A few years ago, after much debating, my parents decided to keep the house they had lived in nearly my entire life, but renovate it throughout. They figured that in their mid-fifties it might be nice to have things like, oh, say… central air. And a fridge that wasn’t puke yellow and from 1989.

Projects like installing central air and wood floors throughout your house are a bit of a pain, but nothing is as much of a pain as knocking down a wall in your kitchen, gutting it, and putting in a new kitchen from the ground up. This I know from experience, although my parent’s budget and timeline was far different than ours. They hired an awesome contractor and over the span of several months lived in their finished basement while the kitchen was being renovated. For those many months, they referred to the room in the finished basement as “The Studio” and became well accustomed to cooking with a toaster and microwave and living out of a dorm-sized fridge.

This past weekend, we blocked off our own kitchen to finally get around to painting the wood floors. Because we didn’t want to push our luck, we decided to plan the painting with the most conservative of timelines including two full days between coats for optimal drying time. Which meant that I had 5 days worth of food to plan out in advance with a toaster oven and basement fridge as my only options.

I spent much of Friday at the grocery store and in the kitchen making up a whole host of sandwiches, cutting up cucumbers and summer squash and marinating chicken that could be grilled outside. We’re on day 4 of living without a kitchen, and I’ll be honest, the sandwiches are getting old. Same for washing our dirty dishes in the bathroom sink. And going outside and around to the back of the house to get milk from the basement fridge.

Here’s what our dining room currently looks like with a mattress blocking off the door to the kitchen and the dining room table covered with our picnic staples.

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And here’s the kitchen floor drying.

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After five days of living like this, I honestly cannot imagine how my parents lived for months on end in The Studio. But then again, our finished project is nothing like theirs.

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I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that every time I go to my mom’s house I beg to cook a meal, and the entire time I talk to my pretend audience as if I’m a Food Network chef.

One lesson I learned early on in marriage, and the thing I tell people whenever they (shockingly) ask me for marital advice is not to nag one’s husband. Matt is a typical stubborn Irish Mick, and will actually dig his heels in deeper if he gets the feeling he’s being nagged. Although he doesn’t pick up on passive-aggressive manipulative nagging too quickly, he doesn’t respond to it either. So all in all I’ve learned it’s better to just let him do his thing and be responsible for whatever positive or negative consequences might occur.

Perhaps this leaves me open to his sometimes ill behavior reflecting poorly on me, but I can deal with that. My grandmother is horrified that I don’t iron his dress shirts for him, so I’m used to letting people down.

On the other hand, I have found that when I simply ask Matt or remind him about tasks that are a given (like could he please take out the trash?), he hops right up and does them happily. It’s all about determining which things are worth arguing over and which things are not, and then making sure the things I really care about mutually transition into “givens.”

One thing I really cared about when I married Matt was the diligent writing of thankyou notes. Now, I was raised a proper New Englander and was taught to write thankyou notes at a young age. I’ve been writing them ever since, in fact my sisters and I continue to exchange thankyou notes and hostess gifts whenever we get together. (Although I must admit they are MUCH better at remembering and much prompter in the sending of said thankyou notes than I am.) Frankly, even after all these years of writing thankyou notes, I still really enjoy how relaxing it is to sit down with a box of cards and write out a note to a kind and generous person, despite my atrocious handwriting – the brunt of many a family joke.

Last week Matt sat down to write out the thankyou notes to his coworkers for the very generous shower gifts they gave him. He whipped them right up without a problem and was done in no time. Then this afternoon I reminded him that he still had birthday thankyou notes to write, so he hopped right up and went to my card basket to retrieve some blank cards and a pen.

“I think we’re out of cards.”

How can this be, I thought? My proper New Englander mother is constantly sending me cards that she finds on clearance (including those somewhat strange purple baby shower cards you might have received in the mail from me) to keep my card supply stocked, and perhaps to keep reminding me of the importance of being polite. In all my days of thankyou note writing, I’ve never been without a spare card.

“Ok, I’ll pick some up next time I’m out.”

I was struck not only by the generosity of our friends being too fast for my thankyou note supply to keep up, but also by how crestfallen Matt appeared at not being able to complete his task. It will hover over his head like a dark cloud until I have supplied him with some new cards.

Perhaps now when people ask my marital advice, instead of telling them not to nag their husband, I’ll tell them to marry a person who will quickly prioritize and care about the things that matter to you. The boy cares about thankyou notes because it matters to me. And that’s the quickest route to a nag-free relationship, methinks.

That and letting him buy a motorcyle. Oh Matt, n0t nagging, but just a reminder to up your life insurance policy.

What is even cuter than a tiny baby bird trying to fly for the very first time? I’ll tell you what. CLOTH DIAPERS.

From Daily Daguerreotype

These arrived in the mail last week from Marissa and Deneese and I’ve been folding and refolding and stuffing and unstuffing them since then. Because I’m not going to get enough of that when Penelope arrives and is yellow slime pooing them twelve times daily.

