Merry Christmas and a Happy New School Room!

{After taking the pictures and writing a draft, I hung our basement Christmas tree- a tapestry from Ikea. Andrew mounted a copper pipe across the ceiling that I leave up year-round, slipping my *ahem, glow in the dark* curtain tree on at Christmas time.}

{Old school photos we picked up at an antique store in Maine last spring}

Every year in August I have a mild panic attack because I'm sure I'm going to home school again this year, but look at the school room! Through the summers it's neglected yet severely lived in, know what I mean? There are times throughout the school year (or every week..) that I question our decision to teach the kids at home. It's this strange feeling of trying to discern guidance vs. control. Do I home school because I want to be the primary influence on my children while they're young and impressionable, or am I doing it because I want to be in control? I think it's a combination of both, though I hope that when the time comes for me to send them out I can do it knowing they're ready because of what they learned at home. I want to prepare them, not so much protect them. I don't know if that makes sense. I didn't think this post would turn into a crisis of belief... I'd love to converse more about the school decision, but let's turn our attention back to the actual room. I think part of my struggle every year is the make-shift designated area. Like so much of our house, our basement has gone through multiple transformations. But none exemplified the word transform like the new school room. It's still not completely completely done, but so close and so functional and I can't help sharing!

The center island is for crafting and game night  and folding laundry while the kids teach themselves at the desk. So much use out of this little work mule! Including corralling wrapping paper. Glory be. As someone who struggles with organization, wrapping paper has been the bane of my existence. No more, wrapping paper fiend. I won the war. About the counter top--I've always loved soap stone, but haven't had a place for it until now. It's beautiful and smells like genuine dirt when washed. Mmm.

I bought these metal file drawers off Craigslist last year as a set of 4 that can hook together. I had three of them stacked (on top of each other and under a pile of books and papers). When we were designing this space I really wanted to bring the old drawers back so Andrew built them in. I love the original green metal so much..I should label the drawers, but don't want to ruin their simplicity.

Okay, do you want to talk about the stools or the tile? Or the Constitution hanging on that back wall? Kidding! I'll tell you the completely unexciting story about the chairs in a minute. Those tile floors that are drawing the hallelujah from your lips? Home. Depot. I'm telling you, they're just ceramic-made-to-look-like-cement tiles. Andrew installed them and I watched.

I honestly can't remember where the pendant above the island came from. I've had it for years..it's old just like me. And the ceiling. Andrew has white painted planks that will be sort of ship lap ish, but wider. I asked him to take a break from this room so I could use it for a little bit before he overtook it with sawdust and sawhorses.

If this isn't just the worst iPhotography...I don't really have time to hone my skillz. Forgive. Let's pretend it's brilliantly clear. That counter top? Menards. I'm not even kidding you. It was just raw maple butcher block that we used as a desk before, the kids challenged its ability to absorb..everything. Marker, paint, lipstick, glue, play dough. Poor Andrew couldn't take it anymore. He sanded the evidence out of it and stained it. Now- that giant sconce has a small story behind it. Andrew had borrowed (all the while thinking he had been given) an exhaust fan for his spray booth at work- for those who don't know, mister mister is a cabinet maker. The gentleman who loaned (not gave) the fan wanted it back. Well Andrew dear had built that puppy right into his Osha approved spray booth. It was not to be extracted. Alas, a combing of online auctions commenced, where he found a new fan for the old friend and what do you know he got a big old light covered in ages of finish thrown in. We've been hoarding it (along with so much other GARBAGE) in our garage in case we could use it someday. Write it down, take a picture- it was worth keeping.

This blessed bank of cabinets were the two original upper cabinets in our house's kitchen when we bought it. They were the color of pea soup, but not in a bad way. More like in a Kermit the frog kind of way..endearing. But recently I've come to understand myself more- I appreciates small doses of big color, not an entire wall's worth of cabinets indirectly featuring the Muppets. They were already in the basement, but not used very efficiently. Now my fabric is neatly folded and stacked, craft supplies are controlled, and my sewing machine is on a roll-out behind those doors so I can pull up a chair and pretend to sew. Um, that globe on the curved acrylic frame? Garage sale. For real. That chicken feed box? Straight from our broken down coop. I would like to fill it with plastic succulents. And I want to do silhouettes of my kids (like that sweet one of Oliver in 1st grade that I pinned up between the chalk boards) for above the feed box.

