Just over a month ago I had a mini crisis in my kitchen.  Or–more accurately–in my pantry.  I came home one afternoon after grocery shopping and unloaded all of our purchases onto the counter.  I separated the cold items from the dry items, putting away meats and dairy and produce first.  And then I turned my attention to the pantry.  I opened the door and became immediately irritated, without really being able to place why.  Does that ever happen to you?  It does to me.  Often.  Movingrightalongthough. This is what I saw behind my pantry door.

A big, fat, unorganized mess.  And as I set about straightening and stacking (and maybe cursing under my breath once or twice) my mind wandered off to a happier place.  To the photo of a pantry I’d recently pinned on Pinterest.  As I threw away empty boxes and combined identical half-empty containers of cornmeal and baking soda I made up my mind then and there: my pantry was getting a makeover.  No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

I mistakenly believed this would be a quick weekend project.  No biggie.  HA!

Over the next few days I purchased airtight plastic containers, glass bottles, metal bins and wooden crates.  I bought paint and made–yes made–a quatrefoil stencil.  And then one Thursday afternoon I emptied the pantry, transferring the entirety of its contents to the formal dining table.  I started by painting the shelves a clean, bright white in semi-gloss.  Once that was finished, I started in on the stenciling.  Oy.  Was that a mistake.  My stencil (which was painstakingly cut from a sheet of acetate) kept ripping every time I pulled it back.  I’ll spare you the details of my stenciling nightmare, but suffice it to say that I gave up and decided, instead, on vinyl stickers.  Of course, all the progress was put on hold while I waited for them to arrive (after ordering them from Etsy) and we continued to live off the dining room table, which Kennedy dubbed the “hoarding table”.

Finally, though, more than two weeks after starting the “quick weekend project”, I was able to unveil this:

I love it because there is a {labeled} place for everything.  Bags of pasta are now neatly contained in a wire basket.  Potatoes and onions are happy in their own little bin homes.  And those wooden, wheeled crates there on the bottom?  Those were my original idea, not ripped off of a Pinterest panty like just about every other detail you see here.  We have one for excess items like oats, flour and powdered sugar that can’t fit into one of the labeled containers yet.  The middle crate stores lunch boxes and Thermos(es).  And the last one keeps all of our dog food and dog treats contained.  LOVE, I tell you.

We all plan on living happily ever after :)

Here are some detail pictures for those who are interested.

When we built and subsequently moved into this house just over six years ago I remember telling more than one person that the only way I’d ever move out of this place was if they dragged my stiff, lifeless body from it.  Drastic, much?  Who, me?  Now, here I am compiling a wish list of sorts: features I really hope to find in the home we move on (up?) to.  If for no other reason than to document them in case I forget, I’m posting that in-progress list here.  Humor me.

- a bookshelf (or space for one) in the kitchen so that I have somewhere to store my cookbook collection

- two kitchen sinks.  I swear I always need to rinse or drain something when one of my helpers starts in on the dishes.

- a built-in desk in the kitchen

- a bigger pantry than we have now (walk-in would be ideal)

- a dedicated entryway space

- a sink in the laundry room

On the other hand, some of the features that we (wisely, if I do say so myself) had built in to our current home have proved to be quite valuable indeed.  I wouldn’t want to sacrifice the following in a future home:

- an extra-long, covered patio in the backyard

- a built-in entertainment center (TV nook)

- high counters in the master bath

- double sinks in the additional bathrooms

- double ovens

- double ovens

- double ovens (SO worth repeating)

- lots and lots of windows

- plumbing for a water softening system

What about you?  What features would be on your ultimate home wish list?  And which features in your current house do you find valuable?

Once each year, something magical takes place here in the desert.

Whereas dust and cacti typically cover our barren desert valley, a seldom snowfall occasionally arrives, blanketing the landscape in shimmering ice.

It gives leafless limbs a glittery coat.

It drapes desert fauna in icy splendor.

It {temporarily} softens the most prickly of limbs.  The fiercest thorns.

Once each year, the animals come out to explore.

The children find reason to frolic. (Even if they are forced to wear their sister’s hand-me-downs).

But almost as quickly as it arrived, it melts away.  And we’re left with but memories of one glorious morning spent romping in the snow.  

That is, of course, until next year.

Brrrrr.

