Category Archives: Home Renovations

First Step (Ask Her Out and Treat Her Like A Lady)

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The first step in the kitchen renovation is done!  Does anyone else immediately get Step By Step by Eddie Rabbit stuck in their head after saying the words “first step”?  Or is it just me?  I also cannot say – or listen to – the words “Here’s the situation” without mentally rapping the entire second half of Parents Just Don’t Understand by DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince.  If I was hooked up to a brain monitor right now, it would show my mind exploding with both those songs, simultaneously, just from writing those words down.  It’s a good thing I never did my Ph.D., or I would possibly no longer have room in my head for every song lyric ever written. 

In any case, the countertops, sink, and backsplash are now installed in the kitchen; lighting, appliances, and flooring are yet to come.  I think the first step was the worst, in terms of completely inconveniencing everyone.  The first cut is the deepest?  Baby, I know.  Anyway, what the not-so-festive long weekend showed me was that I really spend a massive amount of my day in the kitchen.  When the kitchen was out of order, I descended into some kind of strange sloth and confusion as to what to do now?  But now that we are back in business, baby, I have resumed my normal activity level and am now spending much of my day in the kitchen, but not barefoot and – thankfully – not pregnant.

Which brings me to this point: when one wakes up at 4:40 am, this is what one can accomplish prior to 10:00 am:

Drive to yoga studio and back, practice for 95 minutes.
Feed dog, kids, and self, in that order.
Unload dishwasher, clean kitchen, make beds, pack school snacks.
Shower, dress, makeup, and hair.
Clean bathroom.
Ensure children are adequately dressed, washed, and have brushed their teeth.
Start laundry.
Give self a manicure and check email while the polish dries.
Take kids to school and hang out with them until the bell rings.
Book appointment for husband with a strange online registration program.
Walk dog.

This makes me feel very virtuous, until I realize that when one wakes up at 4:40 am, this is what one can accomplish after 8:00 pm:

Supervise children’s showers and teeth-brushing in a semi-catatonic state.
Tuck children into bed.
Collapse on couch and try to muster up the energy to watch an episode of Mad Men on Netflix.
Go to bed.

What I’m saying here is that I’m really more of a morning person.

Anyway, I’m so pleased with my kitchen renovation and the speed at which I had a functioning kitchen, that we have decided to remodel the bathroom!  And re-tile the front entry!  And re-finish the fireplace!  And lose my mind, apparently. 

For those of you who live in an older home, perhaps you have experienced this problem with renovating: once one thing is changed, it kind of makes the rest of the house look, how shall I say this, in need of an update.  It’s the black hole of renovating, it’s sucking me in.  The contractor actually suggested that my house would be so much more open if I just wanted to knock down this wall…but I shall not think of that right now.  I will only think about the fact that by NEXT THURSDAY my new kitchen is scheduled to be completed!  Right on time for a visit from my in-laws!

Cue ominous music.

Trapped in the Abyss of Kitchen Renovations

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Have you ever gone through a kitchen remodel?  It is stressful, and by stressful, I mean on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being my usual stress-free life and 10 being that of a single mother working in an underground coal mine to provide a subsistence living for her eight children, half of whom are terminally ill and the other half of whom are doomed to follow in her coal mining footsteps with a life of black luncg and alcoholism, my stress level is all the way up to 1.005.

I will say this about my contractors though – these men GIT ER DUN.  They don’t fuck around, these guys.  When I went to select the granite for the countertop, I wasn’t given some little six inch square samples to choose from.  That’s for pussies.  I was taken to what is called, alarmingly, a “slab warehouse”, a terrifying cavernous place filled with giant slabs of granite, some of which were being hoisted on a pulley contraption, travelling overhead to the loading dock.  For someone who has a teeny fear of death by crushing at Costco, this was a bit unnerving.  But at the slab warehouse, the slab chosen is the slab that becomes the countertop. 

So I was aware of the heavy and awkward nature of the countertop, which is why I ducked into my bedroom as the men – two brothers named Ron and Don, as I live and breathe, and some other young, unnamed man – brought it into the house.  I didn’t want to be in the way or startle or distract them at all, so as to avoid some kind of granite crushing accident.  I soon realized my mistake as they seemed to not know I was there at all.  The air turned blue with the cursing and general ill will of the bossy head contractor.  The way he spoke – and I use the word “spoke” rather loosely – to the other guys was kind of the opposite of positive reinforcement, if you know what I mean.

