Hello.

Oh, October. You're here. Such a strange relationship we have, you and I. Somehow, and quite inexplicably, you always break my heart. I try to sort you out, but I think I'm giving up. You're so beautiful and sad to me. I suppose that's the way it will always be. I expect it every year.

We've been a little crazy this last week. We decided, spur of the moment, to participate in the flea market last saturday. Since I had found (and dragged home from Boise) a bunch of new treasures last week, we decided we'd wing it. It was nice. Corrie and Stacy watched the boys for us, so we were able to sell together. We were outside and it was really hot, but it's always fun to meet new people. And we love to people-watch at these types of things too. The lady in the booth across from us was hysterical (and a little crazy). She made by hand different types of Santa Claus dolls to sell. Apparently (and according to her), in the Scandinavian countries, their Santa Claus' name is Bell Schnickels and he's mean, with his whips and chains and he drags naughty kids from their beds at night and they are never seen again. She told this story over and over and over all day long, to whoever would listen. Poor little children who stopped by her booth! Mr. Keller had a hard time handling himself whenever she'd start the story again. It will be quite the joke around here for forever, I'm afraid.

Morgy burned his little finger on my curling iron last night, but I think it hurt me worse. I hate seeing my children in pain! On a happier note, he's ever so happy I'm cooking and baking more and he's getting very excited for halloween, decorations and his upcoming birthday.

Danny is most definitely bigger around than Morgan is. It's so funny to see them in the bath together. Danny's still so rollie. I love it! I simply cannot get enough. I have to refrain myself daily from eating him. He's still such a picky eater, though, and still so bossy and demanding. His latest thing: throwing his head back with full force and screaming. It's lovely. Especially in crowds.

All is relatively well with the new house. We're still halfway there; it seems we've been here a while. (It all takes so long!) I don't want to talk about paint colors anymore, and whether or not I'm disappointed. Because I am. But we'll all be okay. And it's not that bad. And can I just say I give up on paint? I do. It's pointless picking a color or shade you like because it's never the same when it's put on the wall and it always changes in different light. And I've been informed I'm acting like a brat about it all, but I'm over that now, too.

Our kitchen cabinets are on backorder, so we're another few weeks out until we actually move. We're still eating on a card table and still feeling in the middle, but we're getting a little closer (I think). It's pretty incredible to see the changes unfold. It all looks and feels and smells (and smells!!!!!!!) so much better. We're loving this house back to life and I love it. I can't wait to settle in for the winter. And really the only thing that is seeing me through is dreaming about evening fires in that brick fireplace. I'm having a fun time arranging furniture in my head, planning new decor and bringing home new finds. I bought an architecture piece at the flea market that came off an 1800s church house. I'm looking forward to hanging it on the wall in the front room, where I have big, white plans. Whenever the men at Franklin building supply talk to me about that space, they refer to it as "my room". Wise, they are.