Makeover Monday--my little kitchen

When we bought our house a year and a half ago, we had been looking for a loooong time for an investment property: at least two units, with a large barn or garage for Chris's production business. We finally found our new place--less than a mile from our old apartment and PERFECT for us. Well, let me clarify. The house part of the property was perfect for us. 4 bedrooms, hardwood floors, clean... lots of character. But Chris didn't want us to live in the nice, clean, perfect-for-us house. Oh, no. You see, in the back of the property, there's a warehouse. A garage. A barn. Whatev. 5000 square feet of crusty old space. And Chris wanted us to live there. Of course he did. 800 square feet of the garage had been converted into a very small, very poorly built apartment. We took one look at it and affectionately dubbed it "The Crack House". And this was to be my home sweet home.

I fought tooth and nail to get my way. But in the end, and for multiple reasons, I am so glad I lost that battle. I love my little garage house and I wouldn't trade it for anything. As we have had money, we have been renovating every inch of it-- and adding lots of inches, too (about an additional 1000 square feet, by means of adjoining the apartment with empty garage space)! If you're in the marble counters and Viking appliances design camp, my little house will probably do nothing for you. We ain't fancy folk. But if you're into, uh... goodwill glam?... then come on in. You'll be right at home!


Here's the kitchen before:

That's it. If you can look beyond the pink countertops and complete lack of prep space, you will notice that itty table on the right. That was their only dining space, and there was no pantry or other storage (you can kinda see where they kept all their food on a shelf in the corner). There's nothing wrong with this, per se. But there is NO way that this would be practical for 2 adults and (then) 2 kids. The doorway on the right (directly before the table) went into one of the bedrooms-- really kinda messing up the feng shui in the kitchen. (Errr, what I am trying to say-- it took away useable space in the kitchen. ;) ) The whole place was literally falling apart (which you can't really tell from the above pics) and smelled like 5000 dogs had died there.

What's that you say? Water-soaked drop ceiling tiles aren't your thing?!

Yeah, me neither.

A word about peel-n'-stick vinyl tiles. I have nothing against them. My boyfriend Nate Berkus uses them all the time. But if you apply them OVER CARPET and the carpet gets wet--- you create a Stank-Nasty-Black-Mold-of-Death-Breeding-Hot-Mess. You can quote me on that.

But, lucky for me and my Black-Mold-of-Death-hating-self, my husband's got a jack hammer. And he knows how to use it. (Heh. That sounded dirty.) He started with gutting the kitchen (we saved the cabinets and reused them in the garage. But that pink countertop went straight to Ugly Countertop Purgatory where it's currently petitioning the Ugly Countertop Gods to let it come back into style someday.)

Then he put a hole in the wall, into our future living room.

(It's a good thing he's got lots of truss, or else how else would we hold up the ceiling?)

"This is already much better," I am thinking to myself. "Now I can wash dishes and keep an eye on my kids while they watch PBS Kids until their eyes get red and pussy errr, play with their Waldorf dolls and imagine stuff."

So, a couple hundred trips to Lowes, a crap-ton of awesome slaves friends and a couple dozen pizzas later:

This is coming into the kitchen--the same view as the first "before" pic.

We (and by we of course I mean Chris and our slaves friends) moved that ill-placed door on the right to a separate wall, freeing up that kitchen wall for more counter-space and cabinets. He also replaced all the insulation, replaced the florescent lights, and tore out the drop-ceiling and replaced it with drywall.

My walls are "grellow" and brown-- which makes me think of mint chocolate chip ice cream. Which is fitting, since this place used to be Rosey's Ice Cream Factory, dating all the way back to the 1940's. (See that pic on the wall? That is a calendar page from an original Rosey's ad! Incidentally, Ruby was almost named Rosey. Is it too late for a do-over?)

View from the living room. There was initally Pergo flooring in here, but same issue as the peel-and-stick vinyl. It was installed incorrectly and therefore needed to be replaced. I was really hoping that we could do hardwood or cork flooring in here, but when we found this tile for $1/ft at Habitat Restore, it was a no-brainer!

Heh. These little guys are like Elf on the Shelf-- they show up all over our house. Last month, they were all up on the heat vents on the dining room ceiling. Incidentally, there is only one member of our family who can reach the heat vents in our dining room. Ahem.

Another steal-- the sink and faucet were $40 from Habitat Restore. That place is like Disney World!

I.am.a.dork.

We still have some stuff to do-- ie, get around to putting all the trim/molding back, replacing some appliances as they begin to crap out. But it's so much more practical for our family now! (And in case you were wondering-- we converted another room to a dining space, since we got rid of the "eat-in" kitchen [if you can call it that].)

What about you? Any Black-Mold-of-Death stories in your house? Put any holes in your walls lately (on purpose. Or not.)? Am I the only one who can't get DC Talk's "Tearing Down the Walls" out of my head whenever I think about this post? ("What walls?!?") Ha. Now it's in your head, too.

