new adventures in masochism

This fucking table is going to be the death of me. I toyed around with the idea of getting a piece of butcher block to fit this but it would be prohibitively expensive on my budget soo, I figured I'd try to make do with the original table top which was a disaster of mastic and random drilled holes. Removing mastic is the smelliest, nastiest process something that I'm sure, if I was a cat with nine lives I'm now on my ninth. I got all the darned gunk off but the main portion of the table top was not suitable for staining so I figured why not decoupage it with the nice pages from the amy butler scrapbook I'd gotten. Well I needed to buy another ($9.99) to have enough pages but I figured out a pattern I was pleased with and went to town decoupaging it one night. Much to my dismay in the morning I noticed that there were stains coming through the paper and that one of my damn cats had gotten on the table before it was dry so pieces of the paper had come up in paw sized sections. FUCK! I was heartbroken, I did not want to have to go back out and buy two more scrapbook packages to recreate this look. I was totally losing steam, my initial thought had been to try and sell this for a lot of money but who the hell was going to want it, it's too big for my kitchen. Agghh, I was overwhelmed with negative kitchen island thinking. But trooper that I am I'm going to push through. I'm thinking of putting kilz on the top (nothing like huffing kilz which will drop your IQ by 20 points a painting session) and then going with a new pattern I made from the paper I have left. Do you think anyone would pay good money, $300 or so, for this thing?!

mmmm! mastic! absolute nightmare to remove and, lucky me, it's on the stairs I'm working on right now.

looking lovely after many rounds to remove the mastic on the table top. don't even get me started on the inefficiency of my kitchen.

I've done it, at least I thought I had until I looked closer at the table top

back to square one, peeling off all that decoupaged paper was a lot of fun.


round two pattern I'm thinking of using, of course I'll have to do this somewhere the cats can't tiptoe on it.

Toby sent this image of Owen playing Oona's Barbie princess game on his leapster while relaxing? would that be the appropriate word for that position? And take a look at how ginormous his feet look, he's all angles my skinny son. Now I had commented on baffling children sitting positions just a few months ago but, honestly, I think this pose takes the cake

You can breathe easy, my obsession with the chipmunk bag has passed. I think a large bean tote, white with navy or black trim, is much more practical. Maybe I can find a chipmunk pin and put it on the plain tote if I'm so inclined. But I'm still obsessing about the Fox Chapel house, and my neighbors house which I'd like to buy and totally redo - it has such pretty bricks in need of cleaning and pointing and a big two door garage that I'd convert into a cabana style arts & crafts studio.
I just think it comes to having a personality where I'm a bit of a compulsive fixer. I'm quick to clean up, straighten rugs, pictures, repair lampshades that are slightly askew. Anywhere, not just my house. Waiting for a meeting today I couldn't help but stick out my foot to straighten the 5 x 8 rug that was at an angle in the waiting area. It's in my nature and I see so much darn potential in so many houses, they just need to be loved back into shape. Well that and I lot of money and sweat equity. Sweat equity I've got lots of, money not so much. For now I'm on to stripping the stairs, ugh there's so much paint and MASTIC which is horrible to remove and smells awful. Thank God the stripper I use has zeroVOCs because everything I'm removing has plenty to make up for it.
I plan on repainting the hallway, the bold two tone color is driving me batty. All the dark bold colors are driving me batty. I'm not a bold or dark colored person. Don't get me wrong I love seeing it in other peoples house or magazines but I can't live with it. I'm more of the light, calm, muted color type of person.Under the white paint is periwinkle (don't ask I'll show before and after and after pics when I'm done) then mastic, then godawful orange brown congealed faux bois varnish which stinks!

