So my man has been gone for a month. (Not deployed. Just in training.)
In Army life, that isn't too big of a deal. But still. It's a deal. 'Specially when you're cooking a small human inside your tummy and you have two other small humans outside your tummy to look after.
After a month by my onesie, I am so happy to tell you that 1) he's coming home, and 2) I ain't afraid of no stinking power drill no more. I decided that it was time to quit being such a weenie about drills, hammers, anchors, nails, screws, and other previously intimidating-to-me "manly" objects. and really? It's empowering to wield a power drill with a big mean bit on it with a big ole pregnant belly, to boot. 'Specially when I'm out with my belly in front of my house on a ladder drilling holes into the front of my house. Makes people drive by reeeeal slow.
Anyway, my point is, I drilled holes in a bunch of crap this month. Like my walls. Which is really not all that exciting.
Except that it is.
My first attempt using anchors. I'm dumbfounded that it's still on the wall. Like, securely.
Ta-da! music box with wheels.
I found the most awesome vintage hook to use as a curtain holdback. Print from Graphic Anthology.
Sexy glasses, eh? This is a funny picture because my man is not short. He's 5'9. His commander is just ha-yuge.
Welcome home, love. I missed you. You can have your drill back now.