Ikea did not pay me to say this (call me Ikea!)

This is what it looks like after you get home from Ikea. Normally, there are more disposable Allen Wrenches involved (speaking of which, does anyone have a use for them after the fact?)

North and Mr. Foot try out his new craft table. Mr. Foot liked Ikea a lot and his favorite part was the Swedish meatballs, hence the diaper.

Our pantry storage was lacking when we moved in and Dave has made it his mission to find creative ways to add more storage space not just in the pantry, but everywhere in the house. Ikea's floating shelves work well to take advantage of our high ceilings, while still keeping items within easy reach. (Seriously, Ikea, are you dialing my number yet?)

I've never understood the modern fixation with huge kitchens, that is, unless your last name is Duggar. But I suppose counter top space is a nice thing to have. We (Dave) installed this little rack under our magnetic knife storage on the side of our oven to house vitamins and medications that previously dominated sacred counter space. Vitamins never looked so delicious.

Our back splash is a work in progress until we figure out the counter top situation (probably concrete). But we needed a little something there to tide us over in the meantime. Now when I stand at the sink washing dishes and gazing upon my sweet little succulent plants, a smile stretches across my face.

1 year 10 months

Dear North,

There were some big achievements in the last month. You're demanding various food stuff like cookies, crackers and juice throughout the day using those words, which is exciting and frightening. I admit to previously knowing what you wanted when I heard you making your puppy noise, but I attempted to distract you until you forgot about whatever carbohydrate you were begging for in that moment. But now you know the word for those things and we can't pretend to not understand you. Or you might just take matters into your own hands...

So now that you can open the pantry door, you have very little need for your parents. If it weren't for our ability to locate hidden cookies and open the refrigerator, you might just leave home with a sack tied to a stick thinking you are ready for the world.

You currently hang out in the pantry, squatting on top of carton of mason jars and spend your time relocating the condiments to different shelves. Half of our pantry storage is now crammed into the upper shelves you haven't figured out how to access yet. Eventually, you spot the cracker box, grab it and hunt down the parental unit while repeating over and over "CA-CKU? CA-CKU?..." You can easily open the box, but when you bring it to me, I give you one. I like to think that at least you brought it to me to ask for one rather than tearing into it and creating cracker mayhem in the process. But I don't think it's about the food, I think you're just damn impressed with yourself for being able to say what you want in that particular minute. Nonetheless, our house is still covered in cracker crumbs all the time.

Sometimes, I hear you over the baby monitor right before you fall asleep going through your repertoire of words. I think you know that someone can hear you. Maybe you are looking for rescue from your crib. Daddy? Mommy? Puppy?

I love to call home from work and be able to talk to you. Since your vocabulary is still limited, I say words and you repeat them back to me or I ask you what something says and you make that sound. No matter how my day is going, hearing your tiny voice makes my heart leap out of my chest. But nothing is like seeing you say words in person, with your chest swelled up with pride and a twinkle in your eye.

Oh and by the way, here is evidence of the daddy and me matching flannel phenomenon.