One Post, Two Little Projects.

While I've been busy with dance competition season (which, thankfully, is almost over), swimming and gymnastics lessons, trying to get us settled into the new house (I'll post a few pictures, soon.),and working on getting all the paperwork ready for my trip to Africa, I've completely forgotten that I also needed to post about a couple of my recent projects! Don't hold your breath because they aren't all that awesome, but they do include dressing up one of Diva's bookshelves, a second redo of the kitchen table that I refinished quite a while ago, re-purposing my old dresser, and making a totally cool headboard (okay, the last two aren't finished yet, but I am hoping to get the dresser done this week and the headboard done before the year is over).

If you follow me on Instagram, you've probably already seen the pictures, but since I know there are people who still aren't on Instagram (cough, cough...my sister), I'll go ahead and post them here to give you all a little break from all of the posting that I will be doing about my journey to Africa.

Project #1 is hardly worth mentioning and I think we've all seen it a million times on Pinterest so I'm not even going to watermark it, but since it technically does qualify as a restyle, I'll post it anyway.

I simply took Diva's boring white bookcase and added a little shelf paper that I got from Target to the back to give it a little something extra. It was very quick and really easy, though I do advise having a credit card with you to smooth out any bubbles and also that you take a deep breath when the pattern doesn't line up perfectly between the two, or more sections you have to use to cover the back.

I didn't take a "before" picture, but I'm sure you can picture the white back that it used to have.

Project #2 was a quick restyle of the kitchen table that I had previously redone clear back in 2012. When I say quick, I mean it. I literally did it in two days, just a few days before we moved into the new house. I didn't really plan on it until I realized that the extra paint I had left over from painting the dresser (which was also painted in the same time frame) would would also look cute on the kitchen table and because I had already decided that I needed to replace two of the chairs, one due to the Tyrannosaurus Rex incident the week that I finished the table the first time and one because I just couldn't find any chairs that would work with it (Surprisingly enough, it's hard to pull off mismatched chairs!), I figured I may as well give the table a new look, too. So I slapped some paint on there, decided it looked pretty good, and kept going. I also put about five coats of polycrylic on it to try to protect it from the ridiculous amount of wear and tear my family puts on furniture.

Here's what it looked like after the first time I redid it:

and here's what it looks like now:

The ladder back chairs were already white, so I didn't need to do anything to them, but the other two chairs are"new" ones that I found via Facebook. They are actually the very chairs that inspired me to go to Africa. They were originally a dark aqua blue, which didn't look quite right with the table, so I decided to paint them white. Only this time, I had a friend of my sisters paint them because I needed them sprayed to match the other ones, and there was no way I was going to spray in my new garage!


For the table, I used the chalk paint recipe that I always use mixed with Sherwin Williams "Watery", which is a great soft blue from their coastal collection and goes with the whole cottage-like atmosphere that I'm trying to create.

It's Been 5 Months and...It Still Hurts.

Wow! Has it really been that long since I last posted?
  
{Don't you love how I say this every time I get back from a break, like it's a surprise or something?}

It's been over 5 months now since we all said goodbye to Harley and it still really hurts. In fact, I still cry almost every day and the last few moments I spent with her, as well as the psychotic breakdown I had after she took her last breath, still play over and over in my mind on a loop.

I still forget that dropped food on the floor won't be quickly whisked away by her, that she'll never again open the bathroom door with her nose while I'm in the middle of peeing, jump on the bed to sleep right next to me during a nap,or protectively growl at men that pass me by while I am running.

It's enough to make me crawl into bed and never want to come back out.

However, I do find myself smiling or even  laughing out loud when a funny memory of her decides to pay me a visit.

(like the time she got out of the backyard, trotted down the street, wandered into the backyard of a neighbor and then walked through a door that they had left cracked open before making herself right at home by jumping up on the couch in their living room in order to take a quick snooze. Luckily, they were dog people) 

I also find myself dreaming about her occasionally and even though it can be hard to wake up and realize that she isn't at the foot of the bed anymore,  it's also strangely comforting.