i blame my mother

Really, I do. Whenever I find myself attracted to something inordinately twee I think, dammit it's my mom in me. So when I saw that llbean.com had wildlife totes with little critters on them, I love the word critter which is unbearably cutesy in itself, for $39 I just had to check it out. And then when I saw the chipmunk, my mom calls them chippies, and she actually rescued one that fell into her watering can years ago, well I almost squealed with delight. For now I've restrained myself. Do I really need an olive, a color which sobers it up somewhat, takes the edge of the twee, chipmunk bag? Am I insane? Will I be 60 with three dogs, six cats, a chincilla and an inordinate number of cutesy poo decor in my home. Breathe, So for now, I hold off and look at the tote bag when I'm not cruising for houses in the Fox Chapel area, online of course.

my new pornography

It used to be fashion magazines. I'd flip through all the latest additions and crave, like an addict, the clothes and, even more so, how skinny those models were. I still probably have a case of low grade body dysmorphia but those fashion magazines no longer do it for me. Now it's all the home decorating magazines that get me going. How I lust for the latest issues as I linger in the magazine aisle at my local supermarket with the children safely ensconced in the daycare there - it is too good to be true. Ohh and hitting howardhanna.com after the kids have gone to bed and I can be a virtual voyeur and homes right close by, it makes me drool with envy. I know I posted the dream home that I discovered just a few short weeks ago but now I've really and truly found my dream home. It's in Fox Chapel and has a lovely shady, if somewhat sloping yard, with goregous moonflowers by the front door. It needs about $100,000 in renovations but once this place is done it would be to die for. I know it doesn't look like much but trust me this old style bungalow has so much potential. Now if only I could find a kindly contractor who'd be willing to take me on as an apprentice, and fund me all this money, while I start on this project

this old porch

I have been very busy stripping doors in my home, buffets, window ledges, basment doors, you get the idea. It's been an ongoing stripping summer of me slaving away, scraping off peelaway on my weekends when the kids are with Toby. I have a brick pointer coming to power wash and point three sides of the house (it desperately needs this and I can't wait to post before and after pics of the change) and he said that he'd be coming this week so I spent 9 hours saturday and 10 on Sunday scraping 100 plus years of paint off the front porch). Apparently no one thought to scrape the paint underneath before putting another coat on, so this porch was a textured, chippy wonder. When we moved in the porch was a lovely diarrhea brown which Toby quickly painted a soft green. It was great, until it started chipping off.


I do not exaggerate when I say there are A LOT of chippy layers on this porch

Before. Multiple layers of green, brown, light grey, darker grey, light blue, clear sealer, dark green, and yet another grey paint. Sort of like counting the rings on a tree but more toxic.

After. You might have to enlarge these to get the idea that the porch surface is now much smoother, it's various shades of grey (most likely lead based) paint which I'm hoping will come off more when they powerwash the bricks. The pointer is really friendly and said I'm welcome to powerwash whatever I want. I felt like Homer Simpson on seeing a donut, ahh powerwash.

Scraping the paint layers off the cement (baseboard? I don't know what to call the 6 inch lip of concrete that meets the brick on the front of the house) was the hardest part of this project, which consisted of two rounds of peel away and then two rounds of smartstrip on each section of the porch I did. Yep four steps per square inch, plus vigorous scraping after each step - ugh! No wonder my fingers felt like they were ready to break off at the top digit by Sunday night.

There are various shades of grey here but the porch is now smooth and I'm hoping the powerwash will even it out more to a uniform look. There's no way I'm painting this porch after scraping all that paint off.

And this is what my hands look like after wearing latex gloves for 19 hours in two days. Do enlarge to see it in all its flaky glory. Do you think this means I have a latex allergy? It happens whenever I wear the gloves for prolonged periods during my stripping weekends.

crimes against humanity

Well, to be fair, it's really more like crimes against parenting or being a mom worthy of punishment although that sounds vaguely S&M in a way I'm not intending it to be. Here are the recent offenses playing the guilt/exasperation ping pong in my head.