And these stools. Craigslist, I think they're old lab stools? Heavy duty and industrial and already broken in, so our job is done.

Christmas time was here...

...magic filled the air.

My photo journalism skills are pretty raw.  Organic, if you will.  Grainy like a loaf of bread from Whole Foods.

Oliver has commandeered my camera, taking pictures of calendars, Legos, close-ups of Winnie, his own missing teeth.  Document-worthy subject matter.  Between that fact and my natural spontaneity, I turn to my iPhone 4, and receive a nomination for worst picture of the year. 

Being hardly a queen of the kitchen (though Andrew is King of the Kitchen.  Hmmm..I guess he married a peasant), my time spent preparing meals/treats is usually flustered, so including the kids in Christmas baking is an act of love.  Cut-outs went pretty good this year though.  The cookies went good.  With milk, coffee, morning snack, afternoon tea.

Celebrating on Christmas Eve at Nana and Papa's.

Here's where it gets sad.  My house has never been as pretty at Christmas as it was this year...and this is all I have to show for it.  Next year you're all invited over and we'll skip the pictures.  Clearly not the best quality (or not so clearly, to be more technical).

The prettiest tree in the history of our little family.  (Kindly ignore the finger coverage in the upper left corner...)

These two.  Simpatico.

I hope your Christmas was filled with joy and wonder at the birth of Christ.  I regret that our Advent season felt slightly rushed and out of focus.  I had more time to reflect on Jesus' birth post-holiday than before/during.  Although we probably had things about right if you compared our activity/frame of mind to that of the city of Bethlehem during the census- hurried, frustrated, full, distracted- there wasn't a lot of stillness.  We've resolved to make Christmas 2015 more peaceful and Christ-filled.  Along with the rest of this new year.  

Christmas gifted

Oh my.  The hustle of our 2014 Christmas rivals none.  It. Was. Nuts.

As you may recall, my parents had a devastating house fire in April.  The rebuilding process has been extensive, expensive, extraordinary.

Let me set the stage for the Christmas drama.  Remember Catilyn Smith?  She is lovely.  Before Christmas she gave the opportunity to apply for a private concert in the home of a lucky fan.  I applied for my lucky parents at their new casa, and won the gig!  Approx. 4 hours before the 40+ guests and 3 musicians showed up for the social event of the season, Andrew was installing cabinetry, dad was wiring, my uncle was cleaning, mom was freaking out, and my sister and I were looking at each other wondering what to do.  I wish I had a picture.  I can usually count on my mother for pictures of any interesting family happenings, but she was nearly paralyzed with fear/disbelief that any good could come of this chaos.  Alas! we cleaned it up, set out the food, lit the candles, and had the time of our lives!

#christmaswithcait #itsadate

Cait & co. sang some of her originals (one of which she just sold to Meghan Trainor...apparently it's not ALL about that bass), and delighted us with the most amazing arrangements of Christmas classics.  Of all time.  Seriously.  I hope there's a Christmas With Cait album, I will buy one for everyone.

My dad gave a lovely (and funny) speech about how grateful he is for the help and support of so many people.  Their house is a creative collaboration that came out of the fire 1000x more amazing than it was before (post demo and reconstruction, that is...it wasn't a refining fire, despite how that last sentence sounded.)  House pictures coming...sometime.

Sure makes me want to get my banjo tuned up.

My gorgeous sister and our talented to the max entertainers.

So much beauty, so much talent, so much merry.

Shoot, photo shoot

Update concerning the post about Margot: the very day I roasted her, she became the first of my children to call a sibling a 'butt'.  "Geogie (no R) is a butt."  I disagree.  