After a certain point I was scared to come out of my room.  One of the men had, evidently, stopped for a smoke, and therefore slowed down the entire process.  Now, I’m not saying I wouldn’t be irritated by a coworker who was smoking when there was work to be done, but I also don’t think I would hold it over him for the rest of his life. 

Or would I?

In any event, there I was, trapped in my bedroom with nary a book nor phone nor notepad to pass the time.  I stared out the window for a while, bored.  Finally all fell silent – was someone dead?  Would there be someone buried in my backyard along with Beeps?  I didn’t know, but I made a break for it.  They were all still there but the strangest thing happened: the minute I came into view they snapped to attention with extreme “lady in the room” manners.  Given that only minutes ago I heard the words “Well, that’s Tony’s fucking problem, isn’t it?  Now hand me a fucking hacksaw.  NOW” with reference to my sink, I felt a little strange about this turnaround.

After some very pleasant small talk and compliments on my choice of granite slab, I went downstairs to my cozy, entertainment rich basement, and the expletives and yelling resumed immediately.  Did they not know I could still hear them?  I don’t know, but it was a small price to pay for their craftmanship, which was excellent.

As a social experiment, when they arrived a few days later to tile the backsplash, I curled up on the big living room chair with my notepad and a book, in full view.  Installing the tile was either way easier, or my presence was magical, as they complimented each other on their fine workmanship.  Don even went outside to have several cigarettes, and not one word was uttered.

Slow Boat to Nowhere

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The kitchen renovation was slated to begin at 11:00 this morning.  Yesterday, I frantically cleaned out all the bottom cupboards and removed things from the countertops, pausing only to wonder when I bought Gorilla Munch, as its best before date was over a year ago.  All items are now in big Rubbermaid containers and/or on my table and/or under my coffee table.  I was ready to go!  And…now it’s 11:30.  I received information that they will start this afternoon, which is fine, that makes the lunch rush much less awkward, but I feel a little lost.

In order to assuage my lost little girl feelings, I decided it was time for a field trip to the garden centre.  Stocking up on plants prior to the long weekend seemed like a good idea, although I certainly will not actually plant them yet as it is supposed to snow.  Good times, YYC.  Good times.  I had full intentions of only buying a few plants for my containers, but ended up with a cart that looked like this:

I was powerless to stop myself.  Right now they are all on the deck, just waiting to be covered up before the snow flies. 

I just credit myself for not purchasing one of the many beautiful bird houses on display.  I almost put a very lovely one in my cart, but then I remembered: my dog likes to kill birds!  Wheee!  Perhaps a bird house would be ill-advised.

Speaking of my murderous dog, I almost had an experience that would strain neighbour relations in a significant way.  These neighbours, a few doors down, have very pampered indoor cats, one of whom likes to escape a lot.  I was working downstairs and came up to fill my coffee cup for the fourth time when I noticed the cat – whose name is, and I am not making this up, Beeps – in the backyard.  Barkley was also in the backyard.  I bolted for the door, just in time as Barkley took the opportunity to pounce.  He was mere centimetres away from the not-so-bright cat, when I called and collared him.  As I shuffled him into the house, I noticed my neighbour, standing on the other side of the fence, looking completely unfazed.  “That was a bit close,” I said to her.  “Oh, no.” she smiled at me vacantly.  “They were just playing.  They’re friends!” 

Now, I am the first to admit I don’t know much about cats.  However.  I am aware of the saying “fighting like cats and dogs” and also I am aware that the cat is much, much smaller than my dog and is declawed.  If I have to bring a cat corpse over to my neighbour’s house one day, I am not going to be happy on a number of levels.  My friend suggested that should there be a cat corpse in my backyard, perhaps it should be BURIED in my backyard, in order to keep neighbourly relations.  Not a bad plan, although it makes me feel a little bit like I would be starring in a less-interesting version of Rear Window.

Perhaps I should have purchased one of these at the garden centre:

Animatronic owls! 

I just got off the phone with the plumber.  I am going to be without a working sink until FRIDAY.  Friday of the long weekend.  Anxiety is looming.  It feels like SO MUCH could go wrong.

I will take my mind off this.  Cute kid anecdote: my kids were playing Star Wars before school this morning, and the characters they were portraying were Anakin (Mark) and Luke (Jake).  Now, Anakin DID chop off Luke’s hand, but it was by accident and it was to save him because he was trapped.  Luke forgave him.  Then they went to Planet Hoth to go snowboarding!  Good times in Utopian Star Wars.

