girl at large

Renovations and Revisions

I had my chest revision surgery on Thursday. Some women are built so that the initial mastectomy surgery, if they go Flat, leaves a pleasing flat and smooth chest. Others, usually those built like me, are left with a moonscape of craters and lumps. Needing second surgery, usually a day surgery and relatively minor, isn’t unusual.

I had, as my child described it, “two little matzo balls” in the middle of my chest. The extra skin where the stitches came together under my arms left me with annoying flesh pillow corners, called dog ears. The center nubbins were always sore, and the difference between contours of the radiated and non radiated sides was very noticeable. The non cancer side had what we named “the crumb catcher”, an odd fold of skin by my rib cage.

I’ve been very content to have chosen AFC (Aesthetic Flat Closure). Fewer surgeries, less risk of infection, no foreign objects in my body. And after a lifetime of backaches and blouses that wouldn’t button, I feel lighter and sleeker. But the final results needed some work.

I’m very sore, and bruised like I was in a car wreck, but this is the first procedure that was completely  my choice and solely to make me feel better.  I had to wait a year after radiation to get the revision surgery done, so it was a very happy day.

Also a long time coming is the upstairs renovation—dividing the large bungalow train cars of oddly shaped rooms into proper bedrooms and putting in four—-FOUR—-closets (!). One wall came down, two more went up, and the oddball cupboards and arches got filled in. We salvaged four of our original solid wood doors; after stripping and painting they look amazing. (How is it possible we still have five more unused doors in the basement?). We started the project a few weeks ago, the painters are almost done, it should all be wrapped up soon. 

So, I’m sitting up recuperating in my comfy bed, hoping the skin under my bandages is smooth and pretty, enjoying the new pocket doors and cheerfully painted walls.

OMG I just realized the paint color I picked is nipple pink. 

A Little Bit of Fun

Things are not back to normal. They shouldn’t be. The kids are back in daycare and I’m back at the store, which means no other activities for us, our exposure is just too great. I’m worried for myself and for others. I’m worried I’ll give it to someone. So, while the rest of the world returns to entertainment and bars like nothing ever happened, we are doing a daily balancing act.

To treat the kids this weekend to a bit of at-home summertime “normal”, I ordered a HUGE inflatable kiddie pool water park thingie...

It came in a tiny box.

This is going to be fun.

Covid Kids

Easter is a bit different this year. No big beautiful family meal at Aunt Lisa’s, no dressing up fancy and no Easter egg hunt at the park. Instead only six eggs to color, scrounging up strange kitchen drawer candy, raiding the present closet for a basket filler.

This is week four of the quarantine, week four of the emotional roller coaster, first full week of homeschooling, second week where I have no sales team left to work with, fourth week of no customers, fourth week of no answers. 

What will the kids remember? The tears and arguments? The short tempered parents? Being separated from friends and grandparents?

Probably not. They are ages three and seven. They will remember the year the Easter Bunny brought legos instead of marshmallow eggs. (It’s a dangerous precedent really.)

I remember in tough times, not the trouble itself so much as the comfort my mom employed. Sometimes it was for her comfort, like her favorite food (creamed eggs on toast), sometimes for our comfort like holding my head in a certain squeeze, or reading at the end of her bed.

I don’t need the iron this morning, or a fresh pair of tights, or a pan of food to bring, or to rush out the door hollering to “get in the car or else!”.

But I sure do need some hope.

Some hope to help me take these six eggs and, like the lemon to lemonade adage, make something of them. Maybe egg salad. 

But not creamed eggs on toast. Because it’s gross.

At Home Learning

I’ll always question why I asssumed it was safe to have the kids at Grandmas house the first week and half. Once I developed a cold (only one day of low fever, no other covid symptoms), it came crashing down on me just how selfish and risky that was. I hope that lesson wasn’t learned too late.

Now that they are at home with us all day every day, I’m learning first-hand how amazing Grandma time was —activities, schedule, lessons schoolwork. And the snacks! Oh the snacks. I’m finding out just how impossible is it to Work From Home and Parent At Home and Also Be A Teacher. It is impossible.

You know those work-from-home memes about discovering the “work personality” of your spouse? Paulie is about exactly what I expected, though slightly more organized. In contrast, during their first classroom video meeting, I was surprised to find out my kid, my very quiet kid, is the bold over-sharer! Good to know.

And one final lesson during this pandemic—the entire first two weeks I thought “WFH” stood for What Fucking Hell, not Work From Home.

