Before and After: The Family Room

In honor of the weekly social media holiday Throwback Thursday, today I'm going back... way back... to May of this year, when our family room looked like this:

Back then this room was not a family room; in the real estate listing it was identified as the "fifth bedroom," located just off the dining room on the main floor of the house.  The previous owners' grown son and his cat lived here.  There is also evidence that the son was operating a shell corporation out of this room, but we won't get into that.  The "before" pictures really do not do justice to how bad this room was, mostly because you can't smell pictures.  

Despite the odor and its small size, we knew we wanted to turn the fifth bedroom into a family room because, with only four of us, five bedrooms seemed excessive.  Also, we do not have a finished (by modern standards) basement, so unless we wanted to put our television in the formal living room, we had to create a comfortable space on the main level where our family could kick back, relax, and watch whatever Minnow dictates we watch.

It's amazing how transformative new carpet, fresh paint, and some handsome furniture can be.  Although it is the smallest room on the main floor, the family room is where we spend the majority of our time together.

Originally, we wanted to tear down the ugly wood paneling and hang sheet rock, but our budget didn't allow for it.  Instead, we had our painters prepare the walls with a special primer and then paint it a soft sunny shade (Benjamin Moore, Filtered Sunlight).  We replaced the old carpeting with an inexpensive, neutral wool/nylon sisal.  The light paint and carpet help the space feel larger than it is.  

Because of the dimensions of the room (approximately 12 x 12), we needed a slim, low-profile couch that could comfortably sit at least two adults.  We found this one at- wait for it- Bob's Discount Furniture!  Also, it's a queen-size sleeper-sofa, which means we can use the family room as an extra guest bedroom when the need arises.  But that's not the best part.  The best part is that the man who sold us this amazing piece of furniture is none other than Richard Dreyfus.  Don't believe me?

As my husband observed, all the good roles must have dried up after "Mr. Holland's Opus."

Our modular entertainment center and bookcases, from Pottery Barn, are some of the first furniture pieces my husband and I bought together after we were married.  The bookcases house all sorts of personal affects, from my dormant law school textbooks, to family photos and mementos from our travels.  The bookcases also house our combined libraries, which serve as a lesson on how opposites attract.  For example, the John McCain biography in the upper left corner is his.  The Marx-Engels Reader in the lower right corner is mine.  

Also displayed on the entertainment center is my matchbook collection, which contains a matchbook from almost every restaurant or bar my husband and I have visited together since we started dating eight years ago.  I love the story each matchbook tells, and I also love seeing all the pretty colors through the glass cylinder vase.  Fortunately, Minnow has never shown an interest in dumping the matches on the floor and lighting a fire, but who's to say I will be so lucky with the next child?  The matchbook collection will likely be put away when Peanut goes mobile.      

Say hello to Geoffrey Giraffe from New York City.  We picked him up at a flea market on the Upper West Side in 2009, and he has been with us ever since.  He is one of my favorite things so, although space is at a premium in the family room, I insisted we squeeze him in there in the corner.

We bought this double-decker cast iron and glass coffee table from Pottery Barn back when we were childless and reckless.  I liked it because it has space for our many coffee table books, including our wedding album and my Audrey Hepburn book collection.  Sadly, after Minnow was born we realized what a death-trap this table is, and removed it from our Upper West Side apartment.  When we moved to Bronxville, I insisted we bring it back, with modifications.  You can hardly tell, but running along the cast iron edges on both levels of the table is a black foam bumper, which has saved Minnow's noggin on more than one occasion.

Another one of my favorite things, displayed on the coffee table, is this decoupage tray by John Derian Company, which was a bridal shower gift from my aunt.  The tray depicts a whimsical essay about Central Park written by a young New York City student in 1869.  Our first apartment in Manhattan was a block from Central Park, and this tray serves as a reminder of how lucky we were to live steps away from such an enchanted place.

Behind one white door is a spacious closet, in which we store extra pillows and sheets for the sleeper-sofa.  Behind the other white door is our secret third bathroom.  Not only do we not need a third bathroom, but this bathroom is revolting.  Like all of our bathrooms, it had wall-to-wall carpeting when we moved in but, unlike our other bathrooms, that carpeting was saturated with urine of either the human or feline variety. Although my husband tore out the carpeting, the stench remains.  I have been in that bathroom exactly once, to clean it.  I do, however, have my husband check periodically to make sure that a family of raccoons has not moved into the tub.   