I felt I had to share this cute anecdote as I have been talking so much about my dog lately that I was starting to feel that I was portraying myself as a crazy dog lady.  Which…I might be.  Dammit.  I should have bought that owl.

A Whirlwind of Boring Activity

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I have been in a whirlwind of activity the past few days.  A whirlwind, I tell you!  Since Friday I have had more errands and social outings than I probably do in two weeks.  I would describe them in detail but I fear that may be boring, and I fear it may also be less impressive than it feels right now.  So I will simply say that we are, evidently, renovating our kitchen.

Let’s pause for a moment here while I deep breathe.

Things snowballed when we realized that soon our dishwasher will need to be replaced.  Well, if we replace the dishwasher, why not all new appliances?  And countertops?  And sink?  And backsplash?  And flooring…and suddenly a new project is on the horizon.  I’m not sure how my dog – or I, myself – will deal with the upheaval but I have been assured that this is a quick and easy project.  Oh, hahaha!  I am going to be insane and/or liver damaged by the end of it, I just know it.  Chaos is not a happy thing for me, although I will be very happy to have a new kitchen. 

I’m especially excited to get a new range, since I loathe mine and yet it is in near-constant use.  My husband and I went to the appliance store, where we were helped by the strangest, most vacant salesman ever.  Perhaps he was new at his job; I don’t know.  All I know is that whenever I said anything at all about the features I desired, he would stare at me silently for about fifteen seconds prior to responding.  It was very unnerving.  Then he would respond in this manner “Do you cook?  Or do you LOVE to cook?”  Whatever, buddy, just show me the hood fans.  He proceeded to describe how much he loved his own convection oven because it gave him crispy chicken wings, just like the deep fried ones in restaurants.  This one-sided discussion about cooking various meat products went on for at least five minutes.  In the meantime, I completely zoned out and wondered if a dual oven is worthwhile or not, and I still haven’t decided.  Do you have one?  Do you like it?  Help a girl out, dear reader.

Then, of course, it was Mother’s Day, and I hope yours was lovely.  I received cards from the boys, that they made themeselves with no intervention on the part of my husband, which struck me as very sweet and thoughtful.  It was actually a warm and beautiful weekend – no snow! – and so I spent quite a bit of time in the garden, and some time at the park where the boys rode their bikes and I realized that the bike Jake is riding is ridiculously too small for him.  He looks a bit like a clown riding a miniature bike.  A skinny, unmade-up clown. 

Are you “mom enough” to hang out with these two characters?  Oh, mass media.  Fueling the “mommy wars” since…well, I don’t know when.  Can’t we all just get along?

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Hey, speaking of mommy stuff (no, not wars, because that is MADE UP CRAP), check this out: I was listed as one of “24 Mom Blogs You Should Read” over at Yummy Mummy Club.  There are some seriously fabulous blogs on that list – Dinner with Julie, Crib Chronicles, Little Miss Mocha, to name but a few – so I am thrilled to be on that list!  Thanks!  xoxo

Barkley, the high maintenance dog

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“Oh, you’re the worst kind.  You’re high maintenance, but you think you’re low maintenance.” – Harry Burns, and/or my husband.

Every day, I set out two sets of clothing for the following day: my yoga clothes, and my regular clothes.  I need to set out my yoga clothes in order to dress quietly and sneak out at the crack of OMG o’clock, and I need to set out my regular clothes because I need to set out my regular clothes or it will be endtimes.  I set out my clothes based on the next day’s weather and activities, and I do not deviate from that outfit. 

The other day it turned out to be unexpectedly rainy and foggy, and so I needed to wear my hair up, so that I wouldn’t look like a bedraggled mess by the end of the day.  That meant – since I’m on week eleven of Operation Growing Out My Hair – I needed certain hair accessories to hold back the multiple layers.  However, the hair accessories did not match my outfit, and so I had to alter my plans and wear a different shirt.  This may not sound like much to you – and now that I’m writing it down it doesn’t sound like much to me, either – but it threw my day off, just a little bit. 

You know how people say that after a while, dogs take on their owner’s personalities?  Actually, I don’t know if that’s a thing or not, but my dog has taken on MY personality.  For one thing, he freaks out if we don’t put him in his crate by 9:00 pm.  If he could speak, he would be saying It’s bedtime for the love of god!  Put me to bed, already!  Do you want me to be tired all day tomorrow?  I’m just saying, I understand. 