1. Gouged oona with a key to her armpit getting her out of the car today. At first it looked awful and I thought of making the trip to MedExpress and trying to explain that I impaled my daughter on my car key, How do you explain that exactly?! But after a ten minutes it just looked like a red scratch instead of the nasty puncture I first saw. Phew. I explained it was an accident as Oona bawled and she repeated that it was an accident, but she said it like I just accidently tossed her onto a bed of nails.

2. A couple weeks ago I made owen cry for putting a toy plane that was made in china in his mouth. He was on the couch avoiding going to bed because lately being on another floor is making him (and therefore Oona) scared. Since I worry this could be to the recent separation I don't want to push too hard fearing I could crush their psyches or bring up abandonment issues. He had the toy in his mouth and I told him not to do that, that if it says made in china it could be lead paint and that can make you dumb if you eat it. Of course I then went on to explain that I'm not trying to be xenophobic and have nothing against the Chinese that it's more a nasty thing businesses do to save money. Yeah I really went there with him. So I'm coming up from putting wash in the dryer and Owen tells me he's sorry and then starts bawling because he stuck the toy back in his mouth without thinking and I'm thinking there I go traumatizing my child again reinforcing a worry that clearly does not need reinforcing with my son who is a neurotic carbon copy of me.

3. Mealtime. If motherhood came with a badge mine would have a red slash through it because I'm horrible when it comes to cooking, making meals. They get a lot of whole wheat peanut butter and jelly (really fruit spread) and eggs and Oona eats greek yougurt and granola like there's no tomorrow. And they drink juice, mostly calcium enriched OJ, but juice it's the empty calories (which Owen needs, Oona not so much). I try to make myself feel better remembering a neighbor's Mom who said she's seen Moms put Mountain Dew in babies bottles.

4. I talk about their body types and now Oona will mimic me and tell Owen he's too skinny and that he needs to eat more and she does this scrunching up her nose with a tone thick of judgement and I cringe wodering if I really sound that bad. Then Owen told Oona she was a hippo, which made her proud and she ran around saying she was as big as a hippo and making hippo? noises. So I've nipped talking about their builds in the bud.

drive by

If I suddenly come into money I think I might need to move here. It's modest, I'm a woman of modest means. Well if modest includes an acre of land. Oh boy, I'm already having visions of cavorting on a flat acre of land that's mine all mine! I'd love to live somewhere that you can forego curtains because their are no neighbors close enough that you have to worry about privacy. And a two car detached garage with a workroom! I have visions of starting a home craft/refinishing business so I'll never have to leave the lovely wilderness of this acre of heaven. The ranch appeals to me because my kids are forever procrastinating going to be or playing upstairs, or even going the bathroom since the half bath is still gutted, because they're scared to be on another floor alone. And the kitchen has so much freaking cabinet space, God knows how I'd make use of it all. A year's supply of juice boxes, gummies and peanut butter crackers perhaps? So the title of the post refers to the fact that I might need to do a drive by and check it out in person. Kittanning Pike isn't really a dream street to live on so I'll have to see how close the house is to the road... because, you know, even though I'll never move here I'm compelled to be practical, even with my daydreams.

basement work table

So this beauty of a work table was hanging out in the basement courtesy of a previous owner and I saw the diamond in the rough, we're talking very rough. I stripped and refinished it and decoupaged the inside drawers because they were really nasty. The paper is some Amy Butler scrapbook collection that I got for $9.99 at Michaels and I loved it so much I had visions of decoupaging everything in the house, I've since calmed down on the decoupage frenzy. The only problem is the table top wasn't really salvageable, it had mastic on it and I'd like the surface to be food friendly being that it's a kitchen island. Does anyone have an idea as to where I could get a piece of lumber, would love butcher block, that's 30 1/2 " by 56 1/2"? I was going to get some ridiculously cheap butcher block from ikea but it isn't wide enough. Oh yeah, and I don't want to pay much, cheapskate that I am.




