Tears for my pillows

I do not remember when it started. At some point, I believe in the old house, I was inspired to pepper my living room with coral and navy. This makeover was over a year in the making, starting in the showroom of Williams and Sherill in Richmond during a visit with Funny Emily. Williams and Sherill is not for the faint of heart, as they have 4,000 bolts of fabric in their showroom, a clearance center next door, and home interiors that I can only dream of. I left Richmond with hundreds of dollars in fabric that I hauled home in my carry-on.

If you do not sew, have moderate confidence in your sewing, or are not good at the finishing touches, you need a Friend Who Sews. You cannot have mine, because she's very busy designing my house and my life and her house and her life and the houses of others who hire her in the Nashville area.  I would not tell you her name, but Amelia deserves credit for (1) conceiving the fabric selections; (2) selecting fabrics via iPhone; (3) sending me a video she made herself on how to sew welt cord; and (4) making these pillows.

Very important lessons in stripping and staining

Another post that I cannot think of a song title for.

 

I have moved more than ten times in thirteen years. With each move, I repurpose furniture. For the move out of our house into the condo, which required some very committed downsizing, I knew that I wanted to use an antique bow front chest from my living room as the chest of drawers in my bedroom. This was the only painting project I accomplished during the sale of the house, and this is one that got worse before it got better.

 

 

The light at the end of the tunnel

I've been keeping a secret, because of The Jinx. Every single bloody time I have posted about my house or a potential house on the internets, it fell right though with a giant sucking sound.

 

 

I took this picture at 8:30 AM today, as I was driving away from MY blue house with MY blue door and MY giant crepe myrtle to go to an office to sign MY cottage away to someone who wants to come live in it.

 

That's right. Misty Hollow is SOLD.

Burlap(ping) Around

I accidentally jumped on the burlap bandwagon. When I moved my queen bed downstairs into the master bedroom, it was so girly and pretty that it was little girl and borderline virginal. I'm obsessed with layering beyond what makes sense, so I decided some natural fibers via burlap would add some texture and maturity to the bed, until I can change the accent colors and put the bold navy on the bed.

 

 

Oh Mother Where Art Thou?

I think it's a good thing when you are so busy living your life that you do not have time to write about your life, except that writing makes me happy. I have so much to say. There's an upcoming unmarriage development, and I have to find the right (benign) words to tell you about it. I'm trying. Writing the truth sometimes makes people unhappy, apparently. Words hurt feelings and share details, and my intent is not to make the world mad at The Man I Will Soon No Longer Be Married To. I have to be fair and the-opposite-of-inflammatory when I publish anything about our family, but it's my truth and my journey, so I still get to write about it. 

 

I have spent weeks working on and off on a small painting project. As in, paint a layer and then wait seven days to paint another layer. This should be a full post with before and afters within a week.

What's Your Fantasy?

The one year anniversary of The Day My Life Fell Apart is in a few days, and I have a lot to say to you about that next week.

 

So I have this house I'm (still) trying to sell, and I moved a whole bunch of stuff to storage, which made the house more open. I sit in the house and I see so much potential now that there is so much liberty in the space. The kitchen could do with darker cabinets on the bottom, subway tile on the backsplash, open shelving above the buffet. I have two pieces in my living room I want to refinish and my sideboard in the dining room has been in need of paint for five years. The master bedroom curtains are heavy and oppressive for a space that already has no natural lighting. The master closet is shameful. The backyard fence needs work. The patio needs pavers.

 

Potential. We're just full of potential over here.

There is no song that goes with "Fireplace"

Did y'all know that summer is NOT the time to put a house on the market? While I wait, and wait, I've started removing things. Things I really love, like the Chinamen and the ginger jar from the mantle, and the groups of prints that hung all the way around the living room. Wine-induced introspection has led me to conclude that I am either highly anxious (duh) and wanting less stimulation, or I am trying to depersonalize Misty Hollow so giving it to someone is not the soul-eviscerating experience I expect it to be.

 

So I painted the upstairs bathroom, which was a pain in the arse, but the results make it look taller and less devoid of personality. I have a backsplash plan for the kitchen that will commence once the materials come in. And the handy man is coming to work on a storage solution in the kitchen I'm hoping to God works.

