DON'T pull up the nasty carpet in the back portion of the bathroom until you are sure you will be able to find vinyl floor tiles to match the front. Even if you are sure Home Depot has them. Even if said carpet has been peed on and you aren't really sure you got it 100% clean. Because then you will be stuck with linoleum from 1952 until you can find the right match. Because actually, none of the big box stores has the right sticky tiles.
DO get reinforcements. After two days of fierce painting and the kids running around mostly naked looking like little wild animals, the downstairs hall, stairway, and bathroom are painted. All three coats in the bathroom to cover the nasty mustard semi-gloss. Thank God for Mom coming to help both days!
DON'T forget to eat during the renovation process, or you will find yourself eating dinner at 11 p.m. And by dinner I mean a tiny bit of leftover blueberry sauce with the miniscule amount of vanilla ice cream you scraped out of the corners of the carton with Jude's animal crackers he left in the living room earlier today. Pretty good, actually . . .
DO find an inspiration piece. Mine came in the form of the fabulous navy and white geometric shower curtain I found at Kohl's and ended up spending $3 cash on after using up a Christmas gift card. Exactly what I was looking for to liven up my now mostly white on white on white bathroom.
DON'T forget to calculate how much paint you will need for your project. Even if you bought the paint six months ago and thought you had enough. Or else you will end up going to the paint store for more trim paint. And then going back again the next day for more wall paint. Oy.
DO use scaffolding to paint the super high walls at the top of your staircase. Or else your mother (who is taller than you are) will end up standing with one foot on the top of the stepladder and one foot on the top of the railing, clenching your hand while she leaaaaaannnns over to paint higher than any human without scaffolding should be able to. She looked like a painting Ninja!
DON'T forget to bathe your children before starting on a renovation of the bathroom. Or else it will be more night than you can admit to since they have bathed, and might have small bits of food stuck to random parts.
DO go to bed before midnight. Or else you will be grouchy.
DON'T "get inspired" after 11 p.m. at night. The results of that inspiration will not look as good in daylight as they do in the wee hours of the morning. See the previous rule.
DON'T give a deadline for the "reveal." It will be soon, though, I promise!
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Monday, February 4, 2013
Bathroom time!
This morning my thought life was pretty productive. By the time I ran and showered, I had completely planned out next month's road trip, and also decided that it was time to finally paint the hallway, stairs, and bathroom. Today. And tomorrow. How could I get such a big paint project done in so little time?
Call in the reinforcements.
I happen to know that my mom is just as big of a sucker for a good makeover as I am, and also that she has some pillows that need sewing. I called her up, and after a little negotiating we decided I will be making covers for her dining room chairs, and she is helping me paint. Day 1: the trim in hallway, stairway, and bathroom is done. (Including the devilish banister/railing that runs along the top of our stairs . . . talk about tedious!) Tomorrow we'll be on to the walls . . . so here's a little sneak peek at the "before" and some bits and pieces that will be making the "after" happen!
Call in the reinforcements.
I happen to know that my mom is just as big of a sucker for a good makeover as I am, and also that she has some pillows that need sewing. I called her up, and after a little negotiating we decided I will be making covers for her dining room chairs, and she is helping me paint. Day 1: the trim in hallway, stairway, and bathroom is done. (Including the devilish banister/railing that runs along the top of our stairs . . . talk about tedious!) Tomorrow we'll be on to the walls . . . so here's a little sneak peek at the "before" and some bits and pieces that will be making the "after" happen!
It was so exciting to pull up the carpet in the dressing room portion of the bathroom tonight . . . one too many accidents has happened on that carpet. (TMI?) Now to get vinyl tiles that match the rest of the bathroom and a moveable/washable area rug. As well as some new cabinet door pulls, outlet plates, towels, and window/closet coverings (lots and lots of white muslin!). More to come on the makeover!
Sunday, February 3, 2013
An unintended terror
This past Monday morning the phone rang bright and early. I answered, and after exchanging the usual pleasantries, my friend asked me:
"Does your car have tomato sauce on it?"
I hadn't been asked that one before, but I peeked out the window and sure enough, there was a giant swath of tomato sauce on the back drivers side of the car.