I guess that's what coping looks like, and maybe it's healthy. However, I'm pretty sure that my weird obsession with posting old photos and videos of her and us on Facebook constantly isn't and I'm also pretty sure that some of my Facebook friends are ready to hit "unfriend" if they see one more depressing post about my dead dog.

Mitch and the kids started begging for another dog, pretty soon after she died. Thus far, I've refused their constant requests for one. Most likely due to the fear of going through this pain, that I was completely unprepared for, again. It also feels wrong to "replace" her so soon. I'm certain there's a specific rule on how long you should wait, but I haven't found it yet. I am also worried that I would compare the new dog to her, or not treat it as well as I treated her.

As hard as I try though, I can't deny that a big part of does actually want a dog again and wouldn't be horribly upset if I found one on the porch someday. I just don't really want that "someday" to be tomorrow. I'm not ready yet.

Saying Goodbye to Harley Part 1 of 4 "Something's wrong..."

I started writing this on Saturday morning November 16th, as a Facebook status update for my friends and family and soon realized it was way too long (Why do we share so much more on Facebook these days than we do in our "real lives"?). Anyway, considering one of the best ways for me to release my feelings is to write, I thought I would get my feelings out here on the blog before I explode in a very non-productive way. I have to warn you, this is definitely not my usual entry, consisting of my adventures in home decor or makeup or even the funny little life stories that I occasionally have to share....It's actually quite the opposite...It's about real-life shitty stuff that happens to us all sometimes. I'm even breaking my own rule that I put in place when I began blogging, which was to leave these type of shitty things out of it.

I like to make people smile, not cry...

...but, today is just not a day that I give a shit, frankly {side note: I swear A LOT when I'm upset}.
There are tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat and I'm literally in physical pain over the shitty news we received last night. Before I start, though, I have to give my little "social work major" disclaimer and let you know that I realize that there are those out there who won't understand, and that's okay. I also understand that even though I feel like this is one of the darkest and worst days I've experienced in my life, I know that there are worse things that happen to people.

However, I'm going to be selfish right now and pretend I'm the center of the universe.

There are only a handful of times in my life where I've literally felt that I've been hit in the stomach with a brick. Unfortunately, yesterday was one of them.

Harley, our German Shepherd, is almost 10 and she's had arthritis for the last few years, along with constant ear infections and allergies. She's never let this stop her until recently, though. Up until a few weeks ago, she still enjoyed escaping through the front door to jump in the car for rides whenever she had a chance to slip through as we were leaving to go somewhere. She still acted like a puppy whenever family and friends came over, always super excited to see anyone who knew her. She especially loved to jump on my dad when he came over, who was never too thrilled because her claws left holes in his shirts (though I think he secretly did love it). For the most part, she loved playing with other dogs and was never aggressive towards other animals. She loved being with her kids, and was known to hop on the couch and hang out with her "dad" when he was watching T.V., but I contend that her favorite thing to do was to  jump up onto the bed to curl up next to me. It's no secret that my room and my bed are my haven, so she'd frequently lay next to me and hang out while I did homework, took my regular the occasional nap or watched T.V. and every morning, she'd patiently sit next to Mitch's side of the bed. The second he was out of bed, she was on the bed in his place. When I was sick, or depressed, there she was, right next to me. She'd even skip meals in order to stay right next to me.

A few weeks ago, however, she stopped jumping up on the bed to lay next to me. It was kind of sudden. One morning as she started to jump up, she couldn't seem to get her back legs up with her. She tried so hard and I could tell she was frustrated, but she just wasn't strong enough. I reasoned it was her arthritis and that we just needed to get a refill of her medication, so we took her to the vet, who also prescribed her some Prednisone...which made her a little bat-shit to tell you the truth. While she was on it, she would pace around the house with anxiety, drink gallons of water, which made her need to go out to pee constantly and was a general spaz (even more so than usual). Not knowing that these were normal side-effects, we took her off of it last week and decided we needed to take her back to the vet and see what other options were there.