'

The picture on the back wall is a framed message from GE that my husband clipped out of The Wall Street Journal ten days after September 11, 2001.  It reads:

We will roll up our sleeves

We will move forward together

We will overcome

We will never forget

Of all the things in the family room, this framed sheet of newsprint means the most to my husband, a native New-Yorker.

With the autumnal dip in temperatures, the blossoms on my hydrangea bush are starting to change colors.  I love how these blossoms, displayed in a Tiffany vase we received as a wedding gift, add color and warmth to our tiny space.

Minnow, of course, has her own seat in the family room: A chocolate and white polka-dot arm chair from- where else?- Pottery Barn Kids.    

The bay window is bordered by botanical print curtain panels I bought on clearance from the Pottery Barn website.  If you can't tell, I sort of have a thing for Pottery Barn. 

Our long-range plan for the family room is to expand it by moving the front wall with the bay window up several feet toward the front of the house.  In the back of the room we will eliminate the closet and creepy bathroom and conjoin the family room to a breakfast room we are building off the back of the kitchen.  Because this will be an expensive undertaking, we didn't want to spend a lot of money upfront.  We had a strict budget for turning the fifth bedroom/ home business headquarters/ cat habitat into a comfortable family room, and I am so pleased with the result.

I've Got 99 Problems But a Lead Pan Ain't One

If you had asked me before I became a homeowner what a lead pan is, I would have guessed a toxic cooking implement.  Now I know that it is absolutely the last thing you want to replace in your house.

At least that's what my in-laws tell me. Thirty years ago, when they bought their first home (in the same village in which we now live), the lead pan in their only full bathroom was the first thing to go.  As the story goes, my father-in-law was standing in the shower when the floor beneath him gave way and he almost fell through the living room ceiling.  The lead pan supporting the tub was completely rotted and needed to be replaced.  This repair reportedly cost thousands of dollars and took two weeks to complete.

So when, in May, the wall in the living room of the house we had just spent five figures to paint started to show signs of water damage, I assumed the worst: I assumed it was the lead pan.  Directly above the leak in the living room is our master bathroom.  It didn't matter that we hadn't showered in the master bathroom, or even moved in yet.  When our painter walked me through the house the day before our move and pointed out the quarter-sized bubbles forming under my Navajo White walls, I panicked.

"I fix this three times," our painter explained in broken English.  "But it come back."

"It's the lead pan!" I exclaimed.  "I know it."

Days after our move I called the plumber my in-laws had used thirty years ago, and he came to survey the leak.  After taking a walk through the master bathroom and the living room, he determined that the leak was not due to a crumbling lead pan because, as he astutely observed, the leak was not directly below where the shower is located upstairs.  He did, however, discover that the shower in the master bathroom had been built over an existing shower (which makes total sense because the previous homeowners had a penchant for layering; see post on wallpaper ), and, therefore the distance between the floor of the shower and the threshold is almost two inches shorter than what is permitted by code.  (Yawn, I know.  It's all so technical.  Skip ahead if I'm losing you.)  Because we also had a clog in the shower, the plumber concluded that the water damage to the living room wall was being caused by water spilling over the threshold and leaking through the bathroom floor.  He cleared the drain and told us it was safe to use the shower again. 

So we paid to have the wall repainted and resumed using the shower.   

You know that moment when your house is utterly placid because your toddler is finally napping, you've just settled onto the living room sofa with a two-month-old issue of The New Yorker,  and you happen to glance up and see an unmistakeable bubble forming on the wall you just had repainted? Yeah, so that happened ten days after the plumber left and, I'll admit it, at first I was in denial.  I told myself that my pregnant eyes were deceiving me.  I didn't tell my husband, who gets home from work too late at night to notice such things in an unlit room.

But the bubble spread like an ominous finger.  And then more fingers formed, until a gnarled witch's hand was raking across the paint.  My husband noticed, and he was miffed.

I called the plumber.  He did not return my calls.  For eight weeks I called the plumber.  I had a baby.  That baby grew.  The leak grew.  The plumber did not return my calls.

I later learned that the plumber my in-laws had recommended had spoken with my mother-in-law after working on our house and remarked, "I hope your son got a good deal on that house."

These are not comforting words to hear second-hand from the plumber who won't call you back.

