Let's Bake A Turkey!

So, ever since my past post, a few things have changed. Namely, our family went from three to four! Our quiet little boy arrived October 4th and we named him Colic. Oh wait, sorry. I'm a little sleep deprived and my mind isn't too sharp this morning. Rather, our colic riddled child who knows only how to nurse and cry arrived last month and we named him Quigley! Yes, that's right. That's what happens when mom and dad can't think of a name and the nurse tells us we absolutely must sign the birth certificate in the next five minutes before we're discharged. You go with the name you came up with when you were five years old before you even knew how babies were made. So, no, I don't have a thing for Tom Selleck. And no, it's not some obscure family name that we were guilted into using. Yes, you heard. We chose to name our son Quig. I know. I'm thinking what you're thinking. It's weird and I can't believe we did it. My mom said she'll pool together with the rest of our family and hire an attorney to have the name legally changed. Oh, grandmas. They're the best. 

Ok, but for real. Quigley is a good strong name. And you just watch. It's going to rise to the top of the most popular baby names by 2030. Errr, maybe not. But either way, our kid is going to rock it.  

And yes, I wasn't kidding. Quig has a bad case of colic. My mom said if we absolutely refuse to use the money to change his name that we can instead put it toward a miracle doctor in Wichita who makes colic disappear after a week of daily visits. Ha. We're not that desperate. But if we already lived in Wichita...I'm just saying. It wouldn't be a bad idea. It's raining right now, but I only know that by seeing the drops on our windows. I most certainly cannot hear the rain over the sound of my son's bellowing cries. I feel like God has poured an abundance of grace down on our house these past two weeks to get through this phase of his life. Otherwise, we'd be doomed. I'm not sure how people survive colic without that grace. 

(As far as this picture is concerned...if you can't be an angelic looking baby, you might as well be the cutest grumpy-old-man looking baby you can be. That's what I always say.)

Aside from the cries, we love, love, love this child. And so does Annie. She is a rockstar sister. I'm pretty sure she'll be a way better mother someday than I ever was. But I'll do a little catch-up family post later this week. Got to actually take pictures of Quig first. Poor second child. Has like two pictures for every twenty of Annie at this age. :/

So as we settle into this new life, our kitchen cabinets settle into theirs.

Feel free to clap. Or at least I did as they were hauled into our house last week. Annie did a happy dance and then found a new hideout. 

Sadly, though, their arrival only marked the beginning of the next phase. Then there were countertop templates to be made, things to be fitted, crown to be hung, trim to be installed and of course paint. But wait, then there's appliance installation and electrical work and cabinet hardware and floors to be refinished! 

But whateves. No one can take away the joy of the cabinets' arrival. Noal Yungeberg, our trusty cabinet-maker/carpenter extraordinaire custom built our kitchen for us in his spare time over the last 8 weekends. And these things are crazy well-made. 

You'd think, though, I'd have had plenty of time to make the all important decisions about countertops and paint colors during the 8 week build.

But, no. No, because the power that two kids weighing a combined total of less than 35 pounds have wields an astonishing amount of control over your schedule as an adult. It's phenomenal really. Say goodbye to all your freedoms. Who cares whether the government taps your phone calls. They couldn't hear what you were saying anyway over the cries of your newborn and the tantrums of your toddler!

But I did finally settle on some countertops. They were installed last week and then promptly covered up before I could snap a picture.

And at the eleventh I chose a paint color and then about two days after the painter started, I of course, changed my mind. But because our painter - Hugo Morales - is the bomb, it was no big deal. And when I say he's the bomb, I mean - he's the BOMB. Unbelievably detail-oriented. Has spent a full week just prepping. Super nice. And his whole team has a crazy work ethic. Anyone who can take this door and make it look new again has super powers.

Plus, they totally transformed our garage into the perfect place for Dexter to slaughter his next victim. I truly felt like I was walking on set when I saw the paint tent Hugo set up. Plastic walls, floors, ceiling. Tables set up for the latest victim cabinets to be slayed sprayed.

So that's where we are now. And that's why we stayed at my parent's last night. The oil paint fumes were overwhelming. But I welcome them. Because, folks, that means we will have an operable kitchen soon enough. And we even booked a trip out of town for the week the floors are refinished which puts our completion date on Thanksgiving morning. Fitting, given how thankful indeed we'll be to have a kitchen! An oven to bake a turkey...one can only be so lucky.

Oh wait, there is the part where I didn't ever choose a backsplash. So, the FULLY completed kitchen - window treatments, backsplash and all - will be further down the road. That date is unknown. Completely unknown. I'm thinking 2015.

In the meantime I'll leave you with before pictures and then the pictures John shot of the newly installed cabinets and sent to me while the kids and I were at the farm last week.

And progress...