I want to live in this bathroom. (Buy a similar tub here.)
You know what's happening back at my house right now? We're just about done with the hallway bathroom renovation - we're just waiting on the floor tiles to finish it up and show you the "after" - and so I figured it was time to add another project (you know, to keep life spicy).
So? On to the other bathroom it is; a significant portion of my house is being ripped to pieces as we speak.
Among my children’s less-than-lovely qualities: they treat breakfast time as if they are sitting in a diner with a thirty-page menu, and I am their chef, server, and dishwasher (who is, of course, also tasked with getting them dressed and washed and brushed and out the door by 8:35 on the dot with whatever toy absolutely must be carried to school and then carried back home with me, because toys aren't allowed in school but no one seems to have internalized that fact).
One of them would like triple-berry pancakes with a side of bacon (extra crispy), and for the other only house-baked muffins and hand-churned cream will do (if you could just zest that fresh lemon real quick it'd be much appreciated, mama). And all of these things must be on the table right. Now. (I am kidding, obviously, but only a little. Seriously, they are SO SPECIFIC.)
I can't do it. NO ONE could do it.
Pictured: Noritake Dinnerware (click here for my curated collection)
I'm not a person who eats falafel. Which is weird, because I'm also a person who grew up in New York City, and falafel is definitely among the most consumed foodstuffs (foodstuffs!) within the five boroughs. I've never eaten falafel mostly because I'm not entirely certain what it is, apart from having a vague notion that it is spicy (do not like) and involves pita bread (which, you know: meh). Also chickpeas, to me, are really just a thing that makes salads look sadder, and my only serious interaction with them involved my ex-boyfriend eating a whole bunch, turning into a chipmunk, and almost dying (true story).
So what I've always understood falafel to be is, in a nutshell, "Pita Filled With Spicy Things That Might Make You Die." My desire to learn more has always sort of stopped at that point.
This is cereal that tastes (and looks) like a s'more.
While I was in LA, four boxes the approximate size of small vehicles arrived on Francesca's doorstep. They were filled with cereal - specifically Post's new cereals, OREO® O’s, HONEY MAID® S’mores, NUTTER BUTTER®, and CHIPS AHOY!®, which I was taste-testing and photographing for a sponsored Instagram. (This post, despite all those legally-required ® symbols - is not part of any campaign; it is organic content in the very purest of ways, as in I want to eat and look at and think about and roll around in these cereals every day, all of the time.)
Francesca was far less excited about the boxes than I was.
Our garage spruce-up was supposed to be exactly that: a spruce-up. Perhaps a coat of paint. Maybe a throw pillow or two.
We did not start out intending to take on a project that would ultimately transform our garage from a cluttered, creepy-ish hole into the most useful (and most-used) room in our home - not to mention one that would add another 500 square feet (at least) to our living space.
It all started in July (SEVEN MONTHS AGO, if you're counting), when we decided that we wanted to move our old couch into the garage rather than sell or toss it. But then once we decided to put the couch in the garage, we thought we might as well redo the floor. And if we were redoing the floor, we might as well paint the walls. And if we were painting the walls, we might as well take down the old shelving. And if we were taking down the old shelving, we'd need some new storage solutions, and oh wait, Kendrick would love to have a dedicated space for his instruments, and shoot, skylights would really make the whole place feel so much nicer, and...