Luckily, there is no shortage of plumbers in our village (an omen?) so I called a new plumber who came by the house the very next day.  After viewing the wall, touring the master bathroom, and tinkering in the basement, he found several pinhole leaks in the water line feeding from the basement to the master bathroom.  His plan was to open up the damaged wall and replace the entire length of old copper pipe with PVC.  This seemed logical, so I consented.  The next morning he arrived on my doorstep with two other men and a sledge hammer.  

Unfortunately, our home, as we've come to learn, is not logical.  So when the plumber opened up the water-damaged wall and found nothing but wood studs, I shouldn't have been surprised.  

"Where's the leaking pipe?" I asked.

The plumber swung the sledge hammer in the direction of the wall perpendicular to it- the one with the original bead board and dentil moldings.  "I think the leak is spraying from a pipe behind that wall," he said.

"You do?" I cried.  "Then why did we just open this wall?"

"Investigation," he replied.

"Well you can't open that wall," I said.  "That bead board is what sold me on this house."

The three men looked at me quizzically.  I knew I was being irrational.  Fixing the leaking pipe was imperative to prevent further damage and the growth of mold, but if we had to open up that wall, I wanted to do it with a pen knife, not a sledge hammer.  I called our painter, who agreed to come the next morning and slice, from the bottom of the dentil molding to the top of the baseboard, only the section of bead board concealing the leaking pipe.  The plumber would then break through the plaster, locate the copper pipe, and replace it with hardier PVC.  When the repair was complete the painter would return and fit the cut bead board back into the wall, like a puzzle piece.

In the meantime, the plumber decided to install an emergency shut-off valve to the water pipe leading to the master bath, to block more water from leaking into the wall.  To do so, he first had to locate the water main in the basement.

"Here it is," I said, pointing to a pipe in our basement with a rusted wrench attached to it in lieu of a shut-off valve.  The plumber laughed out loud.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to replace that, too."

The day the painter removed the bead board, another surprise awaited us: Horsehair plaster walls.  Basically, it's plaster mixed with horsehair (I cannot make this stuff up- Google it) that was often used in the construction of pre-war homes.  Not only is it creepy; it's also super-absorbant.  The entire plaster wall behind the bead board was soaked.

"This pipe has been leaking for a long time," the plumber observed.

"Like months?" I asked.

"No.  Years.  Many years."

I never wanted more to shake those previous homeowners, though doing so would likely cause harm to their fragile eighty-year-old bodies.  Seriously?  How do you allow a leak to continue for years?

Thankfully, and here is the silver lining folks, by the grace of God there was no mold in the wall.  Just lengths of corroded piping, lots of water, and damp horse hair.  The plumber replaced the leaking pipe and our painter installed new insulation and dry wall before fitting the bead board into place and closing up the wall.  Our painter is a magician.  

Before:

And after:

It's like the leak never happened, and we're back to using our master bathroom.  We've adverted disaster for now, but I just know it: The lead pan is the next thing to go.

Unwinding with a Catalogue

It's Monday night.

After a half dozen escape attempts, your toddler is finally sleeping soundly (albeit upside-down) in her bed. Your seven-week-old has just nodded off in her swing.  You've survived another day that included a tantrum in the cracker aisle at the supermarket, sore arms from rocking a fussy baby for four continuous hours, and a leaky pipe that required your plumber to take a sledge-hammer to the living room wall you recently spent thousands of dollars to paint.  And despite all that, you were still able to prepare a nutritious dinner for your family, even if the salmon was a tad charred and the quinoa a bit soggy.  You kick up your feet eager to indulge in the treat that arrived in the mail this afternoon: The Williams-Sonoma catalogue.

Pictured on the cover is the latest iteration of the iconic Kitchen-Aid mixer.  Like a Louis Vuitton bag it is something you must own eventually, even if you don't bake and wouldn't know the first thing to do with a dough hook.  The mixer comes in French blue and looks good on a counter; that's really all that matters.

On page 11 there is a suggested menu for a wine-tasting party.  You turn to your husband.  "We should host a wine-tasting party," you say.  "Sounds expensive," he replies.

Page 35 features several font options from which to choose for sets of monogrammed linen napkins.  You wish you had the disposable income for monogrammed linen napkins.  For now, it's paper napkins bought in bulk from BJ's for you.

On page 48 a picture-perfect stack of skull-shaped pancakes dressed in maple syrup and walnuts seems to mock you.  You do not have room in your ugly blue kitchen to store skull-shaped pancake molds and, therefore, will almost certainly never make skull-shaped pancakes for your children on Halloween morning.  You're starting to feel pretty crumby about that.