The fall is still falling...

Last week, my amazing sister Gwenn blogged about some difficult experiences they are facing as they walk the lives of missionaries in Haiti. In discussing these struggles, and referring to the broken state of our world, she stated, "the fall is still falling". Maybe that's something Christians say all the time, but I had never heard it that way before. It resonated with me. The curse, spoken thousands of years ago, to people I have never met, is still unfolding-- trickling down and puddling at my feet.

The fall is still falling.

This past week, there were some heartbreaking stories on our local news station. On Monday afternoon, five teenagers were killed in a devastating car accident. The following day, our community again caught it's breath when we learned that three more children-- 16 year old twins and their nine year old sister-- were killed in another vehicle crash.

The fall is still falling.

I understand the doctrine of a fallen world; I have read (and reread) the curse spoken to Adam and Eve. I can imagine the grief of a holy God, whose justice required Him to banish the ones he loved most. I get it, I think, theologically-- working the ground, pain in childbirth, our husbands will rule over us. And I can even accept the inevitability of death, probably because I know the end of the story--there is a victor over the curse; through the "second Adam", there is redemption.

But I will never understand the death of a child.

Now hear me, this is not a charge against God. I am not accusing Him of not being good, of not being compassionate, of not being just. Surely, our idea of justice must be childishly laughable to a God whose very essence is holiness. I know that I see but dimly; my very highest thoughts are not His.

But oh, I think of those mamas. Six women who will never face another day without an aching weight in their chest. I hold my babies and think of the ones who cannot. The ones who will never, ever be "ok" again. And oh, my heart longs for heaven. When every wrong will be made right.

But until then, the fall is still falling.

During Advent, we've been reading about the prophesy of a Savior. I've been teaching the girls the lyrics to "O Come O Come Emmanuel".

O Come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night
And death's dark shadows put to flight
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
Shall come to thee, O Israel

For now, as we muddle through life and grapple with grief and the ins and outs of the human existence, I trust that we are never forsaken... that our circumstances are filtered through the hand of a loving God... that they are specifically designed--by God, for us-- so that He might be glorified. But how I long for my spirit to be cheered by the advent of Christ. I long for the day when He disperses the gloomy clouds of night, when death is robbed of it's sting and victory.

Emmanuel--- God with us.
Oh, come.

A Walk in the Park

We live in an adorable little town smack dab in the center of Pennsylvania's Amish country. It's quite picturesque, really: lots of farms and horses and buggies. And whoopie pies in every flavor imaginable. Heck to the yes.

For several years now, we have been going to our town's Christmas tree lighting, and, the following day, the "Christmas Day in the Park", a fun craft/treat/Santa Claus outing. Can I just say that the Christmas tree lighting is always super lame-o? Like, Christmas carols two octaves too high and a piddly 6' Douglas Fir... Really, people? I could do better than that in my front yard. Next year, we're doing it at my place.

(Yes, I went out in public without makeup. So shoot me.)

(I told the girls to give each other a hug. They started hugging the tree instead. Dirty little hippies.)

But the next day is usually pretty fun for the kiddies. We started at the Visitor Center, where each kid was given a bag with a colored balloon on it. We visited each vendor downtown that had a corresponding color balloon; inside there were crafts for the kids, stories being read, or a small gift or treat.

(Our awesome friends Michelle and the Lovable Levi joined us.)

They also opened the Elementary school, where they had more crafts and games and live music and a zumba class for the kids to work off their candy canes.

Outside, they had fire pits and free marshmallows, funnel cakes and horse-drawn carriage rides, while Santa rode around and waved at the littles (on a crazy loud fire truck, waking up my baby who was so peacefully slumbering in the carrier). But I can't really complain because everything was F-R-E-E, which was definitely in the budget this month!

Then, should you want to stand outside in the arctic line, you can wait for an hour and a half (yes, we did) to sit on Santa's lap.

Or, if you're Cana, lurk in the background and give him the stink-eye.

Some of these activities fall into that "more fun in my imagination" category. It's cold, and the baby is cranky, and the girls have melted marshmallow and candy cane glop congealed to their jackets and their noses and their mittens. (Wait. They weren't wearing mittens. BAD MAMA!)

(wiped out!)

But one thing that I really admire about my parents is how purposeful they were about creating traditions for us. (For years, we went Christmas caroling [with a group] at 4 am on Christmas morning. No lie.) I have such wonderful Christmas memories from when I was a child, and I want to do that for my girls. Even if it means falsetto Christmas carols and congealed marshmallow glop.

What about you? Do you have any special traditions from when you were a child? Do you still practice them with your children/family? Have you created new traditions? I'd love to hear and get some ideas from you!