We could also tell there was something  more to her behavior. She was slower than usual and quieter. She stopped running up to the door to meet us when we got home. She just looked sick. She also hadn't been eating much for a while, which happens when she's on antibiotics because she hates the taste when we mix them into her food, but we knew this was something more. We needed to take her to the vet again.

For some reason, though, I kept forgetting to make the appointment (actually, to tell you the truth, I think I sort of knew something more than the usual was up and was avoiding making the call). Not much changed in the next few days, though, until one night when Mitch was petting her and discovered something that felt like a lump on her neck. Alarmed, he had me check to see if I could feel it and unfortunately, I could. However, I reverted back to my old habit of total denial when things get serious and told him it was just fat, while trying not to show that inside I was really worried. I called the next morning and made the appointment for today.

Turns out, that wasn't fast enough. Thursday night, she suddenly started getting worse and  I panicked. I knew something was terribly wrong with her and I kept Mitch up until 2 am, crying while I tried to come up with a logical and completely benign answer. The thought of "the end" really hit me and I mean, really hit me and I  remember saying to Mitch that I just had a terrible feeling deep in my gut.

I ended up waking up yesterday (Friday) and decided to skip class. She had started to walk funny, kind of like she was drunk. Her breathing, which we had noticed had gotten heavier and more labored in the last few days, was even louder. Her eyes looked different, too. Then, she did something she had never done before. She walked right into the kitchen wall, completely disoriented.

 I panicked and called Mitch who tried to calm me down and told me he would see if he could get off of work a couple of hours early. After I got off the phone with him, I decided to give her her favorite treat. Cheese. I broke apart a slice and threw it up in the air, expecting her to catch it like she always does. It hit her nose and rolled off onto the floor where she had to sniff around to find it. Not believing it, I tried it again (okay, probably 5 times). and each time she missed. I can't remember for sure, because it starts to get blurry, but I think my dad called about then only to hear me have a complete break down over the phone. He did his best to attempt to calm me down and it did work a little.

After I got off the phone with him, I decided to let her out to go to the bathroom. She could barely get off the deck, so I left the door open. A couple of minutes later, I checked on her and she was laying on the grass. She looked comfy, so I decided to let her lay there a while.

I wish I hadn't.

About a half hour later, I became concerned. She hadn't barked her "real bark" in a few days, but I hadn't even heard the little, "Mom, time to let me in" bark. I looked out the door into the backyard and she wasn't there.

I called her. She didn't answer.

I listened for the sound of her tags dangling on her collar. I didn't hear them.

Worried, I put my boots on and walked around the corner of the house.

My eyes scanned the side yard. She wasn't there, either.

My heart dropped.

I knew something was wrong.

 I still needed to check the other side yard, though, so I started to turn around to do that, hoping she was over there,

As I turned though, I saw something in window well.

It was Harley. Sitting there at the bottom. Quivering.  Staring off into space.

She had fallen a good 4 feet, or so. I could tell she was scared, but she wasn't whimpering or trying to get out and she wasn't moving around. She was eerily silent. I screamed and ran back into the house down into the basement, calling Mitch again. I'm not even sure if he understood me at first, but eventually I choked out the words as I ran to get the ramp we had been using to get her in and out of the car. I was sobbing as I carried it downstairs, knowing that I had absolutely no chance of getting her out on my own seeing as how I outweigh her by about 15 pounds (and I'm a self-proclaimed wussy). I opened the window and tried to comfort her. I could tell she was trying to see me, but her eyes were blood red and "vacant". Mitch said he would leave work as soon as he could and we hung up. I called my dad, hoping he was at home, but he was clear across town and it would take him too long. He said to try my neighbors and to try to calm down. He tried to comfort me some more, but I was so panicked, I think I hung up on him.

"Fuck!" I yelled out loud, realizing that the only neighbors I knew had just moved out of the neighborhood and I was pretty sure the husband was working. Everyone else I knew  lived too far, or they were at work.

If there were ever a time I wished I was a Mormon, or not a social recluse, it was now...

