News Trend My Oak Superstars|Actual

We are all of us stars, and we deserve to twinkle. - Marilyn Monroe

I'm on a single-minded mission to bring some love back to oak furniture.

I know, I know. The eighties slapped that hardwood around pretty badly, and many of us have yet to recover from the appalling abuse. Oak kitchen cabinets alone caused untold human suffering, not to mention the fake antique farmer's tables and rounded-corner entertainment centers that set infinite teeth to gnashing. Undoubtedly, oak has been a victim of countless heinous design crimes.

But surely the wood deserves another chance.

These two parquet Parsons tables in my living room date straight back to the mid-eighties. A DIY Christmas gift from my future husband, they were doused with the classic shade of golden stain, introduced to my hunter green ruffled couches, and have lived with me ever since. Though many times I've cringed at their sheer oakiness, I'm also forced to admit that they are good, solid, sturdy tables with classic lines and at this point, they lend a lovely history to my home.

They, too, deserve to be loved.

So this past week, I marched the rascals out to the garage where I sanded off every speck of their golden-oldie glory and applied three coats of polyurethane over their pale naked timbers.

Voila! This simple makeover freed my friendly oak tables from their decades of bondage and brought them forward to this very day and age, where quality materials and timeless design are always appreciated.

And now I love them. Don't you?

News Trend Baby Doll|Actual

Adrenalin charged through my veins the instant my eyes fell on the distinctive shape. I dashed across the room, ready to plow down anything that dared to come between me and the object of my desires. After a multi-week city-wide man hunt and a quick read of the plant tag to be sure I wasn't hallucinating, I breathed easy. Finally, finally! I had tracked down a split-leaf philodendron, and I was in love.

And why, pray tell, with a house quite bursting with pretty plants, was I so inconsolably obsessed with this particular species? A story is in order.

* * * * *

My love for the split-leaf philodendron is rooted deep in my childhood. I recall, with vivid lebih jelasnya, the waiting room at my pediatrician's office in Ann Arbor, Michigan. That light-infused room simmered with more mid-century swag than any set of Mad Men.

Bertoia wire chairs.

Danish teak lamps.

Walnut-paneled walls.

Framed abstract art.

I loved every inch of my doctor's stylish space. But best of all was the special corner designed for the young patients' amusement.

In a small niche at one end of the room, floor-to-ceiling walnut shelves waited with an irresistible assortment of toys. I'm sure I played with a jack-in-the-box, and a wooden truck that carried a cargo of geometric blocks. But it was the baby doll in her flowered cradle that totally obsessed me, and I recall that whenever the nurse called me back to the exam room, I insisted upon tucking the baby into bed before I left her.

Dr. Dietrich presided over this happy paradise. A quiet, gentle man, he reminded me of a soft-spoken, more handsome version of Walt Disney. Though I don't recall, my mom often told me that at the end of one visit, as he walked us out to the front room, all the while continuing his conversation with us, my doctor leaned down to that same cradle, settled the baby straight in her bed, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

To the right of the shelves, basking in the muted light of the sun streaming through pinch-pleated drapes, grew a luxurious split-leaf philodendron. The long tendrils stood supported by a rough-hewn wooden plank, which caught my imagination right away. A chunk of wood in a planter? I had never seen such a thing.

But even more fascinating to my childish mind were the bizarre loops and elongated holes decorating the leaves  Even as a mere toddler, I had made my way around plenty of plants in my day, and I had never encountered anything similar.  Sure that they must signal some sort of horrible disease or malformation, I eventually asked my mom who reassured me that, no, these were perfectly normal for this sort of plant.

So my moments of playing in this safe and serene corner were overseen by this beautiful plant, and thus was born my tender affection for the species.

* * * * *

These memories rushed through my mind as I stood with the plant tag in my hand. The intricate design of the familiar leaves still played the same magical music for me, and I snatched up my new friend and brought him home.

I know. It's just a plant. But every time I pass by my jungle bench and see those amazing cut-out leaves, I feel just as cozy and content as a baby doll tucked into bed.

News Trend Cat Show|Actual

Welcome to my front porch.