Yes I am anal enough too even decoupage the bottoms of the drawers, so that the cats have something nice to look up at. Just ignore the rough plaster spots on the ceiling, the kitchen roof and ceiling need to be redone.

sniffle

My Dad came out to visit me Tuesday, he's heading back to Cleveland tomorrow. It's been nice to have him here and real nice for him to see the kids after close to two years without seeing them. My gosh, I don't even know where to begin with what's gone on this week. I'm sitting here alternately sneezing and sniffling and I couldn't figure out why until my Dad mentioned that I did spend a good part of the afternoon weeding. That explains it. There are so many flipping projects going on at this house but not a one is completed. It's like I have Bob Villa ADD. I'm stripping the interior doors and then I started on the back door and that led to the paint on the bricks surrounding the window and door on the back porch, which led into the window ledges because I couldn't deal with the chippy paint look. The window ledges got me started on the metal basement doors that were chippy and rusty. And when the paint chips from said doors wound up in my weedy grassy yard I then started digging up part of the yard and envisioning removing the garage and putting in a flagstone patio. My God, it's like fucking Macbeth how compulsive I am. God forbid I stop for a minute and listen to my head I'll surely go nuts so that's what the late night pig outs are for I guess.

Owen is taking swim lessons this week and next and it's a great time to flagellate myself for the myriad ways I feel that I've let him down. I mean he's closing in on 7 and can't swim to save his life, let alone ride a bicycle - he doesn't even have a bicycle. And I think of all that I had already accomplished at the ripe age of 6 with two divorced parents to just let me go off and play by myself, sort of find my own fun, without qualms or guilt. Why is it so different with me? On Wednesday Oona had a meltdown, as she's prone to do, and I brought her to the car since that's her time out place. The girl needs to be confined or else she'd be like a lemming running into the street or convulsing on the pavement and giving herself a concussion. I moved the car to a shady spot, put the windows halfway down (or else she'll attempt to get out) and was sitting there with her until she tossed her flip flop out the window. I got out handed it back to her and told her if she did it again it was going in the trash. There was a trashcan right next to us so I thought it was especially threatening. Well, she did it again and I placed it delicately on top of the trash in the trashcan. A man got out of the minivan behind me and walked over to see what was going on. I thought he was going to commiserate with me, these kids. But no, he was basically accusing me of child abuse by cooking my kid. It's too hot for her, she must be burning up. Of course I immediately felt horrible, and started second guessing myself and my time out in the car technique. It didn't help that he kept going on about the hot metal with the sun beating down and that she must be burning up. I had him touch her arm to see for himself that she was fine. Owen's lesson ended and my Dad walked him over to the car and got in smilling at the guy and saying pleasantries as he's wont to do. Are you okay now the guy asked me. I'm fine I muttered through my clenched mouth while telling my Dad under my breath the guy thinks I'm abusing Oona. We went to Beechwood Farms - bad idea since my Dad broke his leg in the winter and his ankle is still swollen and gives him trouble. Oona was sitting in the middle of a trail stubbornly refusing to move. It was one of those days where everything went wrong with Oona and I question whether I have any competency as a parent. We went out to Chilis with Toby where I drowned my sorrows in yet another calorie laden chocolate chip paradise pie. Oona was still acting up and Toby took her to the car. I joked that I couldn't with my luck the guy accusing me of abuse would be in the chilis parking lot. Then we went home and Oona acted absolutely insane for close to an hour fighting going to bed but she properly exhausted herself with the hysterics and passed out before 9.