Before long you are accelerating down the self-deprecating spiral.  Two smiling girls on the following page are eating homemade organic whole wheat waffles off immaculate white plates resting on a reclaimed-wood kitchen table that also contains bowls of plump mixed berries, sliced apples, and a vase of fresh-cut flowers.  Breakfast at your house is cereal eaten out of (BPA-free) plastic bowls off an Ikea table that also contains a weeks' worth of mail and last weekend's New York Times.  On page 55 a child using a citrus press to make a single glass of orange juice makes you feel guilty for not serving fresh-squeezed juice to your children, even though you don't allow your children to drink juice because of the sugar content.  The gleaming espresso machines on pages 64-67 make you wish you knew how to make your own lattes, instead of spending $50 a month (according to your last credit card statement) at Starbucks.  Perhaps this is why you can't afford sets of monogrammed linen napkins.

Because of the braised ribs simmering in a slow-cooker pictured on page 70, you experience pangs of remorse that, due to its inconvenient location at the back of the cabinet above the refrigerator, you've hardly used the Crock-Pot you registered for when you got married.  The pictures of autumn wreathes on pages 98-99 remind you that fall is coming and you should probably think about how you're going to decorate the house, because you can already tell that this is the type of neighborhood where neighbors compete to have the best-looking seasonal house on the block.  The picture of the Miele rotary iron on page 104 reminds you that you should probably iron the stack of khakis in the laundry room so that your husband has more than one pair to choose from this Labor Day weekend.

And you're spent.  You decide to leave the Pottery Barn catalogue, waiting on the coffee table, for another night.

Before and After: Princess Palace

For the next installment of "Before and After," I'd like to treat you to a tour of Minnow's room, a.k.a., "Princess Palace."  Only, it's not just Minnow's room; you'll see we've already put two beds in the room because Minnow and Peanut will eventually share this space.  We want Minnow to know from the very beginning that this is their room, not just her room.  For now, we bring Peanut in for story time or to let her hang out on her bed, so Minnow can get used to the idea of a roommate.  It will be quite some time before Peanut is occupying a big girl bed like her sister, but it's never too early to teach the importance of sharing.

First, a refresher of what the room used to look like:

What could be more appropriate for a little girls' room than flowers and bows?  If only the wallpaper and carpet weren't from the year 1971...

Here is a picture of the room once we replaced the wallpaper with pretty pink paint (Benjamin Moore, Unspoken Love) and the carpet with the same ivory wool carpet we laid in the nursery:

And here is the completed room:

There are so many things I love about this room, but my absolute favorite is the beds, because they are my and my sister's oak beds from childhood.  These started as bunk beds and when my sister and I separated into our own rooms, our parents "de-bunked" them and had the bed knobs put on them.  Now that I have two girls of my own, I am so happy to pass down these heirlooms.  Having my bed from home (I slept in my twin bed until I went off to college, and even after, when I would visit during college and law school) in our new house is very meaningful to me.  

In my search for bedding I wanted something playful, in shades of pink, green, and brown, and evocative of nature, because my oldest daughter loves to play outdoors and could spend hours studying a single flower or bird.  This sweet quilt and pillow sham from Pottery Barn Kids, with its depictions of trees, owls, and butterflies, fit the bill.  

With two girls eventually sharing a room and a single closet, we needed a dresser with lots of storage.  The drawers of this chest, from Country Willow Furniture in Bedford, NY, are so deep, I've been able to unpack all of Minnow's clothes from birth to present, with room to spare.  I love that the dresser is two-toned; the body is antique white and the top is stained a honey-oak.

On top of the dresser, these charming owl bookends, from Pottery Barn Kids, support some of Minnow's favorite Dr. Seuss volumes.  

More reading favorites, and some cherished literary characters, are displayed in this adorable Land of Nod dollhouse bookcase, which Minnow received on her second birthday.  I like the dual functionality of this piece, and look forward to the day when the girls kneel beside it and play together.  

Perhaps the biggest splurge in the Princess Palace is the bejeweled chandelier.  My husband saw it hanging in the showroom at Country Willow Furniture and said, "We have to have that!"  It was amazing, because it was exactly what I was thining, but didn't dare say.  It was a splurge because not only did we have to purchase the chandelier and the lampshades (sold separately), but our electricians also had to install a light box in the ceiling and a dimmer switch by the door so that this very necessary lighting fixture could function.  