I’m a lover of all things wine.  I might have mentioned it, a time or two.

I grew up in Paso Robles, a little gem on California’s central coast–wine country, although back then it wasn’t half the wine destination it is now.  Still, I think those vines tangled themselves up in my subconscious, rooting a love for the nectar of the gods down deep in my soul.

Or something like that.

These days, home is closer to the cacti than it is the coast.  And Tucson, my friends, isn’t exactly a vintner’s dream.  There is, however, an itty bitty place just down the highway–a region supposedly identical to that of my little hometown of Paso Robles: Elgin, Arizona.  It’s no Napa, by any means, but it is up and coming.  And after having spent last Saturday afternoon touring Elgin’s tasting rooms, I can vouch for its quiet, unpretentious charm.

The day started just before noon, when our friends Tim and Stephanie (of Give Every Day and Metropolitan Mama fame) met us at our house.  For months we’d been talking about visiting the local wineries.  And, truthfully, I didn’t think it was going to work. (They’ve got a lot on their plate these days).  But glory be, it came together at the last minute.  I’m so glad it did.

Have I ever mentioned that we live in the sticks?  Because we do.  Tumbleweeds and cacti are about the only things that populate the untamed part of our property, the occasional rattler not withstanding, of course.  It’s a good twenty minute drive just to the nearest grocery store.  And another fifteen minutes to Target.  Five years of living here has sharpened my self-reliance skills.  There is a bright side, though, to our desert digs: we’re as close to Elgin as we are Tucson proper.  Score!

The drive to Elgin is a peaceful one–along a quiet road that winds through rolling hills of the countryside.  Stephanie, who was raised here in Tucson, said that those hills come alive (albeit, not with the sound of music) during monsoon season.  Which, obviously, gives me the perfect excuse reason to head back to Elgin come summer.

Down in Elgin, the winery owners are neighbors (in the most literal sense) and are very supportive of one another.  So much so, in fact, that when you bring in a wine glass from a neighboring winery, the price of a tasting is significantly discounted.  We paid $10 per person at the first winery.  That price included a wine glass which we then used at the subsequent wineries.  With our wine glasses, our tasting fees ranged from $3-$6 for tastes of four to eight wines.

We visited five wineries during the afternoon.  By the fifth one, we were like old pros, swirling and sniffing  with the best of ‘em.

It was great fun.  Great fun.  As is witnessed in the pictures below.  One look at that last shot of me ( taken at the fifth of the five wineries we visited) and you’ll see what I mean.  Great fun I tell you.

What about you?  Have you ever gone wine tasting?  If so, where?  And if not, is it on your list of to-do’s?

Thirteen years ago I had a date with my bitty newborn Kennedy and my Gram.  There was a big new James Cameron movie out and I was dying to see it.  So I sat in a dark theater on a weekday afternoon and breastfed my baby until she fell asleep.  And then I relaxed and watched Jack and Rose fall in love on the big screen.  Truth be told, I fell a little in love with the both of them, too.

Fast forward to present day.  Jeff and I came home from a date night a month or so ago to find our favorite babysitter (that she is also my daughter is completely irrelevant) reclined in our leather chair–her eyes glued to the Irish dance scene of, you guessed it, Titanic.  She’s been smitten (read: obsessed) ever since.  I’ve lost count as to how many times she’s watched the movie over the course of the last month.  In fact, just talking about it makes her tear up.  Hormones, ugh.

Nevertheless, my heart jumped when an invitation to the media preview of a new Titanic exhibition arrived in my email inbox a couple of weeks ago.  Suffice it to say that I didn’t hesitate to mark my calendar.

I was super stealth-like and kept my plans under wraps, managing to hold my tongue all the way up to the day of the event.  As I dropped Torri at the bus stop that morning I casually asked if she had any tests that day, to which she (fortunately) replied that she did not.  Score!

Because she wasn’t expecting me to pick her up early from school that day, she kind of freaked a little when she got called to the office.  And I might have been just a tad mean by playing on her fears, confirming that there had indeed been an accident, an accident that killed over 1500 people in 1912.