I like my version better.

Thanksgiving Wishes

It was a year ago next week that we packed up and moved into the temporary ‘partment (as Charlie called it) across the street so that our entire first floor could be gutted and an actual kitchen installed. We crossed our fingers that we had chosen the contractor wisely, grateful we could finally take the leap and do it. 

This year I am grateful daily for the comfort, the function, the new found CLEAN that is our now lovely home. It is a dream, a six years long wish, a vision come true.

But can I get one more holiday wish?

Recipes. Actual recipes. Not blogs, not editorials, not profiles, not photo essays. I don’t care how you FEEL about the turnips Bethany, I. just. want. the. recipe.

Imagine if Aunt Fern had used fifteen index cards for the ambrosia.

Home Is Where The Mortgage Is

 

This fall’s early snow delayed taking the best “After” shots, but I don’t hate the way it camouflaged the crummy roof. The house exterior looks amazing, but it’s 58 degrees and breezy inside. Next year, storm windows. The year after that, condo.

Come Out with Tits Swinging

A middle-aged dude just rolled up in his Mercedes, slowed down, pulled close to the curb, and TOSSED HIS GARBAGE BOTTLE IN MY COMPOST BIN. I am over 45, bra-less in a nightgown and slippers and I am enraged. All I need is curlers and you can see the picture. I ran out to the street. If I'd been faster and if it wasn't so early in the morning, I would have thrown it back at his sedan and yelled. This is what home ownership does to a person.

 

My favorite part of these incidents is that SHOREWOOD IS REALLY SMALL. Dude, I know your car. Dude, I know YOU.

 

I'm currently taking suggestions for the note I'll leave when I return the bottle to the hood of his car. Nice detail: the bottle is full of HIS SUNFLOWER SEED SHELLS.

 

Also, currently taking suggestions on paint colors for the house trim. Home ownership has many curses.

The Days Are So Long, The Years So Fast

When I give him food that is hot, with the predictable parental warning—“wait for it to cool down honey”, Charlie says “Warm, Mama, warm. I’m going to wait for it to get WARM.” 

Happy Birthday Charlie.

You adorable little shit.

 

Totally Under Control

We’re on hour two of Easter basket amusement. Who says kids don’t like post it notes and twist ties? Also, Paulie is barfing downstairs. In the bathroom that has plastic garbage bags taped up on the walls where we ripped out the shower tile.  {Sips coffee}

Worth It

     We are moved back in to the house, the temporary apartment has been emptied and cleaned. I still have boxes and boxes to go through in the basement, as well as furniture to move upstairs and art to rehang. Paulie is chipping away at painting ceilings, touching up walls, reinstalling blinds and installing light fixtures. But overall, it’s done. The kitchen, done. The mud room, done. The back family room, done. The floors, done. The Book Shower, done. 

    When I captured this moment, I thought, “Worth every penny”. And then I noticed it was Captain Underpants, and I thought, well, can’t win em all.

 

The Bright Side

Just when I feel overwhelmed by risk and debt and responsibilities, a little voice reminds me of how good we’ve got it.

Me, scooping up apple cores, baby wipes and Culver's bags: “Man, this car is a mess”.

Viv: ”At least it doesn't smell like old cheese anymore”.

Making The Best of It

In an effort to make a temporary, rather bleak one bedroom apartment more tolerable for the family, especially over the holiday, I’ve been thinking we will have some fun and try to make it a little adventure. 

 

Mama: ”Honey, let’s make the little apartment fun, we can decorate it anyway we want. How about a theme from one of your books?”

 

Viv: “Can it be Oliver Twist?

 

Baseline Overwhelmed

I have a sheet of stickers. Charlie comes over, asks for a sticker, gets a sticker and waddles in to the next room. In that room, he folds the sticker. A minute later, he is back, waving his hand around with the half folded sticker stuck to it and proclaiming that the sticker is broken. He asks for another sticker; I oblige.

We have passed an hour this way. And it is just about the right speed of activity and responsibility I can handle right now. The house construction starts on Tuesday. I am not ready. My brain is broken. Can I have another?

What They See

It’s been an exhausting few weeks.

My community is in an uproar over the highschool production of To Kill A Mockingbird, which exposed the school’s ugly power dynamic, ineffective school board governance, and of course, very loud obnoxious white lady style racism.