The wall hangings above Peanut's (top) and Minnow's (bottom) beds are original photographs taken by their grandmother and presented to each girl on the day of her birth.  I love that the photographs are very different, but complementary, as we hope our daughters will be.  

As in the nursery, we opted to do quasi-custom cordless accordion shades, rather than drapes, in the pink room because I'm a freak when it comes to baby-proofing.  On top of the nightstand, which matches the dresser, is a ceramic Blessed Mother nightlight- another relic from my childhood.  I'll tell you one thing I hate about this room: the AC unit in the window.  Unfortunately, installing central air in the house is a project for many years in the future.  Until then, we'll have to sweat it out.  

Besides the nursery, the girls' room is probably my favorite redesign in the house.  Isn't it good to be Princess?

Before and After: The Nursery

During my recent hiatus from blogging (almost a full month since my last post) a miraculous and life-changing event took place here in the C household: Peanut was born!  She was eight days late and weighed over nine pounds, and her delivery was a rather complicated one, which all adds up to an extended recovery period for Mommy.  Now that I am well and our family of four is settling into a routine at home, I am back and ready to introduce a new segment on the blog called "Before and After."

After two full months of around-the-clock labor, I am relieved to announce that the first phase of our home renovation is complete.  Our house is still very much a work in progress, and probably will be for as long as we live here, but I am pleased with what we have accomplished thus far.  The walls are painted, the light fixtures are hung, the floors are refinished, and the carpet is laid.  In honor of Peanut, the first "Before and After" installment is her room, the nursery.

To refresh your memory, this is what the nursery looked like before we moved in:

The space was overwhelmed by dark wallpaper, a mismatched border, and faded, rose-hued carpet.  The bare windows provided no privacy or insulation.

There was no lighting in the room besides the small lantern to the right of the door.  The doors and trim cried out for a fresh coat of paint.

This is what the nursery looks like now:

I've always dreamed of having a cheerful, gender-neutral nursery, so we painted the walls a sunshine yellow (Benjamin Moore, Golden Honey) and the moldings and cutouts surrounding the window a soft white (Benjamin Moore, White Dove).  The cutouts surrounding the window are perfect for displaying favorite books, small toys, and framed pictures.

We installed a ceiling fan with lamp to provide overhead lighting in the room.  Because I am a window-treatment minimalist and deeply concerned with blind cord safety, we opted for these Hunter Douglas Duette cordless accordion blackout shades to keep the room cool during the day and extra-dark at night.

The carpet is an ivory wool, and if you think I'm crazy for putting light-colored carpet in a nursery then you share something in common with my husband, but you didn't have to pay for it.

The design inspiration for the nursery stemmed from this print of The Velveteen Rabbit- my favorite children's book- that my Godmother gave to me for my twelfth birthday.  The quote reads, "When a child loves you for a long, long time... then you become Real."  Below the quote is a picture of the anxious Velveteen Rabbit conversing with the wise Skin Horse in the boy's nursery.

Our own "Skin Horse," (i.e., a Melissa and Doug rocking horse) stands guard beside the dresser that my husband refinished in a walnut stain to match our crib and changing table.  I added the green knobs, from Anthropologie, to the drawers for extra pizzaz.

These cards, a sprinkling of the well-wishes we've received, represent just how loved Peanut already is.  We found the soft white lamp on the dresser at a shop called Filaments in Greenwich Village.

We bought this oval crib- by Stokke- three years ago when we were expecting Minnow.  Its shape and size were ideal for our tight New York City bedroom.  Unfortunately, finding bedding for an oval-shaped crib is virtually impossible.  This ivory organic-cotton circle bedding, which I purchased from Dwell Studio three years ago, has been discontinued.  Good thing I registered for lots and lots of fitted sheets the first time around!  The sweet lamb mobile hanging above the crib, a gift from one of my oldest friends, is from Pottery Barn Kids.  The oval green accent rug is also PBK.

Our changing table is also by Stokke.  What I like most about it is that it is forward-facing, so baby faces you as you clean and change her.  The two canvas storage bins provide ample space for diapers (for Peanut), Pull-Ups (for Minnow), wipes, burp cloths, blankets, bathing supplies, and pretty much anything else you can think of to care for a newborn (and/or stubborn toddler).

It may surprise you that Peanut's name is not actually Peanut.  The custom-painted chevron monogram letters that hang above the changing table were designed by Maureen Pawlowski at MP Creations.

