One Week Down. . .

One week of deployment down, infinity (it seems) to go.

On top of our incredible timing of moving a week before Brandon's deployment, my darling fat baby decided to cut teeth starting the day he left. Also, due to me finally dropping some baby weight over the move, I now have a visible collarbone again - a collarbone that Emily thinks is a magical toy I have grown for her teething delight. Ouch.

We've had zero nights of successful sleep since Daddy left. Just wailing battles of wills that she always wins after playing her trump card of throwing up in the cot. She knows that a person-sized spot just opened up in my bed, and of course it must be for her.

Side note - whoever said that you only need two crib sheets clearly never lived in a house without a washer or dryer. Said person obviously didn't have to drag all their laundry to a base laundromat and fight for dryer space while holding a wailing eight-month old. Said person also probably only owns two sets of sheets for their own personal bed, and has never experienced the shame of sleeping on a bare mattress while your infant sleeps next to you on a towel, after they have peed/thrown up through the entire family inventory of sheets.

Without Further Ado. . .

Here is my lovely guest room:

Check out that drunken sombrero who thought it would be just HILARIOUS to put the lampshade on his head. 

The prim fascinator on the shelf below has apparently fainted in horror.

The guest bedroom makeover is actually a little more complicated than it looks. Due to our teeny tiny curvy closet English staircase, our full-sized box spring isn't even CLOSE to making it upstairs - which means. . .

I WILL SAW IT IN HALF, CARRY IT UP THE STAIRS PIECE BY PIECE, AND THEN BOLT IT BACK TOGETHER.

I told my sister about my plan, and she is thoroughly terrified by the idea of me using power tools without adult supervision, but I have faith in myself.

Shameful Living

Hi. My name is Rachel, and I live in squalor. It has been over a week since I emptied the diaper pail, and you don't even want to know how long it has been since I washed my hair. When the cat (husband) is away, the mice will play. Or rather, the mice will eat dark chocolate and not wash the dishes.

One of the untold downsides of a deployment, is a huge decrease in compliments on housework. The first few days Brandon was gone, I was incredibly productive, until reality set in, and I remembered that no one would know whether I unpacked those boxes now. . .or in December.

In an attempt to hold myself somewhat accountable/shame myself into productivity, I will be posting photos of some of the more appalling parts of my house, and also photos of partially completed projects.

I'm definitely not bold enough to offer up photographic proof that I have indeed put on real clothes.

THIS

This fat baby right here:

This adorable fat baby is why I no longer blog, work out, wash my hair, and have an endless revolving pile of dirty dishes.