We spent a week vacationing with family up north, with all the emotional weight, good and bad, that entails. Note: vacationing with a six year old and a two year old is not vacationing; it’s a trip away, yes, but not a vacation.The school district’s survey to gain support for a $55m to $120m referendum came out (I’m part of a small group trying to get the financial facts and consequences out to the public). I somehow got myself on the Beautification committee of the PTO. There are fliers to hand out, doors to knock on and troops to rally. And parent teacher conferences were on Thursday.

Oh, and while we’re were at it we refinanced the house, with all the paperwork and worry that involves. On Wednesday, after five years of doing everything else ourselves in this fixer upper, we finally signed the construction contract for the complete gutting renovation of the kitchen and first floor. Good grief. Also, I guess I really live here now.

I’ve spent a lot of time these past two weeks thinking about what I want my kids to be exposed to, what kind of community I want them to grow up in, how my values aren’t always reflected in this village.

I’ve also been caught out a few times on my own internal village, how we don’t always live our values right here in this house. Teacher conferences gave me a glimpse of Viv’s world (all week she’s been telling her class stories of the wonderful time she had at the cottage!). I’m freshly aware of how we talk to each other as Charlie explores the boundaries of being a bossy two year old, tests out “No!”, and imitiates Mama and Papa with his dollies. I’m not always proud of what is reflected. 

But, I learn. And I grow. And when ashamed, I try really hard to step forward with new approaches instead of retreating into old habits.

In the end, when they are grown and reflect on their upbringing, I hope their view of their family is like Viv’s clandestine photo portrait of us. There we are, tired and resigned. But together, and with faint smiles on our faces. At the table with each other and not too much yelling.

It Takes A Village

I got called out this week for suggesting that the monarch butterflies that survived, survived because of my care. Nope, they did not. I had, in fact, very little to do with it. For the record:

Our neighbor friend gave us a chrysalis earlier this summer, from her butterfly garden. We watched it hatch and released a huge female monarch, very exciting. I thanked the friend, and mentioned that I planned to plant milkweed so we could maybe have some monarchs of our own next year.

Sure enough, a few days later she dropped off a milkweed plant for us to have! It was in a temporary pot, so I plunked it on the shelf and mentally scheduled its planting for “later, after I do all the other things like getting the toddler to stop yelling ERNIEBERT ERNIEBERT ERNIEBERT at the top of his lungs”).

I was working at my sunroom desk one day, when a huge fuzzy caterpillar suddenly appeared on my keyboard and scooted his way across my work. What the?! Turns out the plant had eggs, and now a few warm interior weeks later, we have four caterpillars!

I put the plant outside, complete with it’s four new tenants and called Mom. I had no idea what to do, or frankly if there was anything required to do except put them outside. I’m a naturalist. I naturally think all living things belong outside, you know, with the nature. Don’t they figure it out themselves?

Turns out, there’s more to it. In order to get caterpillars from fuzzy worm to chrysalis to butterfly in large numbers, they need some protection. The next day, when I got home from work, I saw that Mom had brought over a monarch box and put the caterpillars and milkweed stems inside their new safe little habitat. Mom MADE the monarch box, with the monarch group at the senior center because you know, she’s lived here half as long as me but knows everyone and does everything and is the queen of the village. 

All is good. Until the hungry little buggers eat all the leaves, stripping the milkweed to nothing but stalks. Mom knew this would happen and had already rallied the troops. Her darling friend Julie brought over some of her own milkweed leaves, taking the time to deliver them to mom before she went to her own family outing (!). 

Cool, crisis averted. So in the evening, I put the box up on the table on the porch to better view the creatures and see when they attach themselves to the top and start their metamorphosis. And I go to bed, and to work and to bed and to work again and think nothing of it.

Mom scolds me after she moves the box from the exposed table top to the floor, and puts a plastic cover on the top to protect it and its delicate inhabitants from the howling storm and three days of rain. Oops.

Now safely sheltered, they do their acrobatic cocooning thing, and dangle for another ten days in the corner. We count only three chrysalis, the fourth probably lost to the weather. As Viv nonchalantly said “it’s probably dead”. 

Fortunately for us, the monarchs appeared over Labor Day weekend, so we could enjoy the sight as they unfolded their glorious wings. And during the only bit of sunshine we’d had all weekend, even better.

So, there’s the whole story. I take no credit for the successful hatching of these monarch butterflies. As I said, it’s a miracle they survived me. 