I turned my attention back to Harley, stroking her cheek and trying to tell her I was going to get her through this. I  tried again to get her to walk down the ramp a few more times. Fat fucking chance. She wasn't going anywhere. Sobbing, I just stroked the side of her check, telling her that I wasn't going to leave her and that dad would be home, soon (I hoped).

My sister called me just then. I guess my dad had called her. Luckily, my brother-in-law (a firefighter) was home and came right over to help me lift her out. I must say, he was definitely my rock in that moment and I will never forget how calm he was. Harley was so nervous by the time that he got there  that she dug her heels into the gravel, refusing to come through the window for either of us. Instead we had to go to plan B,which was for both of us to jump into the window well and get her out that way. It was nerve wracking, but we were each able to grab an end and lift her out of the well. After we got her inside Aaron stayed with us for a few more minutes. I don't remember what we talked about but I know it helped me calm down a little. I can definitely see why he is so good at his job...As he was leaving, Diva came home and I knew that she was unprepared for what met her.

 She was already having a hard time watching Harley the last few months with her arthritis, panicking whenever she seemed in pain and she probably noticed before we did that things weren't going well. The two are soul mates in a way, and I knew this was going to send her into a panic. I wasn't prepared to tell her what we had just been though and for a second, I even contemplated not telling her. However, Destructo, who didn't quite understand the seriousness of the situation couldn't wait to tell her. After he, not so delicately, shared the news, I tried to explain what was going on more calmly, but being 12, she knew exactly what I was saying. The time with her beloved companion was most likely nearing its end and iIt didn't help that Harley (as if on cue) walked smack into the kitchen wall again as I was trying to explain the situation.

It broke my heart to see Diva's reaction to this before she ran from the room in tears. After giving her a couple of minutes, I found her curled up in my bed, sobbing. Shaking. Unable to move. She told me she needed Emily (her best friend) and we called my friend Jenn (Emily's mom). Her voice mail picked up and as I started to leave a message, my voice cracked, so I had to hang up. Jenn called shortly after and Diva grabbed the phone, asking for Jenn to come get her. She didn't want to stay and watch what was going on. It was too painful.

My heart broke for her and it hurt even more that I had nothing to say to make her feel better. She was too old for me to try to minimize the situation.

Mitch got home shortly after that in order to take her to the vet. I made sure to get some quick pictures before they had to leave...just in case

 (Later, I was pissed when I realized that I hadn't thought to get any pictures of me with her.):

Destructo decided she needed a blanket at this point. He  had been chasing her with blankets for the past few days telling me that she needed them because she wasn't feeling well.

 After I was done taking pictures, I helped Mitch put her in the back of the SUV. While I hugged her and kissed her goodbye, I made him promise to bring her home for at least one more night, but I wasn't sure if that was a promise he would be able to keep. That scene where Jennifer Aniston has to say Goodbye to Marley in the movie Marley and Me came to my mind and I vowed for the 20th time to throw that damn movie away.

After they left,  I tried to keep myself busy. I wanted to break down. Curl up on my bed. Cry hysterically. However I knew I couldn't do that, yet. Not in front of the kids,anyway. So, I did something else instead. Something that comes naturally to me. I decided to do some research. I wanted to know what type of news we were in for and I was hoping it was something that could be fixed.

As I began my research, Jenn (who is truly an angel that I can never repay) and Emily came and got Diva for me to spend the night over at their house, which helped a little. I knew her best friend of 8 years or so could help her feel at least a little better and possibly get her mind off of what was going on, which seemed to be what she needed. However, my heart also broke because I knew Harley, if she did come home, would go looking for her, confused that "her girl" wasn't home to snuggle with her. I wanted to tell her to stay, to not run away. I didn't want her to regret not being home when Harley came home (and I had made up my mind that she was),

It was difficult to let her go, but I knew I needed to let her make her own decision. I truly think it's better that we, as parents, try not to take control of these types of situations and determine for our children how they should grieve. Everyone grieves in their own way and taking a time out was Diva's way. I was going to give her that respect.