One of my favorite things in the nursery is this set of French alphabet cards, which we found in a vintage housewares shop on Block Island two summers ago.  We had them affixed to a green mat and framed as a Christmas gift to Minnow.  Minnow generously (unwittingly) agreed to share this one-of-a-kind wall-hanging with her sister.

When I was pregnant with Minnow, I desperately wanted a slipcovered glider in which to nurse, cuddle, and rock the baby to sleep every night.  Of course, space was limited in our Manhattan apartment, so the glider got pushed to the wish list for Baby #2.  This was literally the first piece of furniture I bought after we closed on our house.  It was a steal on clearance from Pottery Barn Kids, and is white canvas with apple-green piping.  The chevron throw, also in apple-green, is by Serena and Lily.  My own Velveteen Rabbit from childhood keeps the seat warm between feedings.  

Shades of yellow, ivory, white, green, and walnut: a serene retreat for both Peanut and Mommy.  

Why I Watch "Toddlers and Tiaras"

With the updates to the house almost complete, Peanut due to arrive any nanosecond, and temperatures reaching the high 80s (we don’t have central AC, but I’m sure you guessed that), tensions have been running high in the C household.  Apparently, my husband and I aren’t the only ones coping with copious amounts of stress.  A few days ago, Minnow asked me to get her coloring books and crayons so she could color at the kitchen table.  I obliged, and as she sat coloring I scrubbed some dishes in the sink.  A few minutes later I turned around to find her methodically peeling the wrappers off each crayon. 

“Minnow, why are you doing that?” I inquired.

“Because it helps me feel better.”

Interesting.  When I’m stressed I usually make a list or go for a long run, but, you know, different strokes for different folks.

I mean, can you blame the kid for feeling a little frazzled lately?  According to Baby Center, toddler stress is real, and can be brought on by the following:

“…having too many planned activities, the lack of a stable routine, feeling sick, a move, a separation from a beloved caregiver, or the arrival of a new sibling.”

In the last three months Minnow has been through two moves; has gone from living with her beloved grandparents and favorite dog, Harry, to spending the majority of her days with just me; and is anticipating a new baby to disrupt the only-child lifestyle she has enjoyed since birth.

Rationally, I understand what’s going on but, emotionally, my stressed-out toddler is making me feel like I am failing miserably at motherhood. Her usually cheerful and cooperative personality has been replaced by someone who, in her own words, “[Doesn’t] want to do ANYTHING!.”  Our mornings usually start out well, but unravel after she has finished her breakfast.  For example, on Tuesday I wanted to bathe Minnow before her swimming lesson at noon.  First she screamed because she didn’t want to get into the tub.  Then she screamed because she didn’t want to get out of the tub.  She refused to use the potty, then she refused to put on her swim diaper.  She fought me with feet and fists as I struggled to get her into her car seat, and sobbed during the five-minute drive to the pool, “But I don’t want to go to swim lessons!  I don’t want to do ANYTHING!”

Then when she got to the pool, she said, “Mommy, can me pick out my own goggles?  I want the pink ones!”

Every day has been like this since we moved into the new house.  It’s like living with someone who suffers from unmedicated bi-polar disorder, which I guess most toddlers do, in a way.  My days are spent dreaming up ways to keep Minnow happy, and those ways usually include too many Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies and too much time spent watching “Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood" on the iPad.  At times like these, when I’m feeling like just about the most unqualified mother in America, only one thing will lift my spirits:

“Toddlers and Tiaras.”

Confession: There are few things I enjoy more after putting Minnow to bed than kicking back on the couch with a bowl of Edy's Slow Churned ice cream (or a Shake Shack shake, if my husband is so inclined) and watching two or three episodes of this TLC gem.  The mothers of “Toddlers and Tiaras” help me realize that even on our most out-of–sorts days, I could be making far more questionable decisions as a parent.  After all, I can honestly say that I have never:

- Spray-tanned my toddler;

- Fed my toddler Pixie Sticks, Red Bull, or something called “Tinker Tea,” which is, evidently, a concoction comprised of Pixie Sticks, lemonade, and soda (soda!);

- Called another person’s toddler “ugly;”

- Suggested to my toddler that “stripper” is an acceptable career choice, as long as she does it “fabulously;”

- Criticized my toddler for not having (or doing- I don’t know what the correct terminology is here) “pretty feet;”

- Allowed my toddler to ride in an ATV, with or without a helmet;