"Why, yes, my car does have tomato sauce on it!"
Turns out, while I had been at my training, John had taken the kids to church for the monthly potluck. He happened to park next to my friend's aunt, who brought a crockpot of meatballs and sauce to the dinner. Unfortunately, when she got out of the car she dropped said crockpot, and meatballs and sauce flew up and out.
"It was like a volcano," she said. "The sauce just spurted straight up. It was in my hair, all over the inside of my car . . . my shoes were covered."
Must have been quite the explosion to so thoroughly sauce two cars and one lady! But no harm done, I was looking for something fun to do with the kids that day, so why not go thru the carwash on our way home from visiting John at work? What a fun and spontaneous mama I am, right?!
I was a little embarrassed when I pulled my sauce-covered car up to the carwash. I had assumed it was the usual un-manned wash where you just swipe your debit card and in you go. Nope. Not one, not two, but three scraggly looking older teen guys working the carwash. Exactly why do you need three attendants at an automatic carwash? I rolled my window down early as I took note of my wash options (bronze, silver, or gold) and heard one of them comment with a snicker "That'll be a gold wash for sure."
At that I started to feel a little white trash with my sauce covered car, because really, who drives around with spaghetti sauce on their car? Never mind that there was a legitimate explanation, if your car is being made fun of by the three carwash dudes it must be bad.
I agreed to the silver wash (for a dollar more they get the underside) and in we went.
The first moment that water started to hit the car I realized this had been a very bad idea. First I heard some little sniffles from Sophia's direction, and then Jude's frightened wails filled the car.
"Isn't this fun, guys?! They're spraying our car with water to clean off the sauce! How FUN!!!"
That's when the water stopped and soap spray started. Not just a few bubbles, no, this was a full-on sudden giant SPLAT of soap that instantaneously covered the entire car with a thick layer of suds. The car grew quiet, and I thought that the kids had caught on to what a great adventure this was.
Nope, it was just the calm in the eye of the storm . . . from there on out the cries just ratcheted up with each new part of the wash.
Next up, the long blue straps that smack the car around, pushing the suds everywhere. Thwack, thwack, thwack! You can't see when they are coming thru the suds, they just hit out of nowhere. THWACK THWACK THWACK!
With the new-ish car seat regulations, Jude is still backward facing, so I couldn't see his face at all. I could hear him, though, and that gave me a good picture of what was going on back there. Tears streaming, screaming bloody murder, mouth wide open and cheeks red. I considered clambering out of my seat into the back, but decided I really should stay behind the wheel.
"It's okay, buddy, we're just cleaning the car, almost done!"
Coinciding with my "almost done" was the start of the giant vertical toilet brush looking things that aggressively hug your car and scrub it for way too long. (Why is everything that bright blue color? How about some pastel scrubbies for the kid's sakes? Or polka dots . . . anything else!) With that the kids went from just frightened to legitimately terrified. I have to give Sophia credit . . . she actually tried to comfort Jude while crying herself.
"It's okay, buddy, it's okay," sniff sniff . . .
As we moved into the rinse/wax spray Jude's cries slowed and he seemed to be getting over his fright. Phew. Longest car wash of my life!
WHOOOOOOOOSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"WWWHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
How could I forget the dryer? You know, the five giant blowdryer tubes on each side at the exit that dry your car in three seconds flat. My son doesn't like a normal blowdryer and barely tolerates the vacuum . . . NOT a fan of the carwash dryer that is so powerful it lifts up the windshield wipers.
Finally done, I put the car into gear and peeled rubber. Poor Jude was still shaky when we got home five minutes later, clinging to me like saran wrap when I pulled him out of his carseat. We went inside and all cuddled up together for a little while until the kids had recovered from their terrifying ordeal.
When I told my friend about our experience, her husband had a positive spin on the whole thing . . . "If the kids are naughty, you can tell them to knock it off or you'll go thru the carwash again!"
"Does your car have tomato sauce on it?"
I hadn't been asked that one before, but I peeked out the window and sure enough, there was a giant swath of tomato sauce on the back drivers side of the car.