What a lucky bunch of bugs we are.

Brunch Market

Paulie and Viv are at the races all day, I already have two loads of laundry done and the sun is shining. Time to go to the farmers market, just Charlie and me. Or, because he has a boppie and is totally ignorable four feet ahead of me in the double stroller, mentally just me. Ahhh.

The Shorewood Farmers Market is packed. Packed with strollers, coffee drinkers, shoppers, a band. A band? A full honest god electric set up band. And there's the Shasta trailer selling waffles, the other trailer selling egg breakfasts, and new this year a vintage Ford truck retrofitted with taps to serve small batch brews. It is, of course, clad with horizontal reclaimed wood boards. A Tommy Haverford lookalike inspects the boulangerie's mobile wood fired oven, at least four booths have locally roasted coffee. Is someone roasting beans right here? There's Kambucha, empanadas, gluten-free ready to bake dough...it's endless, and not much of it is produce. There are more vehicles than veggie vendors, you wouldn't be crazy for thinking it's a food truck lot. If I didn't have the experience to know where to find the egg lady, and that a cartoon of her fresh brown eggs was worth elbowing through all that overpriced spandex for, I would have turned around.

Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoy this outing, especially the chocolate croissants. But let's call this what it really is: Portland 2005.

 

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Parenting Peak

It's been a spring of late snowstorms and lingering cold. Only this morning, already the first of May, does the air finally feel promising. And yet there are still patches of snow in our concrete yard. And also a large patch of standing water that Viv says looks like a dinosaur. (The mudjacking company says it looks like about a grand)

Recently one day at school, a classmate's parent forgot to bring snowpants.

Vivi said to her: "Isn't it your job to pack your own snow pants?"

My work here is done, peace out. -Mama.

 

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All Politics Is Local. Also, the Universe doesn't care.

On Tuesday night, I refreshed my screen a hundred times, waiting for the local election results. More than ever before,  I really cared who was elected to the Village Board. Shorewood has had a lot of development in the last five years (and by a lot I mean an eight story apartment building, a parking garage, a two city block Metro Mart complex with another parking garage and then right next to that another six story apartment block--all visible from my front porch. Oh, and the cute church on my very corner got torn down for a bank-from-a-box currently under construction). I love the walkability of our neighborhood, it's literally why I moved here, but a lot of how the most recent development was done is more than the little village could handle. I'm still learning, still catching up on board meeting videos, but my understanding is that there is wide spread discontent regarding these issues: 

1) Not enough community involvement in scale, design and use decisions (i.e. That enormous building is ugly as shit).

2) Inadequate planning for traffic changes; to date there is still no village wide traffic study.

3) Inequitable facade improvement grants up to $200k from a program that was supposed to support older buildings and local business at the $10k level.

4) Over use of TIF (Tax Incremental Finding) to "get" development deals instead of letting the market dictate.

5) And of course, our taxes keep going up.

So, it's ripe for political change. The previous VB President is retiring, and two Trustee seats were up for reelection. Apparently, (and I'm only up to speed on a few Facebook group and online forum gossip mill posts), there has been a lot of discord, infighting, and trash talking between the old guard (those who created, financed, and approved the questionable developments) and the new guard (two women Trustees who surprised everyone by unseating incumbents in the last election cycles). So, that's the set up.

It made for a very exciting few weeks in this little hamlet! The Milwaukee County Executive even weighed in on our little race (with his private money) by endorsing some candidates as part of an expensive, glossy yet vague big-money political action group ad campaign. Yard signs were stolen, previous VB Presidents allegedly banned from Facebook pages, gossipy smear letters annonymously mailed to citizens...politics really brings out the best in people.

I was really hoping for change, for my three picks to win. Allison Rozek for VB President, Jessica Carpenter for Trustee and Davida Amenta for Trustee (2 trustee spots were open, and Davida was seeking reelection, Allison was a sitting Trustee running for the President spot).

At 9pm, the local news site said my gals had lost, with 100% precincts reporting. I was dumbstruck. I knew Allison was a fifty fifty chance, Jessica was safe with a second place showing, but Davida got bumped to third which meant she lost her seat. That was the worse case scenerio--if Allison had lost she would still retain her Trustee seat, but without Davida on the board her coalition for change was weakened. Davida losing was really crushing, I believed her seat was safe. But it was not to be, I was gutted.

So, I tossed and turned all night..I made mental plans for a get out the vote campaign, I was rearranging my schedule to attend every village board meeting, writing my Concerned Citizen statements, grinding my teeth...