Express Yourself

There is something I was not anticipating when getting unmarried began. Beyond one-half of a king bed being piled high with clothes and shams instead of a human. Beyond having only female-scented items on the edge of the bathtub. Beyond having to get up to get your own glass of water EVERY TIME because no one can do it on their way to/from the bathroom. But also, and what I did not foresee being an issue, nobody (adult) in your house has to listen to you, has to observe your quirky  24 hours a day, as necessary.

 

People get tired of you. People need a break. People need to retract their attention for you and focus on themselves, their children, their parents, their friends, their successful marriages (which is my least favorite excuse.) But the person who lives with you as your partner/spouse is available and legally bound to listen to your verbal unravelings as necessary. Susan Sarandon said in a movie once that people get married because they want to have a witness to their lives, and to be a witness to someone else's. She should have gone on to say that one of the plusses to that is sharing a home with someone who will watch you lose your sh*t, and say "it's really not that big a deal" or "we'll figure it out" when you're done.

Looking for home in all the wrong places

The business end of unmarrying (which is the aspect I'm choosing to focus on at the moment, as I am still waylaid when the relationship or family part confronts me) continues. The house has listed and shown a couple times, which is encouraging with this being a holiday weekend at all. Fingers crossed someone will fall in love with her quickly and want her as bad as I did. I'm sorry, but I need it to be owned by someone who cares about appearances and has good taste. Fingers crossed so tight your knuckles turn white that the Godiverse sends me through the door of my future home soon.

We fell in love with this one, and it sold days later. Two others in the complex have become available, and sold quickly. Currently there are NO townhouses open there. The townhouse complex next door has some promise, but we'll get to that directly. I looked at three townhomes this weekend, and we'll walk through the Good, the HUD and the Ugly. This feels like House Hunters.

Don't Be A Girl About It

Warning: This post has a lot of photos. All photos were taken by the selling agent, Raina Johnson, owner of DiGiulio Properties.  

This weekend I listed my house. During the listing and photography, I was completely without emotion, which made me wonder whether this is not as bad as I think it should be, or whether I'm just too f***ing crazy to be aware of what a mess I currently am. I believe it to be the latter, because when I saw the actual listing advertising that somebody else is welcome to come and live in my brown house with the blue door, well, that's apparently the moment the shock was ready to wear off and sorrow tackled my ass smooth to the ground. 

But I am mighty proud of her, all fixed up. She cleans up nice, and is still cleaning up, as there are about ten small things that still need to be done before I am finished. The house can be shown while they are being done, because they are simple and hardly noticeable. Except washing the ceiling in the sunroom or putting the boxes in storage. Houses are selling quickly in my neighborhood. The last two sold in less than a week.

Oops, I Did It Again

Happy Friday. This is porn to me:

 

In getting the house ready to sell, I have been packing away the un-necessities and hauling boxes of things to storage. My house feels no less cluttered. But there are TWO boxes in storage now and ONE box in the upstairs closet that are packed full of blue and white china.

Window Shopping + $100 Retail Therapy: The Paul Michael Company

Last Friday I was in Lafayette for work, and when I was driving over, I remembered that they have a GREAT home store there called The Paul Michael Company. I do not know who Paul Michael is, but we should be friends. There are four stores, so I'm window shopping on limited access, but this stuff is too great not to share. The store is well worth the trip if you are anywhere in the vicinity, or passing through or nearby one of the locations.

I really love the trend in giant lamps with see-through bases. The size of these could not be undersold, and the clear base lets the lamp command the space without overwhelming it. You can see by the scale of the Adirondack chair that these are not small. The shade on that clear one was about 18" in diameter. These were less than $100 to boot.

When I'm a mess, I still put on a vest with an "S" on my chest

"I'm going to be 33, divorced, raising two boys alone!"

 

This is what I screamed for the first six months, through terrified and desperate tears, at my friends, my parents, my sister, my therapist, a couple co-workers, and quite possibly the dog.

 

Two boys who will soon be teenagers, at that.

 

The reality that has come to be is that this is okay. Not as a synonym of ideal, but manageable. Sometimes rewarding. Daily exhausting. I remember having one day a conversation with the wasband, who kept repeating "I don't want it. I want to want it, but I don't want it." This while he was lying on our bed for the first time in months, after taking the kids to school that morning, which ended several days of interaction that left me hopeful things would be okay. I ran to Nashville's house first chance I could, when she was down the street from me, and sat in her family room repeating "I've made a huge mistake" over and over again. At that time, I could not imagine how I would survive heartbroken and partnerless with two children to lead through yet another painfully life-altering event.