"Why, yes, my car does have tomato sauce on it!"
Turns out, while I had been at my training, John had taken the kids to church for the monthly potluck. He happened to park next to my friend's aunt, who brought a crockpot of meatballs and sauce to the dinner. Unfortunately, when she got out of the car she dropped said crockpot, and meatballs and sauce flew up and out.
"It was like a volcano," she said. "The sauce just spurted straight up. It was in my hair, all over the inside of my car . . . my shoes were covered."
Must have been quite the explosion to so thoroughly sauce two cars and one lady! But no harm done, I was looking for something fun to do with the kids that day, so why not go thru the carwash on our way home from visiting John at work? What a fun and spontaneous mama I am, right?!
I was a little embarrassed when I pulled my sauce-covered car up to the carwash. I had assumed it was the usual un-manned wash where you just swipe your debit card and in you go. Nope. Not one, not two, but three scraggly looking older teen guys working the carwash. Exactly why do you need three attendants at an automatic carwash? I rolled my window down early as I took note of my wash options (bronze, silver, or gold) and heard one of them comment with a snicker "That'll be a gold wash for sure."
At that I started to feel a little white trash with my sauce covered car, because really, who drives around with spaghetti sauce on their car? Never mind that there was a legitimate explanation, if your car is being made fun of by the three carwash dudes it must be bad.
I agreed to the silver wash (for a dollar more they get the underside) and in we went.
The first moment that water started to hit the car I realized this had been a very bad idea. First I heard some little sniffles from Sophia's direction, and then Jude's frightened wails filled the car.
"Isn't this fun, guys?! They're spraying our car with water to clean off the sauce! How FUN!!!"
That's when the water stopped and soap spray started. Not just a few bubbles, no, this was a full-on sudden giant SPLAT of soap that instantaneously covered the entire car with a thick layer of suds. The car grew quiet, and I thought that the kids had caught on to what a great adventure this was.
Nope, it was just the calm in the eye of the storm . . . from there on out the cries just ratcheted up with each new part of the wash.
Next up, the long blue straps that smack the car around, pushing the suds everywhere. Thwack, thwack, thwack! You can't see when they are coming thru the suds, they just hit out of nowhere. THWACK THWACK THWACK!
With the new-ish car seat regulations, Jude is still backward facing, so I couldn't see his face at all. I could hear him, though, and that gave me a good picture of what was going on back there. Tears streaming, screaming bloody murder, mouth wide open and cheeks red. I considered clambering out of my seat into the back, but decided I really should stay behind the wheel.
"It's okay, buddy, we're just cleaning the car, almost done!"
Coinciding with my "almost done" was the start of the giant vertical toilet brush looking things that aggressively hug your car and scrub it for way too long. (Why is everything that bright blue color? How about some pastel scrubbies for the kid's sakes? Or polka dots . . . anything else!) With that the kids went from just frightened to legitimately terrified. I have to give Sophia credit . . . she actually tried to comfort Jude while crying herself.
"It's okay, buddy, it's okay," sniff sniff . . .
As we moved into the rinse/wax spray Jude's cries slowed and he seemed to be getting over his fright. Phew. Longest car wash of my life!
WHOOOOOOOOSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"WWWHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"
How could I forget the dryer? You know, the five giant blowdryer tubes on each side at the exit that dry your car in three seconds flat. My son doesn't like a normal blowdryer and barely tolerates the vacuum . . . NOT a fan of the carwash dryer that is so powerful it lifts up the windshield wipers.
Finally done, I put the car into gear and peeled rubber. Poor Jude was still shaky when we got home five minutes later, clinging to me like saran wrap when I pulled him out of his carseat. We went inside and all cuddled up together for a little while until the kids had recovered from their terrifying ordeal.
When I told my friend about our experience, her husband had a positive spin on the whole thing . . . "If the kids are naughty, you can tell them to knock it off or you'll go thru the carwash again!"
Saturday, February 2, 2013
Collection o' sewing projects
Today I sat down at my new sewing machine, read the manual, and got stitching. And I can absolutely say that I have never had such a versatile and easy to use machine. My Featherweight will forever be my favorite, and I will be getting it fixed very soon, but I am definitely in love with my new Husqvarna sewing machine.