When we were recently redoing the basement, I was prepared for confusion on my dog’s part.  This is the dog who lay outside the bathroom door crying because he had accidentally wagged a shampoo bottle off of the side of the tub.  Something’s different.  The shampoo bottle is on the floor.  Everything is wrong!  When the boys play too noisily for his liking, he would go down to the basement and curl up on the green-and-white fabric sofa down there.  I knew we would be giving away that sofa, and so I went out and bought a cozy new dog bed, along with a new squeaky toy and some of his favourite chew treats.  When the sofa was gone, I put his new dog bed in the usual spot by the fireplace upstairs, and took the old one downstairs, along with the squeaky toy and the treat.  He followed me anxiously, eyeing the treat.  Here, Barkley, I said, here is a cozy new place for you!  I made him sit in the old dog bed, gave him a treat, and then witnessed my dog and the mental anguish I made him suffer. 

He took the treat and ran upstairs.  He dropped the treat in his new bed and stared at me.  Then he started whining.  Loudly.  He refused to eat the treat, which alarmed me because a) he eats everything vaguely edible, including his own fecal matter if it is left unattended, b) he consumes everything in his dog bowl within 90 seconds of receiving his dog bowl, and c) he has never before NOT eaten a treat. 

Me: It’s okay, Barkley. Have your treat!  Now you have two cozy places to sit! 

Barkley: WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIEEEEEE.

He contined to cry and whine, loudly, for the next hour.  Once in a while he would settle down enough to LICK the treat, but then it would make him cry all over again. 

Barkley: Why are you so cruel?  Why do you hate me?  What have I done to deserve this?

Then he would sit in the new bed in such an awkward way that the bed itself would tip over sideways and land on top of him and believe me, this did not help matters.  Finally he gave up, took the treat, and hid in his crate, surreptitiously eating it.  He eventually forgave me the mental pain I had put him through; he is a dog after all.

I understood.  Change is hard.  Different things are difficult.  WE ALL NEED TIME TO GET USED TO NEW IDEAS.  So I get it.  And yet sometimes I feel like there is a reality TV show, just waiting to be made, with my name on it. 

Psst. Wanna come see my basement?

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Oh!  You guys!  It has been so exciting around the Boyhouse this week!  Not just because I’m going to be rich, rich, rich from the class-action lawsuit for Nutella (not really).  Not just because it’s raining so hard that I think soccer practice MAY be cancelled for tonight (I hope).  Not just because of the fabulous visiting yoga teacher who helped me grab my own ankles in a backbend today (that was pretty cool).  There are many, many other exciting things, not the least of which is that I am home alone in a silent house blogging with only my dog nudging me (he doesn’t realize that it is way too rainy for a walk.  No wet dog smell, thanks!).  But also: our basement is all done.  Painted, reorganized, and I now have a storage room and shelves, so that my Costco purchases are not scattered in six different areas of the house.  So come with me, on a tour!

First, here is our new upstairs couch:

Complete with dog, wondering why I’m taking pictures when I could be walking him in the pouring rain!  This couch is shockingly big.  All four of us can sit on this couch without touching or squashing one another.  Did you know couches seem smaller in the showroom than they do in my little old living room?  We got a matching chair too:

It’s HUGE.  It’s my new BFF.  I curled up on it and finished, finally, Anna Karenina.  It was a slug, I will say.  I liked the romance and all but wow – that was a whole lot of information on Russian politics and farming methodology from the 1800s.

So before I show you the new basement, I will show you the “before” pictures.  Here is where the office was:

And here is the main area:

Another angle:

And here is the Wii/toy area:

And now for the “After” pictures:

I always have wanted a wall of books, and now I have one!

And here’s where the boys can play Wii and where our exercise equipment is:

Complete with sniffing dog!

And the office (i.e., computer and desk) has been moved into this living space so that when the kids are playing Wii and desperately want me to see them slay Stormtroopers/ win a Mario Kart race/ whatever, I can just look over.