You've got to look out for Number One

Part of this journey to redefine our family is finding somewhere new for the boys and me to live. "Expert nester" means I am feathering a nest - mine, yours, my sister's, ones I see on Pinterest - without them actually being mine. So the search for a new abode for me, the boys, the dog and the cat will include full layouts and space planning. If I cannot see my things in it, I cannot put my people in it.

 

I am going rounds with myself about buying vs. renting. What I can afford to rent is not necessarily where I would feel safest alone with two children, and not anywhere in an easy commute to the school. What I can afford to buy may lock me into something it may be difficult to unload in a couple years. Since I fully expect to be making a more significant and permanent geographic change when Jake starts high school, I am running on a two-year housing cycle. In reality, who knows what my housing needs will be in two years. They are dramatically different today than they were two years ago. I need to do the thing that provides the best space for us, is easy on my budget and is not too difficult for me to maintain on my own.

The "including, but not limited to" list

Of what needs to happen at my house before I can sell it. Also known at "A post that I could not think of a song title for."

 

I've put myself on a time-out from the news. At first I was loving the stories of compassion, courage and aid that were coming about the different ways marathon participants and spectators jumped in to save lives and help the injured. Evidence that people really are capable of performing extraordinary acts of courage and kindness are always what I look for in the face of tragedy. Now that the manhunt is on for the second of the two suspects, I cannot stop thinking about his poor family, thousands of miles away in Russia, incredulous and stunned that their little boys grew up to be capable of inflicting such harm to an entire country. I always think about the parents of the perps, whose agony is comparable to the families of the victims, but we demonize them when they usually do not deserve it.

I Hear You Knockin' But You Can't Come In

When the signs that Things Were Amiss - first signs, teensy tiny little things that no one who did not know him like she drew him herself would have picked up on - started peeking their little heads around the corner , it was a source of consolation to lay in bed and decorate my next sans-husband bedroom, should I end up needing one. Everybody copes differently. I was looking at 75/25 odds he was coming home that kept ooching away from my favor, and I just kept thinking about my next place. My bedroom in particular. My bedroom has been my favorite room in every apartment I've ever had. My bedroom is not my favorite room in my house, which in hindsight should have been a blindingly bright indicator that something needed changing. I actually think the king size bed may symbolize the death of marriage for all eternity, and I'm wholeheartedly opposed to them now. I'd rather be elbowed in the head at night sharing a queen sized bed than ever get unmarried again.

The stars are stacked against you girl, get back in bed

An email I sent to my friends this evening:

 

Dear friends, I am writing you this note as I make a packing list for my eventual trip to the mother***ing nuthouse. Last night, as Murphy and I were snuggled up watching Nashville, we were startled by what sounded like someone falling down some metal stairs and landing on a metal plate with a very loud THWAP! We then heard something like a small cat flipping the f*** out in our chimney. We have never used it, so the blessed flue is closed. I sat on the floor while Murphy climbed on the hearth to investigate the noises of the creature trying unsuccessfully to climb up the slick, non-brick walls of our chimney. This lasted for about twenty minutes, until the squatter then entered panic mode and began scratching furiously at whatever material keeps him from dropping his fat ass down my chimney. Without a guarantee of stocking-filling and gifts wrapped 'neath the tree, I am in no mood for things to be falling down my chimney and into my fireplace. It is in these situations that I get very irrationally emotional and uncontrollably angry about being left to deal with these types of situations on my own. Listening to the animal try to claw its way into my home and me with no man to handle critters for me, I convinced myself that I could not go to bed. That I would not wake up when the animal came through, ran straight up the stairs with an impeccable sense of direction, and scratched the faces off my kids in their sleep.

How do you solve a problem like a boys' room?

Next up: the boys' room.

 

Every time I do one of these boards, I am so glad I did not go into interior decorating, which was my Plan B in college. Doing any sort of visual representation of my artistic vision is so tedious. I'd rather just spread the torn-out pages of magazines across the dining room table to give an idea of how the elements work together. Y'all can't all fit in my dining room, and I'm not great with company, so I make these boards for you.