So yesterday when I drove Owen to lessons I was panicky wondering if the man would be there. Ready to put the police on me - seriously I feared they took down my license plate and that Children's services would be at my door on Wednesday. I purposely parked in the exact same spot I had been with Oona and just cracked the windows. The weather was the same as the day before and I needed to assure myself I hadn't abused her. I'm chatting with a neighbor when I noticed Owen sitting outside the pool crying I ran over to see what had happened. His friends had pulled him under water, I couldn't breathe they were trying to drown me Owen cried. Now I don't think they were purposely trying to drown him, they were goofing around. But they're a year older and more athletic and not fearful in the water the way that Owen clearly is. I worry that I've instill this fear in Owen, although I love the water, I was a fish as a kid. I tried to talk with him about it after lessons but I was annoyed with the instructor and myself and his friends for freaking him out like that. He really thought they were trying to drown him even though I was trying to explain that it was just horseplay and he had to gain control of the situation by not letting the incident terrify him about the water, just brush it off. Right, I'm a stellar example of that, retelling Oona's abuse incident to everyone to find validation that I'm not an abusive parent (after an hour in the shady spot with the windows barely open the car was still cool). The instructor said Owen needed to go to the little pool with the younger kids because he wouldn't put his face in the water. I understood that but it seemed like she blew off the incident and I was thinking maybe if you made the kids that dunked him get out and sit by the fence for five minutes it might help things along rather than that you're almost sort of punishing my child by not dealing with his fear and pushing him off onto another instructor. Of course I never know what to say, how to stand up for Owen without coming across as a pushy stage parent. I talked to the instructors today and they understood my concerns but the whole incident pushed Owen into this resolve not to let his head go underwater so he wound up in the little kid pool. And I just torment myself with this guilt that I've got to help him overcome his fear. How could I let him get to this state around water? And he can't even ride a bicycle, you know the whole shame spiral, a vortex of my sucking as a parent. And the abuse allegations. My neighbor was saying I should have told the guy I cook Oona and starve my son, he seriously looks like he's starving but I swear I feed him. When we first joined the pool a young guy passing by turned around to gawk at Owen because he was so thin (you see all his ribs all the time). Then I'm like, what if he has celiac disease and that's why he's so thin and I haven't even bothered to have him tested. It's so flipping exhausting, my mind.

shutterbug

I gave Owen my old digital camera but he wound up taking pictures with my new one last week. I was prepared to be annoyed until I saw the pictures. I love seeing children's photography, I think their perspective is amazing.
I had to buy a swimsuit, ugh, I've gained close to fifteen pounds due to stress eating. It isn't pretty. So many people reply, I can't eat at all and usually lose weight when I'm stressed out. Well lucky you! I'm a former bulimic and head to carbs and chocolate to drown myself and now all the damn clothes that I bought last year on crazy sale are too small. Size 2, honestly what was I thinking?! I should have known that couldn't last. Anyhow... back to the picture, of course the kids were with me while trying on suits, practical sturdy swimmer swimsuits since I'll be managing my two nonswimmers in the community pool. The kids whined for me to buy them goggles and, of course, I did. They really like wearing them, all the time.

This picture of Oona smiling I just love. Maybe it's subtle, something only a parent of her can see, but she is so genuinely happy. Owen is her favorite person in the world. Sure he teases her and drives her crazy at times but that happiness on her face, she lights up when she sees me or her dad as well but Owen is the only one that makes her light up in that very unique way, like he's a superhero in her eyes.

Once again, Oona is killing me. I love her little face poking from the side of the frame.

Our backyard doesn't look too shabby through a screen, blurry, in the rain.

How I wish that white car wasn't in the picture. I might try cropping this and blowing it up. I've got to check out what else he's got on his own camera. I didn't put up the picture he took of me, with crazy morning bedhead which I subdue with a dozen well placed bobby pins.

next up tomorrow, you'll see a bit of my busywork -why I haven't posted so much on the blog lately. in a word stripping. bricks, doors and more...

another day another face plant

Toby and the kids picked me up from the train station Sunday evening, but not before Oona tripped on the sidewalk running to the car and got this beauty on her forehead. I swear, she bangs her head so much I'm fearing she'll have boxers dementia at 4! I had a lovely weekend in Philly with a dear friend who always makes me laugh, a very important quality in a friend. I was going to study for a nursing entrance test I took on Wednesday but blew it off and started The Road instead. Fortunately I passed with flying colors so no biggie there, just tedious little hoops to jump through in order to get accepted at school. At this point I realize that I probably should have gone to med school fifteen years ago, but I wasn't emotionally mature enough and was very insecure about my intellectual abilities. Oh well. So I'll jump the hoops, do the dance, get my RN and carve out a comfortable existence here in the 'burgh.