My dear mother got a new camera, and my family had the honor of helping her get to know its ins and outs during a Christmas tree hunt.  The land around us still belongs to the man we bought our farm from, and every year he so graciously lets us cut an evergreen from his collection 'as long as we don't tell anyone.'  So now you can't tell anyone, either.

Found it!

First year chopper.

This series of Georgianna- ears folded down under mom's large hat (hey, it went with the color scheme), eyes closed with conviction over the spirit-led song she's making up and belting out, inspired by the wonderment of it all- makes me want to freeze her at age 4 forever.

Still singing...

"Look at that, a giant cat..."

"Oh dear Creampuff, I love ya."

This makes me think of Chevy Chase and his epic tree.

(this makes me think of Chevy too...)
Every year we pass this old station wagon on our way out to the tree plot.  Inside it's filled with weeds and moss and glass and springs and rust and tetanus.  But what are we if not brave?  For the sake of our Christmas card, we gathered our courage and prayed that our winter gear would transform into Kevlar for just as long as it took to get a spectacular picture (but we had limited time, so this is as good as it got).

Merry Christmas from the Toftnesses, a month late but keeping the spirit alive!

More Merry

Raise your hand if you're sick of my house at Christmas--  to all who raised they hand I'm sorry.  But this is what I'm looking at all day e'r day (except on the days when I have a dr. appt., when I step outside of these four walls for 1-1.5 hours), and I get excited when I change things around a little tiny bit.  

If you're ever wondering why we put a tree in front of a door- that entrance/exit rarely gets used and not at all in the winter. Right now there's a hoaky set of steps leaning up against the house outside and it's a use-at-your-own-risk kind of deal.  We would like to eventually put a deck out there or- my pie in the sky idea- a den.  Wouldn't it be nice.

I was going to claim this Robert Frost book as one of our favorite Christmas books, but since the kids never ask me to read it, I think it's MY favorite that I make them listen to.  But I love it.  Other Christmas reads in heavy circulation at our house are Who is Coming to Our House?, Bear Stays Up for Christmas, The Legend of the Candy Cane, I Spy Christmas Book, The Animals' Christmas Eve (one of my childhood favorites)...and a bunch more.  In adult Christmas fiction- have you read Skipping Christmas by John Grisham?  It's from a few years ago and was made into a movie called Christmas With the Kranks which was completely underwhelming.  But the book is so stinking funny.  I read it aloud to Andrew on our way to Chicago the year our nephew Caleb was born.  We were LOLing.  A lot.  

More trees made of paper.  This was Oliver's and my project from last year.

The stockings are hung on the banister with care.

I don't know if I've ever talked about the awesomeness of this little contraption.  We used to do themed gifting on the Toftness side, and one Christmas the theme was 'thrift'.  My brother in law took apart this old intercom speaker, removed the guts, put in mp3 speakers, and now my iPhone is pumping Pandora Christmas to beat the band.  How neat is that?

Georgianna Lynn

When Oliver was younger I was pretty good at documenting all the nutty stuff he said (homeboy be cray cray).  But if I don't write it down as soon as it leaves the horse's mouth, I'm probably going to forget it.  So once our second and third cherubs came along, keeping track of their childish speak was all but out the door.  Until recently when George started saying the darnedest things.

When I told Gmeister that Megan and Mike were coming for lunch, "There's a microphone coming over?"  [I would call this 'classic' if she was 100 years old.]

About post-it notes, "It dicky on da back."

Looking at a picture of a man in a book, "Is him his chiwdwen's daddy?"

Andrew told G not to let him forget wrapping paper when they went to Target
G: Why?
A: So we can wrap the presents and put them under the tree.
G: So Santa doesn't have to?
*side note: we don't tell our kids there's a Santa Claus.  Not because we think it's bad, we just don't.  But this girl George?  She's a born believer.  Even when she asks if Santa's real or not and we say it's just a fun thing to pretend, she'll talk and talk about him bringing us presents and how he'll manage without a chimney.

'Red Handed Jill'