It took some time to explain the real reason I’d picked her up.  But once she understood she was THRILLED, to put it lightly.  Especially when we arrived in downtown Tucson at the Rialto building and she saw this:

We went inside and were given a “boarding pass”.  The boarding pass was a replica of what the real passengers of Titanic were given prior to boarding.  Our versions had the name of one of Titanic’s passengers, his or her class (1st, 2nd, or 3rd), as well as some tidbits about his or her life/reason for travel.  Before we began our tour, we also received an audio device that allowed us to listen to recorded narrations at select points throughout the exhibition.

The experience is set up so as to send participants on a chronological journey that begins with the excitement of first witnessing the sheer magnificence of Titanic and ends with her tragic undoing.  Along the way, guests see various artifacts that were actually recovered from the wreck site.  Among them, we saw: tools, leather wallets, women’s trinket boxes and make-up cases, a hairbrush, and post cards, plus many more items.  There were also re-creations of first and third class cabins, and even an iceberg that we could touch.

As you make your way through the exhibition, you are immersed in the experience through sounds that take you back in time to that fateful trip.  On the walls, you read the touching stories of passengers young and old–the details of which elicit emotions that range from shock to sadness.

Both Torri and I were thoroughly captivated by what we experienced that day.  While Titanic’s story is, above all, a tragedy, our visit to this exhibition left us oddly hopeful.  The final walk-through of the experience highlights amazing stories of human sacrifice and perseverance–a truly moving tribute.

Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition is now open for a limited engagement in Tucson.  The price of admission for adults is $22 but there are various discounts available for students, military, children and seniors.

Full Disclosure: I was invited to attend a media preview of Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition and was granted complimentary admittance to the exhibition.  As always, all opinions expressed in this post are truly genuine.

You know how Labor Day weekend is supposed to signify the end of summer?  The close of white-wearing-season?    The last picnic of the year?

In Tucson?  Not so much.

Forecasters are predicting near-record highs for the next couple of days.  Which would be awesome if we lived in Alaska, or some equally frozen tundra of a place.

But alas.  We’re in the desert.  And near-record highs do not a pleasant fall kickoff make.

So I thought I’d give you reason to be thankful that you live where you do…and not here in the desert southwest, where Labor Day signifies only a drier, dry season of heat.

Ten Reasons To Thank Your Lucky Stars That You Don’t Live In Arizona:

1. When you get up to pee at night, you don’t have to fret about stepping on a scorpion
2. Or that a snake will greet your bare patootie when you drop your drawers at the commode (did you see that episode of Highway to Heaven?!)
3. You can leave your holiday candles in Rubbermaid bins in the garage–right next to the ceramic angels and holly berry candle rings–without fear of them melting and creating a fine mess on your tree skirt.
4. The term “lawn” means something other than a large expanse of earth-toned rock.
5. There is no danger of a bobcat or coyote making off with your Chihuahua should he be left unattended in the backyard.
6. The best parking spaces are deemed so based on their proximity to an entrance, rather than their proximity to a shade tree.
7. You don’t spend 1/3 of your yearly salary on sunscreen.
8. You can get cold water from your faucet, summer or not.
9. You don’t have to bury roadkill, for fear that it could inject its deadly poison into your veins even after having been decapitated.
10. Your native vegetation is only dangerous if it’s ingested, as opposed to ours.  We have cacti with spines that literally jump at you, should you get too close.

See there?  Bet you’re already thanking God for your peaceful Michigan (or Tennessee, or New York, or any state but Arizona) home. :)  You’re welcome.

There is something about the first of every month, don’t you think?  Or am I alone in that I get a touch giddy when I get to flip the calendar page?  Especially when I’m flipping aforementioned calendar to the month of September.

September has long been a favorite of mine.  Though no month could ever oust my October.  September, though, still garners my favor.

Especially this September.

Why?

September ushers in our vacation season.  And this year’s vacation season is a doozie; we’ve got Disney trips coming up that practically piggyback one another!  {More on those soon}.

As if that weren’t enough…we have a sweet sixteen to celebrate in the very near future.  {More on that soon, too}.

September is also anniversary month for my lovie and I.

AND it’s the month when I can start opening the windows again after a too-long, too-hot desert summer.  Don’t get me wrong, we’re not exactly pulling out the winter coats just yet.  But there’s definitely a change in the air–the tease of crisp mornings and brisk nights to come.  I can’t help but look at the hot tub through eager eyes.