- Put false eyelashes on my toddler’s eyes, false teeth in my toddler’s mouth, or makeup on my toddler’s face (Although I have, on occasion, painted her toenails the same Essie color as my pedicure, so we could match);

- Told my toddler, in either a positive or negative way, that she looks like a “prosti-tot;”

- Allowed my toddler’s lunch to be spoonfuls of mayonnaise (mayonnaise!) straight out of the jar;

- Threatened to “kick the shit” out of another parent in front of my toddler (or ever!);

I don’t mean to criticize other people’s parenting styles (cough, cough); after all, being a parent is, by far, the most challenging thing I’ve ever done, and I went to law school.  I don't doubt that the parents on "Toddlers and Tiaras" genuinely love their children, even if they have a funny way of showing it.  I’m just saying that the next time Minnow wants to lament her misfortune because I insist on washing her hair or giving her something other than carbs for a snack, she might do well to think about little Mackenzie or Brooklyn, who certainly have more stress in their lives than she does.

Laundry Dreams (And Nightmares)

One of the best things about buying a house, in my estimation, is finally having a private laundry room.  After four years of renting in buildings with shared laundry facilities and dealing with all sorts of laundry drama, I’ve been dreaming of carrying baskets of laundry to the basement whenever I am so inclined, dumping them into the washer, and enjoying the rhythmic hum of the machine as I move on to other household tasks.  No waiting for an open washer because, despite the notices posted in both English and Spanish prohibiting the use of more than three washers at a time, a neighbor’s housekeeper is occupying all seven washers and three dryers.  No racing down four flights of stairs before some neighbor who just carried an oozing bag of garbage to the trash hut removes my freshly cleaned clothes from the washer and dumps them on top of the machine.  No worrying about someone stealing my sheets and towels out of the dryer (that happened), having to comfort a neighbor’s housekeeper who was just fired from her position (that happened), or getting stuck in an elevator for a half hour on my way to the laundry room (yup, that too).

We knew when we bought this house that the appliances were ancient.  I mean, the dryer was manufactured by RCA.  Are they even around anymore?  But the sellers certified in the contract that all systems and appliances in the home were in “working condition,” so we were hoping to get away with not having to buy a new appliance until our bank account balance is restored.

The night before I planned to do my first load of laundry in the new house, I went down to the yucky laundry room in the yucky basement and ran a cup of bleach through the yucky washing machine.  No morning-after disasters resulted from this experiment.  The hose didn’t leak, the laundry room didn’t flood, and the washing machine smelled a lot cleaner.  I put in my first sorted load, closed the door, turned the knob, and prayed for the best.  Forty minutes later, our clothes were damp and smelled clean.  Success!  Time to transfer them to the dryer.  I opened the door to the dryer and WHAT… THE… F?!

“You’ll never guess what I just found in the dryer,” I texted to my husband, who by now is accustomed to receiving various S.O.S. messages from home while at work. 

“A mouse?”

It was a reasonable guess.  Although we haven’t found any evidence to date, I’m quite certain there is a colony of mice living above the drop ceiling, because that’s the kind of basement we have and, also, that's the kind of luck we have.

“Worse,” I replied.  “A load of laundry the sellers left behind.”

“Gross!”

It was gross.  Those clothes have been sitting in the dryer for at least one month since we’ve closed!

The idea of leaving behind an entire load of laundry in a move absolutely baffles me.  If I so much as lose a baby sock in the midst of doing wash I am bent out of shape for a week.

I didn’t know what to do.  I am skittish about touching other people’s laundry, even if it’s clean.  I mean, who wants to touch someone else’s granny panties?  So I put on a pair of latex gloves and put the forgotten clothes into a black trash bag.  The clothes were dry, but smelled damp.  I put the trash bag in the laundry room closet, but immediately felt guilty.  Should I fold them? I wondered.  No, I decided, that would be creepy.  I loaded my clothes into the dryer, set it for an hour, and called the seller’s agent to arrange a pick-up time with the sellers.

An hour later, when I went down to retrieve my laundry, it was still damp.  I guess it needs more time, I reasoned, and reset the dryer.  Another hour later the clothes were still damp and I realized that although the dryer’s motor was running, it was not emitting any heat. 

“Dryer’s busted,” I texted my husband.

“But I thought you found dry clothes in there.”

“Yes, but remember, they've been sitting in there for over a month.”