So today's post is just a quick announcement . . . a few people had asked me recently about doing some custom work, but I had been just the slightest bit hesitant because of the condition of my machines. Hesitant no more! If you have something that needs sewing, whether it be clothes for the kids/grandkids, a bag, pillow covers, curtains, etc, shoot me an e-mail or give me a call! Check out the pictures of some of my past projects, and then use your imagination. I'd be happy to work with you to come up with exactly what you need.
Custom pillow covers
Cover for metal bakers shelf unit
plain filled pillows . . .
. . . and muslin-lined covers with invisible zippers! The blue/green/yellow covers are on the red pillows in the previous picture.
Lined for ultimate light and cold blocking.
Before . . .
. . . and before . . .
. . . and after!
$10 blanket from Marden's . . . puppy dog outfit that Sophia still wears two years later! It's a wee bit short on her now . . .
I'm not a huge lace fan, but I do like the privacy it affords us in our entryway, while still allowing light thru.
My Featherweight (the little engine that could . . . until a week ago) and a little pair of baby slippers.
Friday, February 1, 2013
No promises
There are a few catchphrases I remember from my childhood. The ones you swear you will never use on your own children, but then all of a sudden you have a toddler and are using "because I said so" on a daily basis. One of the most annoying to me was "no promises."
"Can we go to Range Pond today?"
"Maybe, no promises."
"Are we having pizza for dinner?"
"No promises."
"You said I could get a new ____________."
"Sometime, no promises."
My dad was the KING of "no promises." Mom was a little easier to maneuver into a yes, but Dad was tricky. Probably the number one annoying thing about him, besides the fact that no matter how old we got he always told us to use soap and hot water when washing dishes. The man is pretty much a saint otherwise, but you could always count on "no promises" and "don't forget to use soap and hot water."
Dad, I'm 31 now. Pretty sure I always use soap and hot water.
Funny how your perspective changes. All of a sudden the phrase "no promises" is not only not annoying, it's a necessity. Because I have a 3 1/2 year old with an elephantine memory, and if I say we are going to do something and we don't, she calls me out.
Shortly before Christmas I spotted some discounted gingerbread house kits at Joann Fabrics. How perfect! I had told Sophia that we would make a gingerbread house this year, but was feeling a little undermotivated to make the actual house from scratch. So when I found the box containing house parts, icing glue, and candy all-in-one I snatched it up. I pulled out the kit when I got home to show Sophia, who was thrilled to bits and wanted to make it then and there. Since bedtime was half an hour away, I said no, but then I *promised* that we could make it together the next day.
Yes, I should have known better.
Because the next morning I got the phone call that a dear friend was in labor and could I please come? Of course! We can totally make the house later! I called my mom to come watch the kids, and prepared to head out.
Then I told Sophia that the house was going to have to wait, but we would be sure to do it soon. Because I was really looking forward to making it with her, crafty person that I am. Seemed like a super fun mama-daughter activity to do when Jude was napping, so of course it wouldn't be a big deal to put it off, right?
Wrong.
I can deal with temper tantrums. I am fine with floor-kicking, high-pitched shrieking, crocodile-tear shedding temper tantrums. Walk away, man. They will get over it.
What I can't deal with is a truly broken-hearted toddler who is trying-but-not-succeeding not to cry because she is so sad. And is clutching her gingerbread house kit and telling her mama "But you said we could do it today . . . you promised."
Life happens. Sometimes you have plans to do something, but then you get a flat tire and pizza money becomes tire money. Or your kids take nine hours to eat dinner and the nice long bubble bath with toys turns into a hurry-up-and-wash-your-hair-stop-crying-it's-no-tears-shampoo bath. Or a friend is having a baby and the gingerbread house has to be a grammy-granddaughter experience.
Of course, there are so many ways to use "no promises," but these are just a few practical examples I have used lately.
"Mama, can Zuzu come over to play Hagar and Ishmael?"
"Maybe, if Auntie Kristin says it's okay . . . no promises."
"Mama, can we go to the library tomorrow?"