In the morning, I checked the Facebook to read their statements. Stunning reversal! THEY DID WIN! All three of my picks WON! Turns out the local site had it wrong, Allison won by 103 votes, Jessica took the first trustee spot handily with the most votes, and Davida retained her seat with a squeaky but safe margin.

I cried. I actually cried. Now, they may all make mistakes and we may find that all the decisions the previous board made were on the up and up, but most important to me is that now we will KNOW what is going on. This new group has promised to change the way the government communicates with and involves the residents, they have promised transparency and accountability. They better deliver, because my heart can't take it!

It was an amazing morning, it felt so fantastic to get a win. There's nothing we can't do! March! Vote! Fund raise! Change is coming! The future is female! What a day!

And then I put my car in a ditch. So, thanks Universe, for the reminder.

 

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Don't Get Me Started

I made the mistake of getting engaged with the local Village Board election coming up in April.

Paulie hasn't had the chance to attend a forum or read much, so I keep him informed.

This morning was all about the TIFs, the lack of bidding out professional services, and the issues that never even got on the board agenda. One of the candidates for Village President said "I don't set the agenda, YOU set the agenda" to the forum crowd. Um, yes, actually the bylaws state that the Village President DOES indeed have sole authority to set the agenda as well as to select committee members. So, 1) misleading and pandering B) didn't answer the question which was what is your method for setting the agenda. Paulie wasn't there, so I played it out for him, word for word. Quite a lot of the forum got repeated for his benefit come to think of it.

We covered all three candidates for the two Trustee positions, and the two candidates for Village President. Experience, qualifications, positions, and of course detailed analysis of their replies to my email questions. Then there's understanding the complicated Tax Incremental Funding and the relationship between the Board and the Communitiy Development Authority and that big money transfer made this year instead of closing one of the TIFs early, and did you know they DON'T GET COMPETING BIDS for professional services? And that they don't have CONTRACTS? And there wasn't a look back clause with the developemer that got the $5 million GRANT and then flipped the entire project in 10 months for $20 million profit? And so on...

Paulie, from the shower: "Honey, why don't you just go ahead and run so I can get ready in peace some day."

 

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Home Fires

In a stunning reversal, I like my house and hate my husband. Ok, so that's too strong, but I'm cranky this morning. And we're not seeing eye to eye. But, like all our marital storms, this one will pass.

What will stay, I hope, is my new satisfaction with the house. The painting continues, one room at time, through the first floor. We literally have just one painter working in the house each day, the painting company is fitting us in between other jobs. Which wouldn't be that unusual except that typically they run a crew for this amount of work---walls, ceiling, then sanding, priming and two-coating all that trim. The playroom ceiling had to be stripped of falling ancient wallpaper and practically replastered. Davis, whom I have yet to meet in person, arrives after we leave for work and leaves before we return. Our very own magical painter elf. This is very our style of working with the trades---not needing a schedule or having a deadlin has its cost benefits. And makes the drive home from work more exciting; oh the anticipation!

Adding to the feeling of CLEAN the paint has given the house, the three new light fixtures have changed my outlook on everything. Literally. I can now see just exactly how filthy, grungy, and dark the house was. Why did we wait so long? Oh right, because we needed a shower, and garage doors, and our own bedroom.

Paulie did put up all three lights. And installed dimmers. Ok, truce.

 

 

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Monumental Decisions

I was not made for home ownership. I prefer to move every two years or so, changing my view of the town I live in, if not the town itself, downgrading or upgrading as needed. Despite my love of architecture and design, I have never wanted to OWN architecture. Like my love of hotels, I prefer both a less permanent and more luxurious arrangement.

 

Paulie was born to own. He was literally born two blocks from where he is currently snoring. In our marital compromise, and also in a new-baby, got kicked-out-of-our-rental haze, we bought. We got lucky; in winter and the bottom of the market, we scored a solid structure in the neighborhood we love and now today could no longer afford. (Don't get me started on the unfairness of the real estate market and how young families, seniors and modest income folks are getting priced out of our village because the recent condo developments and duplex conversion programs favor the wealthy).

 

We did not purchase, as I originally suggested, two adjacent one-bedroom his-and-hers modern apartments. We got a classic bungalow instead, complete with crumbling plaster walls, ancient plumbing, and...original woodwork.