Of course the busted dryer meant that my dream of doing laundry on a whim had been placed on hold.  Two days later, I loaded two bags of laundry into the Jeep and carted them to my in-laws'.

This past weekend, we made an unplanned visit to P.C. Richard to purchase a new dryer and, hell, while we’re at it, we might as well buy a washer, as well.  Our brand-spanking-new, state-of-the-art, top-rated, glass-top Samsung washer and dryer were delivered this week.  They look a little out-of place in our yucky laundry room in our yucky basement (I was actually embarrassed when the delivery men arrived to install them), but aren’t they gorgeous?  It turns out laundry dreams really do come true! 

Catharsis

After the movers drop the last box in our new home (and I do mean "drop;" several Crate & Barrel wine glasses are sacrificed in the move), I walk from room to room, surveying the job ahead.  It is overwhelming.  My in-laws have agreed to watch Minnow until 8 p.m. that evening, and I quickly realize that we will not be finished unpacking by the end of the day, or even the end of the weekend, as I had naively hoped.

I can't decide which I find more loathsome: Packing or unpacking.  Wrapping everything we own in multiple layers of bubble wrap and entrusting their fate to the storage gods is draining- no doubt about it- but I am having a difficult time unpacking because I don't yet know where anything goes.  We went from too little space to too much space, it seems.  This box of cleaning supplies could go in the linen closet, but it would be just as at home it in the laundry room.  Should that framed photograph of the Natural History Museum hang in the living room, or the den?  This vase would look equally elegant in the dining room or in the foyer... Also, there are some rooms in which we cannot unpack at all because the painters- God love them- are still painting.  They're going on four weeks now.

"I don't know where to begin," I say to my husband as I pry open boxes and then push them aside.

"Start in one room," he suggests.  "Do as much as you can in there, and move on to the next."

But in which room should I start?  The nursery is a logical first step, because I want to ensure that Peanut's room is ready, should she decide to move in early.  Then again, maybe I should start in the kitchen, the hearth of the home.  But the idea of spending an afternoon filling old, decrepit cabinets with my gleaming stainless steel cookware saddens me, so I decide to seek solace in the most cheerful corner of the house: My master bedroom closet.

In a home this old, it is rare to find one spacious closet in the master bedroom; it is absolutely urban legend to find two.  I feel like my husband and I hit the Power Ball with our equally-sized His and Hers closets.  Having a place to hang my clothes in the bedroom is certainly an upgrade from our first New York City apartment, where my closet was in the living room.  Here, we kept the antique bronze doorknobs- an homage to the former owners- and added fluorescent lights to each closet and the double light switch outside.

Obviously, a new closet calls for new hangers.  A few days before the move Minnow and I find boxes of these fun hot pink hangers, which would perk up any closet, from Bed Bath and Beyond.  They are slim and space-saving, which is important because  I am using them to hang my silk blouse collection, which is sizable.

Like a hoarder, I am big on saving shoe boxes.  I use them to store my most precious shoes, including a few pairs from the J.Crew collection.  Luckily, this closet has adequate shelf space to hold numerous boxed shoes, as well as a laundry basket packed with handbags.

I've had the shoe rack below since my freshman year of college.  It couldn't have cost more than $10 at Bed Bath and Beyond, yet it has proven to be one of the most useful closet organizers.  I've removed the top rack so that my clothes have more room to hang.  To maximize the remaining space, I stack shoes one on top of the other and plan to switch them out seasonally.  Hello, espadrilles!

Because we don't yet have master bedroom furniture, I am temporarily storing folded items in these stackable hot pink cubes from Ikea.  This cube contains all my running gear, which is washed and ready for my first post-partum run in about eight weeks.

Focusing first on the master bedroom closet is cathartic for me.  After my wardrobe is organized, balance is restored to the universe and I feel energized to tackle the rest of unpacking- room by room and box by box.

Of course, we all deal with stress in different ways.  While I am busy getting reacquainted with the clothes that have spent two months hanging in a cedar closet in my in-laws' attic, my husband works on this:

Aside from ample closet space, another benefit to owning a home is having a little land on which to plant a vegetable garden.  The tall plants are Beefsteak and Sweet 100 tomatoes- perfect for summer!

Never again will I need to buy parsley at the grocery store, thanks to my husband's green thumb.

Thyme and rosemary: Two of our most frequently-used cooking herbs.

I've got big plans of preparing jars and jars of fresh basil pesto in my ugly blue kitchen...

...which is probably the room I should work on next.