I will never forget Emily's face as I opened the door though. Emily is almost like my own daughter and watching her face was just as heartbreaking. She was so quiet and I could tell she was very upset. Harley was just like one of her dogs and I could tell that  Emily, who is one of the biggest animal lovers I know, knew the seriousness of the situation.

After they left, Destructo got onto the computer to play some games and I continued to do my research on my laptop. I wanted it to be some type of kidney infection, something she ate, Diabetes, Canine Addison's Disease...ANYTHING that could be cured or treated...

Instead, fucking cancer kept showing up in my search results.

While I was trying my best to diagnose my dog on my own with a disease far less serious than cancer, Mitch would occasionally text me while they were waiting for the vet. One said she seemed to be moving a bit better while they were waiting for the vet, which gave me a little hope. There were a couple more before I stopped hearing from him. After several minutes, I texted him to see what was going on, but he never answered.

About an hour later, he sent me an eery text that said, "coming home now". I knew right then that the news wasn't good. If it were good news. He would have called. If it were bad news that could be fixed, he would have called. However, even though I knew the news was going to be bad, it didn't prepare me for what happened after he walked in the door with her hobbling right beside him. His face was all red, and his head was hung low. He looked as if he had been hit in the gut. My voice already cracking,  I asked him what the vet said and he quietly answered, "It's cancer.", his voice breaking in the middle of the short sentence.

"What does that mean?" I could feel my voice cracking even more and the pitch had gotten higher as I said it. "How does he know?", "What did he actually say?"

(I tend to use accusatory questioning when I hear news that I do not want to hear.)

Mitch explained what had happened. I tried really  hard to listen, but I know I blocked some of it out. He told me the vet bent down and felt her lymph nodes in her neck, then under her arm pits, hers spleen and by her hind legs. After doing so, he looked up at Mitch and said, "You have a very sick dog." He explained that it was Lymphoma, but that we would need to take her to an oncologist to confirm the diagnosis. Because they would run their own blood work, it was pointless for him to do the same, but he said he was confident that it was Lymphoma.

He went on further and explained that her sudden blindness and disorientation was being caused by the cancer that was attacking the blood vessels leading to her eyes, which explained the trip down the window well and the greetings she was exchanging with the walls and chairs..or really, anything that got in her way. He told him that it probably happened during the night, that blindness can be really sudden with cancer. Yesterday she could see. Today she couldn't. The cancer was also the reason why her back legs were failing her so suddenly. He explained that symptoms can appear suddenly, which is why when they examined her a month before for her ears, they didn't feel anything unusual.

Then he dropped the final bomb. We were looking at less than a month,  1-3 months with Prednisone which would temporarily shrink the tumors and take away her pain, while giving her more energy and somewhat of a quality of life. He also gave him some special dog food which was supposed to boost her immune system (although, it did nothing but give her the worst diarrhea ever and make her feel miserable). He did say that depending on the stage,  we could have as long as 9-12 months with Chemo, however.

After hearing all this, I said matter of factly..."So..he isn't 100%, then?"

"Well, I guess not but he's been her vet since she was a puppy. We know him, Jen and I trust what he said."

"Doesn't matter, he can't completely confirm it, therefore I do not accept his diagnosis, especially considering he didn't run blood work."

I embraced this small nugget of denial. Without blood to confirm the diagnosis, there could definitely be a more reasonable explanation. Maybe, she figured out how to open the freezer and fridge at night while we were sleeping and was just suffering from alcoholism...Maybe, she had finally gotten one of her mortal enemies, the voles living in our rock wall, and had gotten some sort of infection...There were plenty of other logical, less life-threatening explanations, right?

Maybe this was a bad dream. A mistake.

But, as she cuddled up next to me on the floor, letting me stroke the top of her head,  I knew I was wrong. Instead of nudging my arm that it was time to scratch her neck, she just stared at me with those glazed over eyes. She still seemed so terrified and I'm sure she was. She couldn't see her people, had had a really scary fall, and obviously felt like shit. My heart ached, knowing she couldn't tell me any of this. I had never wished for the gift of Dr. Doolittle more in my life. All I could do was pet her and hug her, so that's what I did.