My plan was to tell you a simple story about how I've mixed things up out there to bring new life to the space where I sit everyday after my walk with Ranger. He lounges in the cool afternoon grass, tongue lolling and panting heavily in the summer heat, while I slip into this shady corner to enjoy a few chapters before dinner.

Honestly, it wasn't a fascinating tale.

But as the photo shoot unfolded, someone cute dropped in for a visit.

^ Little Luna, a sleek, slim shadow of black, wandered in...From the roof.

All three of my cats are quite adept at roof travel, which is a mean feat on our steeply sloped front face. Digging in their claws and testing each step with unusual caution, the clever babies keep an eye on us, stay clear of predators, and have also trained the humans to help them use the second story windows as their personal portals.

But Luna wasn't interested in going inside. He was far more intrigued by the person with the camera.

^  He peered down, watching and wondering, I suppose, what was going on down below.

^ He perfected his pose for a charming silhouette, four tiny feet bunched together and a curvy tail.

^ And after a long look-see, Luna carefully ambled down along the length of the gutter, gloriously backlit by the evening sun. Then he hopped off at this low point and disappeared under a clump of lavender as he continued on with his busy day.

^ But as I turned around to walk back to my book and caught this tuxedo-clad gentleman staring at me from the front yard, I realized that the cat show was not over just yet.

News Trend This Is War|Actual

To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace.

- George Washington

I normally consider myself to be a peaceful person.

But when aphids attacked my cherished ten-year-old jade tree and favorite houseplant of all time, I declared war.

At first sight of the clumps of greyish-white bumps smothering each and every baby leaf on this precious plant, I was consumed with rage.

I might have screamed.

I surely cursed them.

Then I whisked my plant out to the patio for a direct assault with the garden hose.

Despite the prolonged scrub-down and careful spray session, I knew that this was merely the opening battle against the sap-sucking pests.

A quick Google session confirmed my hunch that this tender succulent is too fragile for any kind of sprays or pesticides.

So my next offensive maneuver was to attack with the most merciless weapons left to me in the anti-aphid aresenal: Q-tips and a pair of scissors.

Night after night, for the next week, my fourth-born and I pored over the poor infected plant.

Working as a tag team, my daughter brought her fiercely meticulous inspection skills to bear on the crisis. Slowly and methodically, she scrutinized each and every leaf for the enemy.

I stood by, Q-tip in hand, and coldly rubbed out each evil aphid that she sighted. We found the little warriors hiding under the leaves, crammed into tiny spaces between the stems and leaves, even scrambling around in the potted soil.

In some parts of the plant, our adversaries had clearly gained superior numbers, and we had no option but to cut away the infected stems and leaves. One snip led to the next, and soon we had cut away a good quarter of the foliage.

But as the week wore on, we never gave up.

With each search-and-destroy mission, we found fewer combatants. I dared to hope that my plant might live. New buds appeared as my feisty succulent fought for survival. The tide was surely turning.

And just as our perseverance seemed likely to pay off, I made a major tactical discovery.

There is such a thing as an aphid trap.

Essentially, this weapon of mass destruction consists of a simple yellow card coated with sticky stuff and a scent that is irresistible to aphids. When the card is innocently placed near an aphid-ridden battlefield, the little monsters will march over to the card and become hopelessly trapped in the goo.

I bought a package of four. I have no mercy.

So far, the combined efforts of my one-two punch seem to be successful. But I refuse to be lulled into complacency. My foes could rise up again at any moment and sweep havoc and destruction back into my life.

But now I am prepared.

* * * * *

In my opinion, you can never have too many succulents, and you can never have too many stories about succulents. Here are a few to choose from:

Court And Kylee's Succulent Party

Succulent Season

Franklin Park Conservatory

Confessions Of A Crazy Plant Lady

Pallet Possibilities

Another Rainy Day

Growing Things

This Is War

All In A Day's Work

Design Dilemmas

Wait For It

Shopping Spree

Saturday Spring Satisfaction

Sprouts

Tiny Tinsel Tree

Biology 101

Little Things

News Trend Rosa "Mutabilis"|Actual

Once upon a time, on a Mother's Day long, long ago, my daughters gave me a rose bush.

Well. Let's be honest.

The truth is that I was wandering around the garden story with my then-three little ducklings in tow, and I wanted more rose bushes than my budget could handle.

