perfectly useable (for someone else) condition collecting basement dust. And if we EVER have another winter like last winter, that basement is going to come in handy.

That day I made a list because I am a list person. I made a list of all the things I needed to organize upstairs and all the things I wanted to sell or donate downstairs. And I've been checking things off that list rapidly.

Unlike my Gram, it's not really about preparing for death. It's about preparing for a really happy simple little life.

Inspiration

If something makes you happy, do it over and over and over again.

For example, I like cutting a lemon in half and rubbing it all over my hands and arms and sometimes my face on Saturdays. It's super weird, but I love the way it smells.

I like...

Fresh flowers in vases all over the house, but I hate cleaning the vases when they die so there are dead flowers all over the house which makes me a little sad.

Getting the paper just to look at the ads.

Sipping a hot caramel vanilla latte at 2 pm on a Friday.

Driving home with the windows down and my arm fully extended out the window even though I have a fear my arm may be taken off by a passing truck.

Sitting on the patio with my feet up and eyes closed on a windy day.

Getting a red box on a Friday night because it means I get to be with your Dad and watch it.

Driving without a destination and stopping wherever feels right.

Long walks in state parks.

Coming home to a made bed and clean house especially when I'm not the one who made the bed or cleaned the house.

Laying in bed in the morning and listening to you babble and sing "Let it Go, Let it Go."

Having little conversations with you through the wall.

If something makes you happy, do it over and over and over again. That's where inspirations comes from.