 I spent the rest of the weekend next to her, not leaving her side and refusing to leave the house. Mitch and I took turns sleeping on the floor next to her at night, helping her outside to go to the bathroom every few hours during the night and trying to keep her from walking into walls. We guided her to her food bowl and held it for her when we needed to. We did the best we could to keep her calm. The kids pitched in as well, making sure to be gentle with her and also giving her lots of pats and hugs.

When we realized she was getting more nervous at the new sleeping arrangements because they messed up her nightly routine of going from bedroom to bedroom to check on her people throughout the night, we decided to go back to the old sleeping arrangements, which helped her feel a little better....even though, I still didn't sleep, worried she would need out, or that she would get hurt...or that she would die and that one of the kids would find her.


I think I was up every hour, either taking her out to the bathroom, or just sitting down to spend a few minutes having a chat with her while I stroked her cheek and forehead. I told her all of the funny stories I remembered about her from the time she was a puppy and how much we all loved her. I thanked her for everything that she had done for our family and I told her how sorry I was that she was sick. I also told her I was sorry for not being the kind of "mom" she deserved, and yes, I also asked her what her opinions were on going to a faith healer....

My sister also came over that weekend to take pictures of us with our beloved puppy. It was an extremely emotional photo session with it being painfully obvious that Harley was so sick, but I wanted to make sure that we had some sort of record of our last few memories with her. We still weren't sure what was going to happen on Monday.  I'm so grateful to my sister for doing so. I can never repay her.  She took some great pictures even though she had to work with crappy lighting, an uncooperative 7 year old (Destructo), a blind and confused dog, and a lot of crying.

Here are some of my favorites. (I'll post some more pictures of our life with her from the day we brought her home until the end, soon.)

I admit, she looks a little creepy here because of the blindness.

Okay, okay...She looks a little creepy here, too...

I believe this is when I heard my sister yell, "I quit!" from behind the camera and then turned to see her bawling worse than I was!

She was Taegan's best friend Emily's puppy, too.

She was always by my side, even when I was studying.

...and now for the real tear-jerkers....

Diva and Harley had a very special bond from the day that they picked each other when Harley was just 5 weeks old and Diva was 3. I still remember Diva saying in her sweet little voice,"Mommy, I like this one. I'm naming her Harley. Let's go now." and that was that.

Continue to Part 2

Destructo's "Garage" Bedroom REVEAL!!

I've been meaning to post Destructo's room reveal for quite a while and finally decided  that I better go ahead and stop procrastinating and get it done today, so here you go:

The story of Destructo's bedroom makeover.

If you haven't noticed already this house is infected with the color beige, which I consider to be far too boring so, of course, the first thing I had to do in the room transformation was to turn the yucky beige walls into walls that resembled a garage. 

I wanted the "garage"walls to have the "look" of cement with some texture to add interest to them, so I picked up two cans of flat paint, one in light gray and one in dark gray, from  Sherwin Williams along with glaze which I had tinted with black. Then I went over to Lowes and picked up some venetian plaster and this little spatula thingy:

I thought it would be a pretty easy thing to do, but there were a few little issues that I had to deal with:

 Fail #1: After watching a few "how-to" videos on YouTube, I realized that venetian plaster was going to take way too long and decided to take it back. I did not want to re-experience the P.I.A.of Diva's Polka Dot bedroom EVER AGAIN.

Fail #2: Instead of the venetian plaster, I got this great idea (again,from YouTube) to buy tissue paper to create the texture I wanted, which I planned on putting on the walls and then painting over. 

However, once again, I realized that there were some issues that I hadn't taken into consideration. 

1.The tissue paper was even messier than I thought it would be (which is usually the case, though).
2. The tissue paper kept ripping all over the place and wouldn't stick to the walls in the way I wanted it to.
3. Studly reminded me that we were still renting and that maybe this was not going to be seen as very cool by our landlord, who had given us permission to paint, but not to go all "Jen-Style" with it.

(Yes, I swore like a sailer during this failed attempt.)