 

In the four and half years since, I have tossed and turned and wrung my hands about one particularly thorny issue. An issue many homeowners, HGTV watchers and renovators have passionately debated for decades.There are sides.There are camps. There are blogs and articles and curses if you do, curses if you don't. Only politics is currently more divided.

 

To paint the woodwork or not paint the woodwork?

 

Finally, I decided. I chose a camp. I chose Paint. The picture rail, door frames and baseboards all got painted a smooth, clean and lovely off-white. The wood doors, windows, and dining room arch columns will remain unpainted (and filthy until the budget and time allows for stripping and refinishing).

 

And you know what? No one cared. No woodwork police arrived. Because it's my house, and god damn I can do what I want. Which is exactly what I said to myself when the property tax bill came last week, interestingly just moments before I said screw it and called the painter.

 

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Location, Location, Location

Viv: "When I grow up I want to marry Miss Tia"

Mama: "Where will you live when you and Miss Tia are married?"

Viv: "Why not right here, this house is great!"

Mama: "This is mama and papa's house, you can't live here once you're grown up and married."

Viv: "What if you're already dead?"

 

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This Guy

We're having a little family do today. I mentioned in passing that I wished the garbage cans weren't so visible. Five minutes later, he's building a screen.

 

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One Row At A Time

 

The bathroom is finished! It took a year, but at last we have a working sink, toilet AND shower on the second floor. Our tile guy, dear and beloved Scott, did our job moonlighting between a day time tile gig and a night shift driving gig. So, one row at a time, over the past four weeks, our complicated patterned shower tile was installed (and Scott was made dizzy).

And of course, a shout out to this guy, for doing everything else that makes a bathroom a bathroom (and a house a home):

 

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Toddler + Newborn + Fixer-upper = Surrender.

Viv dropped her doll's blankie in the sprinkler puddle. Clever girl, she used the dryer vent to take care of it. Of course, the dryer vent is missing its cover, because that's just how we roll these days. Surrender.

 

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Before & Before

While Mom, Viv and I were road tripping, Paulie was home working away on the bedroom. Out came the groovy orange closet, fluorescent lights, acoustic tile ceiling and dark faux wood wall paneling.

Underneath the 70's vintage cladding were remnants of a 70's teenage graffiti conversation, complete with sketches of guitars and booze bottles. This house has history. If the previous owners kids ever pop by, I want to ask about "taking Mary to Nino's". No need to ask about the window screen missing a neatly cut 2" square of mesh. I think I can guess.

 

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What A Difference A Door Makes

Before After

Just in time for the early spring weather, our new storm doors were installed a few weeks ago. Oh wait, we are supposed to get a big snow storm tomorrow----nothing like a return on an investment!

 

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Half Way There

Before/After

More progress! The toilet, medicine cabinet, light fixture and sink are complete. That is technically a half bath---I'm totally thrilled!

Just the shower tiling (and redoing the shower surround build out that was done incorrectly) remains. I give it another year.

 

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Progress!

After at last convincing Paulie that hiring another man to work on the house is not the same as having another man sleep with me, we have bathroom progress!

The crew got the shower walls framed in, the new subfloor completed medicine cabinet roughed in, and the walls prepped for tile...in one day.

We started the bathroom one year ago next week, planning at the time to complete it in only one week. I said "we will not be defeated". We were totally defeated. We surrender.

Old house, we give up on doing it ourselves. We promise from now on just to throw wads of cash at you dear Kenmore Place. Please return the favor some day.

 

 

 

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Windows

Before on the left (ugly brown and tan aluminum, triple track storms that didn't work).

After on the right (beautiful wood windows, wavy glass and years of more work to do!)

There is still lots to do before they really shine---scraping, filling, sanding and painting; but the dramatic difference in the look of the windows when we ripped off the ugly triple track storms and aluminum trim is amazing. The architecture of the windows is visible once again: the depth of the frames, the detail of the wood trim, the reflective quality of the wavy glass.

I can hardly wait to do the windows in front and uncover this house's face.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A Little Green Goes...Not Far Enough

Before/After

Another domino project completed! Now that the huge wooden flower box and vintage park bench are painted, the trim on the house looks terrible by comparison. Here we go again...

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Via Table for Two

There is nothing like an impending party for motivation! More work on the house kept us up late all week, mostly outside. The beautiful spring weather and long nights have me in the mood to plant flower pot after flower pot. It's a good thing I enjoy planting them, as usually I've killed them by mid-season and have to do them all over again!