"If the weather is good . . . no promises."
"Mama, can we do a craft today?"
"We might have time after naps . . . no promises."
Whatever the case may be, "no promises" is the catch phrase of choice for a savvy parent of toddlers who wants to avoid having their kid end up in therapy saying "but they promised" twenty years down the road. I've learned my lesson a few times over the last few months. From here on out, the word "promise" is removed from my vocabulary. I'm sure I will give my kids plenty of other issues to work out with their shrink, but hopefully broken promises will not be one of them.
Today is February 1st, which means it is time to draw a follower out of the hat (via random.com) to win this bag . . . drumroll, please!
"Can we go to Range Pond today?"
"Maybe, no promises."
"Are we having pizza for dinner?"
"No promises."
"You said I could get a new ____________."
"Sometime, no promises."
My dad was the KING of "no promises." Mom was a little easier to maneuver into a yes, but Dad was tricky. Probably the number one annoying thing about him, besides the fact that no matter how old we got he always told us to use soap and hot water when washing dishes. The man is pretty much a saint otherwise, but you could always count on "no promises" and "don't forget to use soap and hot water."
Dad, I'm 31 now. Pretty sure I always use soap and hot water.
Funny how your perspective changes. All of a sudden the phrase "no promises" is not only not annoying, it's a necessity. Because I have a 3 1/2 year old with an elephantine memory, and if I say we are going to do something and we don't, she calls me out.
Shortly before Christmas I spotted some discounted gingerbread house kits at Joann Fabrics. How perfect! I had told Sophia that we would make a gingerbread house this year, but was feeling a little undermotivated to make the actual house from scratch. So when I found the box containing house parts, icing glue, and candy all-in-one I snatched it up. I pulled out the kit when I got home to show Sophia, who was thrilled to bits and wanted to make it then and there. Since bedtime was half an hour away, I said no, but then I *promised* that we could make it together the next day.
Yes, I should have known better.
Because the next morning I got the phone call that a dear friend was in labor and could I please come? Of course! We can totally make the house later! I called my mom to come watch the kids, and prepared to head out.
Then I told Sophia that the house was going to have to wait, but we would be sure to do it soon. Because I was really looking forward to making it with her, crafty person that I am. Seemed like a super fun mama-daughter activity to do when Jude was napping, so of course it wouldn't be a big deal to put it off, right?
Wrong.
I can deal with temper tantrums. I am fine with floor-kicking, high-pitched shrieking, crocodile-tear shedding temper tantrums. Walk away, man. They will get over it.
What I can't deal with is a truly broken-hearted toddler who is trying-but-not-succeeding not to cry because she is so sad. And is clutching her gingerbread house kit and telling her mama "But you said we could do it today . . . you promised."
Life happens. Sometimes you have plans to do something, but then you get a flat tire and pizza money becomes tire money. Or your kids take nine hours to eat dinner and the nice long bubble bath with toys turns into a hurry-up-and-wash-your-hair-stop-crying-it's-no-tears-shampoo bath. Or a friend is having a baby and the gingerbread house has to be a grammy-granddaughter experience.
Of course, there are so many ways to use "no promises," but these are just a few practical examples I have used lately.
"Mama, can Zuzu come over to play Hagar and Ishmael?"
"Maybe, if Auntie Kristin says it's okay . . . no promises."
"Mama, can we go to the library tomorrow?"
"If the weather is good . . . no promises."
"Mama, can we do a craft today?"
"We might have time after naps . . . no promises."
Whatever the case may be, "no promises" is the catch phrase of choice for a savvy parent of toddlers who wants to avoid having their kid end up in therapy saying "but they promised" twenty years down the road. I've learned my lesson a few times over the last few months. From here on out, the word "promise" is removed from my vocabulary. I'm sure I will give my kids plenty of other issues to work out with their shrink, but hopefully broken promises will not be one of them.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Today is February 1st, which means it is time to draw a follower out of the hat (via random.com) to win this bag . . . drumroll, please!
And the lucky winner is . . . frostedwithgrace!
Congrats, Jen, you will have a new bag coming your way via the USPS very soon. I promise!
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