Pumpkin bread and chili and baked ziti and iced chai cookies: these will have to wait.  One more flip of the calendar page, though, and these, too, will be mine.  All mine.

I wouldn’t dream of rushing September though.

Come on in.  Stay awhile.

If we’re not Facebook friends then you may not know that our power was out last night.  For twelve. hours.

Have I mentioned that we live in the desert?  And, um, AC?  Powered by electricity.  Of which we had none.  For twelve. hours.

Things shut down right around 3 pm yesterday afternoon.  It started with the midnight blue sky that I’ve come to love.  And then there was the rumble of distant thunder–the flash of lightning bolts in the distance.  The trees whipped to life in response to wild, monsoon winds.

Jayce and I sat by the window awaiting Cassidy’s bus.

“It’s windy out there, mommy.”

“Yes, it is.  A storm is blowing in.”

“Yes,” he answered, having liked the sound of the words, “a storm is blowing in.”

As if on cue, the lights flickered.  And then again once more.

Cassidy made it home just as the first fistful of plops fell from the sky.  She made a run for the front door, hollering her daily “thank you!” to Mr. Lou, the bus driver, as she ran.

With her safely inside, the sky let loose an angry summer rain–gigantic pellets beating down.

What it was that claimed the pole I can’t say.  But claimed it was–one massive power pole reduced to splinters.

Clearly, I couldn’t make dinner.  So Mexican it was.  As it always is.  {Because I could eat Mexican 7 nights a week if need be}.

We came home to find our neighbors cloaked by the black of night.  Luckily we’d thought ahead and left a candle in the garage.  We had to scavenge the house for them.  Summer time–it seems–isn’t candle burning season ’round these parts.  Eventually though, we found enough nubs from last year’s fall stash to maneuver through our bedtime routine.

And so–with the house infused with the scent of pumpkin and maple–we made our way to bed {minus the covers}.  It was so hot that I peeled off even my shirt, and slept in nothing but my skivvies.  {I’m not really a skivvy sleeping kind of girl}.

I heard the AC groan to life at 3 am.  Hallelujah.

There were casualties: some chicken breasts, the milk, and possibly the yoghurt (too soon to tell).

But it was an adventure nonetheless.  One that gave Jayce the opportunity to come to the rescue with his Buzz flashlight–the only working flashlight in the house, believe it or not.

I’ll be shopping for both candles and batteries this weekend.   ;)

July in Tucson.

It’s when the skies turn the color of tornadoes.  If tornadoes had a color.

The air is ripe but the rain is stubborn–not easily convinced.

The occasional zaps in the distance quite literally send electricity–excitement–coursing through the air.

Even the lizards seem to beg for a storm, puffing their proud chests upward.  Waiting.

All of us.  Just waiting.

Dear Monsoon.  Ready when you are.  No pressure.

Two Christmases ago we bought Jayce the Fridge Phonics from Leapfrog.  We did so with good intentions, hoping that he’d learn to spell his name and various other CVC (consonant vowel consonant) words.

He loved the toy.  For about fifteen minutes.

It wasn’t long, though, until all of the magnets were relegated to a corner of the fridge, where they remained mostly untouched.

Until.

Until one day I stumbled to the kitchen first thing in the morning and went to the fridge in search of components for school lunches.  When what to my sleepy eyes did appear?

Aww.  He’s so sweet to me.  And no.  He doesn’t have any brothers.

The magnet love note remained for quite some time.

Until.

Until some snot-nosed-brat came along and basically pooed on my pocket full of sunshine.

Well howdie doodie to you too.  Punk.

And with that it was as if the flood waters let loose.  Everybody (or at least those who can spell) gets in on the action now.  Rarely, if ever, is there not a message spelled out across our refrigerator for all to see.

Some are practical:

Some are political:

Some have ulterior motives:

While others are motivational (in this case, motivating me to step away from the leftover cheesecake):

There is that on which my teen/tween daughters and I cannot agree:

And thus my added commentary:

Of course, there is also that on which we find common ground:

And perfectly explains the itch we get around this time every year:

*sometimes we have to take creative liberty with our spelling*

I’ve also been know to leave reminders for my dear daughter, who dabbles when she should be doing dishes:

But the most profound messages?  Those which put into simple terms that which weighs heavily on our minds:

If only God would post a reply via the fridge magnets.  Life would be much easier right about now…