The Via Downer table in the sunroom is a spectacular match to the newly-restored tile floor. Paul says he isn't surprised, that I have a way of unconsciously color coordinating everything in our life. I am not as confident at my ability to pull this whole house together in time for the big family party, but right now it feels so good to have my little family around this special table.

 

 

 

 

 

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We Have How Many Windows?!?!

BEFORE:

AFTER:

The shades came! It took some doing to get them ordered after a computer glitch, but they finally arrived. They are perfect. We started with the six in the sunroom, my favorite room in the house. Only 14 more to install!

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The Light at the Back of the Garage

I've never been so thrilled to see a garage wall! The two crumbling broken windows in the back of the garage were replaced with gleaming bright glass block today.

It's a small thing, but a huge improvement. The garage wall is my last view when I leave for work each day, and my first impression when I come back home after a long day. I couldn't take looking at the oozing "Great Stuff" around the frames of broken glass panes any longer. Dave the Glass Block Guy to the rescue.

Paul's Fathers Day gift may have to be painting the garage. Because, of course, now the rest of the garage looks worse by comparison. But that means we need next to pour a new floor....and add a work bench...and a while you're at it add a lift...

 

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Finally Committed

For more than fifteen years I have searched for the perfect dinnerware. The set I coveted, Rosenthal porcelain, was always out of budget. But I refused to get cheap stuff I didn't love. There's a story about an argument with Mom in a Walmart over a toaster in this history of waiting for what I really want. In the meantime, a hodgepodge of three or four basic diner plates have gotten me through the years.

Just yesterday I was talking about how I'm down to just two plates. It had become a thing---the search, the rejection, the hope, the disappointment---truth be told, I enjoyed the hunt.

Today, there on the shelf at Legacies, was a gleaming white set of perfect vintage Japanese porcelain (Fukagawa). I finally committed!

 

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Play Time Out

The play area yesterday was crawling....with parents. The kids hardly had room to move, much less swing and jump. I remember French playgrounds where parents sat on the sidelines and had coffee and adult conversation while the kids sorted it out. I love you Vivi, but I find the playground incredibly boring, and I won't hide it. I brought a book to the park when I was a kid, I'll do it again now. You'll deal.

 

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Pick Your Projects

Don’t Discount Your House’s Exterior Statement… — Arts & Crafts Homes and the Revival

Spring weather turns my attention to the outside of the house....which is a disaster. I want to paint it, remove the horrible aluminum trim and restore the old storms and screens. I'm itching to scrape the peeling doors, yank out the nasty chain link fence and plant a blossoming tree.

Spring may be here, but the budget isn't. I'll have to be satisfied with mud jacking the driveway and poop-scooping the yard.

 

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If Not Now...

Before:

After:

Little bits of progress...or, resignation. This kitchen cabinet, the only kitchen to speak of, is supposed to be ripped out some day. But, at our pace of Demo Quickly-Rebuild Never, I've forbidden it's removal.

So, in quiet acceptance of the fact that I have lived in this fixer for two years, and will probably do so for twenty more, I painted it.

New house Motto for 2015: If not renovated, at least less gross.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I See You! (And Me. And the kid. And the dog...and, hey is everyone in the bathroom with me?!?!)

It only took six months...and 1 day and $33.18 but we finally got a mirror in the bathroom.

I've been doing my face in a hand mirror hanging off the latch on the cabinet door. In our only bathroom. A bathroom with no threshold, no door trim, chunks of plaster on the floor and a fan that sounds like an airplane landing overhead. I get ready each morning in this 4' x 5' tile palace while someone else showers and a little someone else peaks in because that's where everyone is and isn't this fun?!

The next time Paulie says he'll do some thing when he can afford it, I'm going to clarify what "afford" means!

 

 

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Baking Day

In the chaos, there is this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Best Wife Ever

I was out of town most of today, Paulie kept busy:

Me:"Did you enjoy your alone time today?"

Paulie, gesturing down enthusiastically :"I did! Did you see my floors?!?!"

 

 

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Home Alone

Before: nice retro globe, but out of place. After: Arroyo Craftsman handmade copper Craiglist find!

Paul finally had the chance to work on the house as planned today! His big renovation plans for his two weeks off (holidays and unused vacation days) were sidelined by a packed holiday party schedule and feverishly sick child.