 

Apparently I struggle to find my groove in rooms that I do not spend much time in. I have done the boys' bedroom four times in three houses, and it has never been "finished." If they have ever noticed, they have never spoken of it, but I know. And I resolve to do better, and go a little easier on myself in the process. Their room is only going to cost me about $250 in updates, since I am using their current beds and one of the chest of drawers from my bedroom. Whatever apartment we pick after selling our house will be the place we'll call home until Jake picks a high school. The items I've put together here are not age-specific. A boy can easily transition into teenager-ness (groan) among all the elements of this room.  

 

 

Spring Pinterest Challenge: A Chair Makeover

I love reading and writing blogs. I love Pinterest. I wish I could do both more. Four times a year, the two marry into a joyous occasion when two of my favorite bloggers issue the cattle call for the Pinterest Challenge.

You actually do something that you pin and then you write a blog about it, and link up to the hosts on their pages. Katie from Bower Power and Sherry from Young House Love created the challenge and each season they recruit two other bloggers to participate with them. The summer edition has Kate from Centsational Girl (another daily read) and Michelle from Ten June.

Secretary Revealed

Remember how I've been going on and on about how I needed wanted a secretary and how that was my original plan for my home office until I got the wild hair and bought a desk for the guest room and then my sister elected to come and live with us for the summer and I decided to vacate that room so she could have it all to herself and bought a secretary on craisglist that same day and made Corey drive me an hour to get it? Whew. Otherwise known as this post and this post.

Yeah, so I finished it. It took me the equivalent of three entire weekends. There were times when I had to crawl inside it to paint it. The only time I really ever intended to work this hard on something is when I give birth one day (to a little curl with black hair who comes out already wearing a bow and singing "I'm the Greatest Star.") 

We started with this, fresh off the truck from its trip home from Metairie.

And after priming the whole thing and putting three coats of BM's Snowfall White on the outside and two coats of BM's Grassy Fields on the inside, she looks like this:

Corey had to remove part of the shelving to fit our TV, but I kept it to bracket back on one day should I decide to sell it or use it somewhere else. He also put holes for cords in all three sections of the secretary, for power, printer and TV cables. When we moved it in Tuesday night and I mentioned selling it one day, he told me that it had to stay right here because he was never moving it again. This secretary is by far the heaviest thing we own and I thank Baby Jesus that we have furniture moving feet that Corey bought because I am famous for making him rearrange furniture with me.

Once we got it inside, I filled it up with Items That Will Likely Rotate Out to fit my fancy. When you look at these pictures, you are not allowed to comment on the wingback chairs or their current state of being stacked high with crap.

Once we put it in here, I sat on the bed and stared at it for ten minutes. What this has really done is create a list of additional tweaks that need to be made to the bedroom in order for the "secretary area" to be cohesive in design and inspiration with the "bed area."

1. It does not make any sense for this piece of furniture to be flanked by wingback chairs. It worked when there was a bookcase there, but now it just looks odd. I am thinking one chair can scoot over into the corner (with a small seagrass table like the headboard) and the mate can go into storage. These were gifted to me and are quality furniture, so I want to retain ownership of the pair.


2. The khaki/green color of the wingbacks looks dull next to the bold green of the interior. The most cost-efficient solution to that, since I cannot sew my own, is to buy a slipcover. For this, I'd like to contrast the green with an orangey-coral, which is a prominent color in our bedding and drapes.


3. I shall bring pattern to the silhouettes hanging on either side by covering the mats with fabric that I have leftover from making the new drapes.


4. I need a chair to sit in. This chair was my grandmother's. It's usually in the sunroom and the chair the boys use to play on the computer. I need something with arms, and something that can stay in this room. I also want to stay away from upholstery, because there is a LOT of fabric in this room. I may brave the heat to schlep down Antiques Street this weekend.

This bamboo armchair is from Home Decorators, and is on sale.

Or I could browse flea markets and antique stores for something I could make over, a la Eddie Ross.



Or this French armchair with a padded seat that Centsational Girl upgraded.

I am crazy happy with my new desk, and find that my work life is just as productive downstairs as it was upstairs. Working downstairs makes it easier for me to throw clothes in the laundry or take a break to do some food prep for supper later. If I get a work call, I'm footsteps from my command center. I am bummed that it creates more work and more expense while I finish tweaking the room, but I got this for a steal and sold the other desk, so the overall project has been relatively low-budget, considering a major furniture purchase was involved.

However, I cannot be convinced that this thing did not try to kill me. Do not ever again let me think I should take on a furniture project that is taller than I am.