There is a big book on that shelf, from 1912, called “The Woman’s Book: Contains Everything a Woman Ought To Know” and it’s one of my favourite things ever.  There are many chapters on housewifery, how to hire servants, and on personal grooming and child rearing!  Speaking of housewifery, check this action out:
Shelves!  Shelves!  Shelves!  Are you the type of person who secretly always wants to peek inside your friends’ cupboards?  Don’t worry, friends, I don’t actually do this.  But I’m always curious.  Well, here is your chance to see what’s in my new storage space which used to be an office!
Lots and lots of cereal, and lots and lots of soap and toothpaste, given my penchant for “just picking some up while I’m at Costco” which leads to excessive amounts of soap and toothpaste.
These items are no longer jammed in my hall closet along with booze and towels (what?  Storage space is at a premium here).
Baking supplies!  Condiments!  Paper products!  Mass amounts of sparkling water (that’s for my husband.  He rarely drinks.  His sparkling water habit far outweighs my wine habit, is what I’m saying.)
What happened to the toys, you might be asking.  What did I do with all the toys?  I PUT THEM ON SHELVES, HURRAH!

Wow, that’s a lot of pictures.  Well, I’m excited.  It’s like I have a brand new house and I didn’t even have to move!  Stay tuned for the next thrilling episode, wherein my dog does not do well with the change.

Warning: Shinpads Will Not Prevent Injury From Getting Run Over By A Wayward Car On The Soccer Field

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The past few days have been unseasonably warm, record-breaking warm, and yet yesterday at 5:30 pm – one hour before the first soccer practice of the season – the sky grew black and the rain started to pour.  It was, as always, a festive start to the season.  The practice was held in the rain, the kids warm with exercise, and the parents standing grim-faced under a sea of umbrellas. 

You can probably expect nine weeks of weather-and-soccer-related complaints from me.

I did, however, get a smile out of the warning label on Mark’s new shinpads – shinpads that fit an eight year old boy.  “Warning: no shinpad can prevent all foreseeable injury.  Severe injury may still occur.  Dangerous play should be discouraged.”  Thank you, shinpads!  I appreciate the warning.  I will remember that even though Mark is wearing a shinpad, should he get stampeded by elephants on the soccer field, or should the soccer players decide to scrimmage with chainsaws, the shinpads will not prevent injury.  This is U8 community soccer.  I think he’ll be okay.

I just typed that and had a terribly ominous feeling that I just jinxed the entire season and that something terrible is going to happen.  Given the league’s penchant for never ever calling the game, no matter what awful weather, that terrible thing is probably lightening striking the field or concussions due to softball sized hail.  The shinpad people are right; no shinpad will protect a kid from a lightening strike.  Oh god, is there metal in those shinpads?  Maybe the shinpads will actually be a conductor for a lightening strike.  Why is THAT risk not listed on the package?

Now I’m getting all worked up. 

Also getting me worked up is that, in addition to our basement being repainted, my husband has decided to entirely rearrange it, including new shelving units, turning the office into storage space and the main area into a living room/workout area/office.  This is, as my good friend always says, a good problem to have, a problem of abundance, and it is a much needed improvement in our space usage.  However.  Right now we are at the stage of moving items around and purging items that things are going to be much, much worse before they get better.  The basement is currently a disaster of epic proportions.  It will get better, though, and when it does, I will post pictures, I promise. 

I was reading an article in Brain, Child about a family with four girls and one boy, the boy being the fourth, and not, as some might conjecture, the fifth.  It was an interesting read with regards to gender preferences and something I found relevant ever since I had Jake.  For years, I was questioned about if I was going to try for a girl, something I always found repellant in every way.  I always feel sorry for those kids who were the “wrong” gender (I’ve heard people say, about their own children, “He/she was supposed to be a girl/boy”, which is insensitive and also stupid) and I also think that having two boys is very cool and fun and I’m completely satisfied with my life as is.  I hadn’t heard that line of questioning for a while, since my youngest is in Grade One and after a while, people just stop asking.  But then the other day a salesman, of all people, asked if I was going to “go for a girl” and I was completely startled.  Let me tell you something, if I woke up tomorrow, pregnant: a) I would not be happy, and b) I would have a lot of explaining to do.  It wouldn’t matter if it was a girl or a boy, this would not be a cheerful prospect.  So when the salesman said that, I and my shrivelly, uninterested ovaries just looked askance at him.

I’m not really sure about his salesmanship.  What a strange tactic.  It’s even stranger than my “Puss in Boots” shoe-shopping adventure and my “Wow, you’re way cooler than my mom” pursuit of non-mom jeans, which is saying a lot.