Sicky-poo Viv finally rallied enough for daycare today; Paulie wasted no time. Three light fixtures have been replaced, curtain rods hung, and more, all in one day. It seems he is so much more productive when the kid is not around. Ditto me.

 

 

 

 

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Merry Christmas!

Following family tradition, Viv has developed a cold and fever on Christmas Eve. Nothing serious, just enough to dampen her spirits a bit. On second thought, maybe a fever-mellowed toddler is a Christmas blessing!

 

 

 

 

 

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Christmas for Beginners

Viv doesn't "get" Christmas yet, but she does understand that something is in the air. She says the lights are pretty, wants to open pressies, and has stated cookie preferences.

Just like her Papa.

Happy Birthday CiCi

So much for Viv's special birthday dress...she left for daycare all dolled up and returned as the true ragamuffin she is. She's two!

I do most of my parenting, feel most like a "mom" in the early morning hours before she is awake. Packing her lunch, making her bottles, laying out her outfits with matching socks is how I start the day.

Hazy mornings in a quiet house with coffee cup and formula can. Doing my quick-step, coordinated feed-the-dog-put-the-dishes-away-write-a-note-to-daycare-pack-my-work bag-empty-the-garbage dance in the cramped kitchen...that will be what I remember. She can't see me doing it, doesn't know the thought put into little containers of fresh veg and homemade pasta, has no idea how important the daycare bag pacifier double check is. She's sound asleep, all curly-headed, sweaty, puffy-cheeked baby in her toddler bed.

It's the best time of day.

 

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Labor of Love-ish

Here we are having a little rest tonight after working non-stop on the house for three days. Viv likes to play on the slide in the front yard while I check on my flowers and bird feeder. Each marathon weekend like this ends in sore muscles, empty bank accounts and a bit more affection for the house.

Let me explain Paulie's bathtub-in-the-hallway selfie: We both hate Clawfoot tubs, it's one of the connections that bonded us deeply in our early romance. They are old, uncomfortable, impossible to keep clean and worst of all, they were originally made to be hog scalds. I can never unlearn that little factoid. Add to that the expense of adding a complicated customized shower on it (nearly equal to just replacing it completely) and that tub is out the window. Or down the stairs as it where.

Thirty minutes after listing it on Craigslist as "you get it out, it's yours for free" this morning, I had twenty emails! It was gone by noon; carried quickly down the stairs by a pair of burly brothers.

Now, of course, we have created a typical Kenmore problem....the place it vacated is now screaming for a large, luxurious and spectacularly expensive tiled shower enclosure.

 

 

 

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Inside The Walls

It's a shame the wiring to this this lovely switch may have caused a small fire years ago. I've wondered what it was, but it was unidentifiable under seven layers of paint and failed to turn anything on or off. Turns out it was disconnected at some point. Inside the wall Paulie found charred boards and sections of lath and plaster blistered and blackened. The switch polished up nicely (that bottom red button is a nightlight, bulb filament still intact!), but it will have to go on the display shelf instead of back in the wall.

 

 

 

 

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One Weekend, One Bathroom. We Will Not Be Defeated.

We've decided to skip the traffic and crowds and amateur hour at the campsite this holiday weekend in favor of working on the house. Specifically, the upstairs bathroom. The goal is to replace the sink, toilet, medicine cabinet, two light fixtures and install a gfi outlet. This weekend. And, if our marriage holds up, paint the walls and trim.

I'm going with this craiglist emerald find. Imagine white and green arts and crafts wall tile detail, white and black penny tile floor, polished nickel fixtures ....think I can make it work?

 

 

 

 

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Three Ways to Garden

Dad's, mine and Paulie's...

 

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I Hate My House

I hate my house. But I shouldn't. I spent the last twenty years enamored with modern design and architecture. I ran a modern design shop, worked for a modern furniture store, grew a huge modern design library (and moved it multiple times), read every magazine (I miss Echoes), read every blog and haunted every real estate listing. Palm Springs felt like heaven. Three family members have had places in the Mies buildings. My grandfather built two modern gems. Even my Nebraska photographs are love letters to simple farm vernacular. How did I end up in a dark and detailed Milwaukee craftsman bungalow? I know nothing about this house. That's the problem. I know nothing about arts and crafts architecture, nothing of the forces of the time shaping design, nothing of the manufacturers and makers who made a mark. It didn't interest me before, but now I have a vested interest. (Though mortgage rates are at a historic low I'm told). Now I start learning.