The Little Magpie

I have a chalkboard affliction.  Mason jars are an illness as well, but that’s a discussion for another day.  I did a recent tally and found nearly a dozen chalkboard surfaces in the space of four rooms.  Honestly, I am most certainly married to the most tolerant man on the planet.

There’s this one, near the coffee pot.  Since it is March 3 and definitely not cold outside, it will be evolving to a more springy statement.

And this one, in the dining room.  Sophie will edit it for March with her version of “in like a lion, out like a lamb.”

There’s this one, which is my favorite because it is an entire wall of chalkboard and magnetic paint (around 72 coats) in our kitchen.  It’s framed up with the recycled wooden border that is now bright, glossy red after being rescued from days of serving as grassy green accent to a hideous garden/bunny/floral border.  I (usually) weekly post a quote, the weather, the average sunrise/sunset and moon phase – not because we run out and hold a seance, but because it’s interesting.  That’s not entirely true – sometimes various members of our family do go out to dance, holler or swing by the light of the moon, as every family should.  Ahem.  In my opinion.

From this one:

to this one:

our home is overrun with chalkboard-y fun.  Because, you know, blogs alone were apparently not a sufficient outlet for all my words – I needed surfaces for them, too.  What’s the equivalent of the attack of the chalkboard in your world?