So I picked out my most favorite, Rosa 'Mutabilis', put it in my husband's hands, and said, "Let's call this my Mother's Day gift. Buy it for me please."

We took it home, planted it in the front yard, right down near the sidewalk, where it is thrived and bloomed from that day to this.

What makes this rose special - besides its celebratory origins - is that the blossoms change color.

The buds are deep red.

The blossoms open as pale peachy yellow.

But they don't stay that way for long. Over the next few days, their hue intensifies into a medium pink and then blush to a brilliant crimson.

At any given time, scattered around the bush are flowers in all stages of this transformation. The petals, sweet and soft, are in a constant state of change, each color truly as precious and pretty as the last.

And whenever I take a few minutes to drink in this beauty, stopping for a moment during my gardening routines or passing by the bush on my daily walks with Ranger, I often think what a perfect Mother's Day gift this rose bush was.

Motherhood, too, is ever-changing. The colors shift and vary as the years go by, and we mothers of multiple children often find ourselves in different phases of parenting all at the same time, just as the flowers scattered across the bush vary in their shades.

But every single variation is special, and meant to be cherished in its own way.

And though we must do our best to enjoy every fleeting moment, we can also relax and trust that whatever comes next will be just as beautiful as all that has come before.

News Trend Walk Two Moons|Actual

?Don't judge a man until you have walked two moons in his moccasins.?

?Sharon Creech,Walk Two Moons

Hiking ten miles up a steep mountain trail with two extreme anemics doesn't really sound like a good idea, does it.

Two of my daughters were just diagnosed with severe iron deficiencies. Hmm. That explains why they have been so exhausted lately, sleeping endless hours and lacking energy to do much more than the bare-bone necessities of life. I won't lie; it's been a little frustrating for a whirlwind like me to accept their slow and measured pace.

Yet despite their fatigue, the girls were game for this hike to Spray Park, heralded for its sweet wildflower meadows and in-your-face views of Mount Rainier.

Now I am no extreme hiker. More tortoise than hare, I'm a firm believer in taking lots of breaks and enjoying the journey, rather than bolting to my destination.

But as I tromped along with my oxygen-starved companions, I realized that even my slow pace was too much for them. We stopped a lot. We ate extra snacks. We drank lots of water.

And when we got to the top, majestic views of the reach-out-and-touch-it mountain all around, one of my daughters laid her flannel shirt down on the closest rock, closed her eyes, and promptly fell fast asleep.

Spurred on by her love of capturing a moment, the other daughter forsook this resting opportunity to scurry around our vantage point, snapping pics right and left.

But during our two-hour descent, she gave us a running status update about just how tired she felt - aching legs, sore feet, emerging blisters.

As we drove back home, me at the wheel with my two exhausted daughters fast asleep beside me, I realized what the hike had taught me.

I may not have literally trekked that trail in the moccasins of my anemic daughters, but by hiking next to them, I had gained a valuable appreciation for how it feels to walk in their shoes.

News Trend Sweet Peace|Actual

There's no finer place for burning off a foul mood than a garden.My front yard provided quite the therapy session today, and I've got the bleeding rose bush wounds to prove it.

Sawing off tree limbs.

Yanking out weeds,

Pruning back unwelcome growth.

Digging out dandelions.

Hacking back spent flowers.

Seemed that everywhere I looked, I saw a tangled mess, and work to be done. Needless to say, I attacked with a vengeance, And when the sun finally slanted low on the great heaping mounds of green debris scattered willy-nilly across my yard and sidewalk, my mood was transformed.

With my newfound serenity, my eyes could now see the good in my garden, the sweet spots that were there all along, but I wasn't ready to see.

August means black-eyed Susans and I am always happy to welcome both.

Heart-shaped hosta leaves freshly splashed from my hose.

I'm a huge fan of bold color in the garden, but I've learned to appreciate the gentle nuances of texture and the many shades of green.

Pink and yellow flowers growing in a tangle will always make me smile.

As evening fell, I swept the sidewalks clean, coiled up my hose and put away the tools.

Surely, there will be more days when I will be in a mood to thrash about in my garden.

But for today, I've once again found sweet peace.

I picked a quick bouquet of sweet peas on my way inside for dinner.