So, after two fails, I decided to go with a 3rd option:

I painted the walls with the lighter flat gray paint and then mixed the tinted black glaze with the darker shade of gray. I couldn't remember the ratio the guy at Sherwin Williams told me to use (Okay, I probably wasn't listening too closely when he told me...) so, I just kind of eye-balled it...because I'm super detail-oriented, like that.

When I applied the glaze, I tried a couple of methods in order  to get the textured look. First, I used rags, but the glaze dried too fast on them, making it hard to "blend in" with the wall paint. Then, I decided to use plastic bags, because I've learned from previous experience  that paint does not dry very fast on plastic bags. This method worked a lot better (and a lot faster) for me and soon the walls began to look like this:

I noticed after I was finally finished with the walls that the white baseboards were a little too stark against them, so I went ahead and painted those black. I wanted to paint the bedroom side of his door and the closet doors,too, but Studly convinced me that I probably shouldn't ( Dang him and his practical mind!).

I also changed out the outlet covers and found this really cool light switch cover (which was entirely too expensive, but I just couldn't resist):

The next part was constructing the garage door that I had pictured in my mind for the last couple of years  for his room, which you can read about here.

 After I was finally finished with the painting and the garage door had been assembled, it was time to find a new bed for him. His first bed was one of those Little Tykes toddler size car beds, and he was totally heartbroken when he grew out of it, so I decided to see if I could find him a twin size one and thanks to the magical workings of  KSL (what most people here use instead of Craigslist). I found one for pretty cheap and we went and picked it up.

After that, it was time to find some storage solutions for his 92 billion toys. I found a toolbox at Lowes that I really liked that could be used as a toy box:

Then, I remembered the lovely sibling rivalry that exists in this family and realized that there was a strong possibility that one of them could end up locking the other one in the "toy box" and nixed the idea. 

Instead, I went with the alternative solution of wire garage style shelving and these bins:

Destructo did already have one of those cubical storage units to use for storage as well, but the problem was that it was the maple color and the bins didn't match the new colors of the room, which didn't really work for me. I was going to sell it and get another unit in a different color, but then Diva asked if she could decorate it with duct tape. Being the cool mom that I am, I threw caution to the wind and told her she could. I figured that it was probably going to end up in disaster, but I wanted to give her the opportunity to express her creative side. 

I'll admit, I totally underestimated her:

She used silver duct tape for the insides and front edges, black and red stripes on the sides and then did a checkerboard pattern in black and white on the top. I personally think she did a pretty awesome job!

The next piece of furniture to go in the room was the dresser that I had redone, which you can read about in this post:

After the furniture was in place, it was time to accessorize:

First, we had to make sure this included a picture of his own daddy's car:

Then, we used a bunch of tin Mustang signs from his room in one of our other houses, so I used those along with a couple more and  a lamp I found at Hobby Lobby and a metal figurine of the running pony, (which if dropped on your toe, really freakin' hurts!):

 ...and now, for the best part of the blog post: The Before and After shots!  

Goodbye, ugly beige!

 

Hello,  Jr. Mustang fan's little piece of heaven (on a budget)!

 

 

The shelf on top of the dresser still needs to be hung...

My favorite part of the room is the poster you see above, though. It may seem like an ordinary poster, but it holds a very special meaning for our family. In fact,  I'm actually getting pretty teary as I am writing this part of the post. 

As you can see, the poster (which I'm sure Studly would like you to know is in commemoration of the 35th anniversary of the Mustang.) has several signatures sprawled all over it. These signatures, are from all of the members of our Mustang club who were part of the club back then.

 However, it is one signature in particular that makes this poster so special:

The signature is our friend John's, who was a founding member of our Mustang club and a great friend, who passed away last year due to cancer. He was a genuinely nice guy, who was also a great husband and father and we feel so lucky to have known him. We miss him and his "signature style" of  long-sleeve tee shirt and shorts all of the time and hope he's up there doing some wicked burnouts in some tricked out Mustang as we speak (although it's probably more like 12 in his case).