Makeover Monday-- Chevron Buffet Table

I love doing crafts and fun home projects. I don't do them super well, so it seems a little narcissistic to document them on my blog ('cause who really cares if I spray painted my candlesticks? Yeah, didn't think so.) But, two things: 1) I really want to become more purposeful about blogging. Not necessarily because I am wanting people to read it, but because I think it's a really easy way to chronicle the life and times of our little family. And 2) I actually love when my bloggy friends post pictures of their homes, or a craft they completed, or a Christmas gift they are creating. Because even if I don't share their style sense, it almost always motivates me to want to create something personal for my own home, most of the time using something we already have. So, in that spirit-- I am going to try and regularly post some of my projects (remember-- we gutted a garage/warehouse and turned it into a home, so there are lots!) on Mondays. Hence "Makeover Monday." Lame, huh? "Magnificent Makeover Monday"? "Moderately Magnificent but Mostly Marginal Makeover Monday"? It needs work.

Speaking of makeovers, I need one. For reals. Clinton Kelly can hit me up any.day.of.the.week.

I saw this buffet months ago in a junk/antique shop downtown. It wasn't so much that I *loved* it-- but I had been wanting some kind of buffet/server in our dining room. I did love that it was only $20. So I called Chris and asked if I could buy it. He said no. :) But he went back a few months later and picked it up for my birthday. Awwwww....

Not surprising that it was still there, cause it was in rough shape. Here it is before (I had already removed the door):

(It's ok. I know it's ugly.)

Here it is after a coat or two (or four) of paint:




Kinda fun? Kinda lame? I (personally) love how it turned out, and it's great for storing bibs and tablecloths and our huge stash of mismatched cloth napkins. It's definitely not perfect, but nothing in my house is. It makes me feel more comfortable with my lack of personal perfection. :) Are you working on any makeovers? Do you know Clinton Kelly? Can you put in a good word for me?

Occupy Lititz

The riffraff finally found their way into our part of the country last week. *Sigh.*

(I have a feeling this could change everything.)

"Ruby does the Frog"

Alternate title: "Me Babbling on like a Momma-Moron for 30 Seconds and my Baby being Cute for Approximately 1/10 of a Nanosecond." Nana, this one's for you.

with a mother's kiss

Can I just be completely candid and say that sometimes, I despise being a stay-at-home mother? Really. I don't mean, "eh, sometimes it's a little difficult..." I mean, sometimes I hate it. I know, I know. There are millions of women who would do anything to be able to stay home with their babies all day, everyday. I know that I am lucky blessed to be able to do it. But sometimes, it just blows.

I am under no illusion about the demands of a working mother; I know it is exponentially harder to care for your home and your family and make dinner and shop for groceries and give baths when you're working outside your home. But sometimes I sit and fantasize about what it would be like to have adult conversations every morning. To not have someone (or two or three someones) sitting on your lap while you're trying to answer an email. To not take your lunch out of the fridge and have little baby birds surround you, open-mouthed and waiting for you to share. I know it's not easier. But sometimes I like to fantasize.

I don't want to give the impression that, given the choice, I would prefer to have a "real" job. 'Cause I wouldn't. I don't want to give the impression that I don't enjoy my children. Oh, I do! So very, very much! It's just that... well... honestly? Sometimes parenting can feel more like a chore than a joy. I read all the mommy blogs and we save our toilet paper rolls to make crafts and go on nature walks and have dance parties and make playdoh pizza. And that's so idyllic, right? Except that most times? Most times, I have to stop Cana from eating paste when we are making toilet paper roll crafts, someone's melting down on our nature walk because she's hungry, someone bumps into the dresser during our dance party and gets a goose-egg, and playdoh ends up in hair and smashed into the carpet. I am trying to learn to "roll with the punches" and chill out and not let smooshed-up-playdoh bother me. But sometimes, it's just more fun in theory.

We broke out the Christmas music a few weeks ago. We were listening to James Taylor, a cd I stole permanently borrowed from my mother. We were singing along to "In the Bleak Mid-winter". Remember it? "If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb..."? But I was particularly struck by a verse that I had never noticed before:

Angels and archangels may have gathered there
cherubim and seraphim thronged the air
but only Mary, in her maiden bliss
worshipped the Beloved with a mother's kiss


Mary was advancing the Kingdom of Heaven... with a kiss. Later, she would worship differently; maybe feeding the poor or visiting the shut-ins... but for now, she worshipped by kissing her baby, changing his diaper, nursing Him when His belly was hungry, quieting His cries when He scraped His knee.

I'm no Virgin Mary and my kids are faaaaar from the Holy Child. :) But I want to remember this. When Cana is eating paste, or when the girls are bickeringbickeringbickering. When Ruby just won't go to sleep. When I've tripped on a toy again. When my first impulse would be to scold or nag or even yell at my children, I want to worship instead. Worship by responding kindly, by speaking gently. Worship by dying to myself (and my carpet) and allowing them to enjoy being children. Worship by getting off of Facebook and playing with them. Because, at least in this stage of my life, my job--above groceries and scrubbing the toilet and giving baths-- is loving my family.

And I long to do it well.