Five hours into my lovely seven hour train ride home someone's cell phone kept ringing (seriously, like every minute it started ringing). It was obviously bothering other people in the car but no one said or did anything but that flipping ringing was affecting my reading of The Road so I popped out of my chair and asked whose phone was ringing. Three college age guys, recent arrivals and already testing my patience playing Eminem's We Made You a little too loud (cmon, I love Eminem but on a 7 hour train ride?!) point to an inert mass across from them, 'it's his phone but he's passed out.' I recognized the lump from earlier, a guy who was rather boastful, isn't that usually the case with loud talkers, I guess he passed out on the overpriced beer from the snack car. I popped back in my seat but the ringing wouldn't stop and it was going to drive me craaazy. I walked over to the passed out man's seat and said 'Excuse me, do you think that you could switch your phone off? The ringing is really annoying.' I swear I didn't say this with attitude, no hand on hip business. I was polite and just wanted it to stop. He looks at me and says, 'It's not a phone, it's a bomb.' I just stopped. My first thought was, is he serious, but I immediately batted that aside and realized he's just being a MAJOR ASSHOLE. I did an imperceptible shake with my head to rid myself of him and turned back to my seat. 'You didn't think that was funny?' he said. 'No.' I said, sat down and then two seconds later I hopped up and walked the length of the train to find a conductor and relay what had just happened. I know who you're talking about, the conductor told me. Of course he did, these human mosquitos tend to be that way in your face, annoying. He walked back and gave him a stern talking to while I grabbed my bag and found a seat in another car.

Toby and the kids picked me up from the train station and I told Toby what happened. He felt the conductor really messed up and said I should have insisted that he kick him off the train. The guy told the conductor he was a flight paramedic and I'm wondering what person who is supposed to help people says something so stupid, really stupid post 9/11, like that. So I'm ranting throughout the ten minute drive to Toby's place and then as we're walking into the lobby of the apartment complex who should be there but bombscare man?! I said, 'That's him.' and Toby's like 'No!' and then asked me if I wanted him to say something to him. There was a part of me that just wanted to walk over and hit him but I just figured what's the point? Hitting him, trying to reason with the guy, it just seemed useless and I figured anyone who says something so dumb so flippantly in order to what? bully or scare me? It just isn't worth it to expend on more energy on them. So I promise once I finish this post I'm done with it.

So, a couple days ago Oona's preschool took a field trip to the local grocery store, which is about three blocks away from the school. Her teacher was telling me what a great field trip it was and how much fun all the kids had. That they were given so much food, baloney from the deli counter and a reusable bag filled with treats. Oona tore right into a bag of potato chips and opened up a Big Juicy orange drink which says that it's naturally flavored but has only 20 calories for 16 ounces and under no part of the ingredient list is orange mentioned, but high fructose corn syrup, sucralose, yellow 6 & yellow 5 are. No biggie, though. I mean I don't like Oona to fill up on crap but it was one drink, one day from her field trip. But then Oona got a can of pop (that's what they call it out here) out of her bag. Now I have made many transgressions as a mom. I've started to slide and let the kids get sprite or root beer to drink when we go to McDonalds instead of healthier beverages like milk or juice. BUT the pop was a can of Mountain Dew, which back in the day was what college kids used to pep themselves up before Red Bull, Full Throttle and the like. I had to put my foot down when it came to Oona having Mountain Dew. It would be like Hammy the squirrel in Over the Hedge when he finally drinks a can of caffeinated soda (a tip off to native Pittsburghers that I'm not a native).

really

This is an old link but it's spot on and pretty damn funny.