Even Matt is smitten. When he held up the little orange diaper, unsnapped it and saw how small it adjusts for newborns he exclaimed, “I am SO HAPPY she’s being born in the summer time! Just think of how cute she’ll be squealing around in just this little orange diaper!”

Ok, I amend my previous statement. The only thing cuter than a tiny baby bird trying to fly for the first time, is going to be my daughter squealing around with a big ole cloth diaper on her booty. NOM NOM NOM!!!!!!!

A little over a year ago we inherited my grandmother’s bedroom set which, aside from her china sitting in my kitchen cabinets, is my all-time most prized possession. It’s a beautiful set made from solid mahogany and weighing a million tons. Originally it came with a headboard and footboard for a double bed, but since Matt and I sleep on a queen mattress (a hand-me-down Sterns & Foster from my parents that is quite possibly the world’s greatest mattress, but was too hard for my mom’s back) the headboard and footboard wouldn’t fit. We originally toyed with the idea of mangling up the headboard and footboard to extend wide enough for a queen, but decided not to rip apart a beautiful antique in that manner. Instead, we’re using it for the guest room which has a new double mattress and boxspring.

So for the extent of our marriage we’ve been sleeping on a bed with no headboard which absolutely drives Matt nuts as he likes to lean back and read in bed. Personally I hate that my pillows are always falling down between the mattress and the wall behind it, but that’s neither here nor there.

This weekend we were inspired to make the headboard that we had been dreaming of for a while. I had seen a bunch of upholstered headboards and decided that it needed the following functionality:

1. It had to be tall because we have a tiny bedroom, and I needed something to extend the eye upward making the room look bigger.
2. It had to be tall enough so that when Matt was sitting in bed, it would extend higher than his head so he could lean back against it.
3. I wanted little “wings” on the sides of the headboard that extended down to the floor. I thought this might look cozier and give the whole thing a more solid feel.
4. The wings couldn’t be too deep because we religiously use our bedside tables, and I wanted to be able to conveniently reach my Tums.
5. I wanted nailhead trim!

So we mapped it out and measured how big the whole thing would be. Then it was off to Hobby Lobby to score 4 yards of linen fabric (at $2.50/yd) and batting ($13.99 to cover the wood with a bit extra left over). I had hoped they would have lots of nailhead options, but their selection left much to be desired. So we trekked off to Home Depot to buy the wood.

We decided to go with full sheets of plywood, although I had read you could do something lighter weight with craft board. We wanted this to be sturdy and since it would run all the way down to the floor and be screwed into our bed frame, we bought the thickest sheet of plywood we could. We needed 2 sheets of 4×8 plywood ($40 total) with quite a bit of plywood leftover (good news as I have a design for living room side tables that I want Matt to build!). I was in luck when I walked down the nail aisle and found a whole slew of upholstery tacks to choose from! I wound up picking an antique brass finish, and Matt calculated that we’d need 18 boxes of nailheads. I bought all 20 for about $25 in case I needed extra.

Our total cost was around $95 for supplies as we needed to pick up some extra screws and metal plates. Matt had plenty of staples and a staple gun as well as four big bolts to screw the headboard into our metal bed frame. So we headed home to put her together!

The first half of the project involved Matt measuring and screwing the frame together.

From Daily Daguerreotype

Next we covered the back frame in batting, stapled it down, and did the same thing with the fabric which I had cut to size and ironed. Then we upholstered the wings in the same manner leaving one flap open where Matt could screw them perpendicularly into the back frame. After the wings were screwed to the back frame, we only needed to pull the remaining wing fabric behind the back frame and staple it down.

Then came the nailheads. Hundreds of little nailheads that we individually hammered into the plywood with a rubber mallet. This is a job I would not recommend unless you A) are extremely anal-retentive and B) enjoy going bug-eyed. It’s nearly impossible to get those nailheads in straight, and they frequently have to be re-done. If you’re planning on putting nailheads into ANYTHING, I highly recommend you find an upholsterer who has recently been through a bad break-up… and… yaknowwhati’msayin.

It took us much of both Saturday and Sunday and I’d say we easily put in about 9 hours of work on the headboard, but we are super-psyched with how it turned out. In fact when I was Googling how close to set the nailheads, I found an image of this Nate Berkus Headboard that looks pretty darn similar to ours, except without the tufting.

So are you ready for the After photos which were taken in haste with piles of clean laundry on the bed and disorganized side tables?

From Daily Daguerreotype

From Daily Daguerreotype

The next project on the list is to make curtains to hang behind the bed which I plan to hang high and wide over that window giving the appearance that the window is as wide as the queen-sized bed. I think having a big billowy expanse of curtains behind the headboard will do even more to make the room look taller and will also balance out the very tall headboard.

Whaddya think? Any headboard creators out there who have made their own? Or do you prefer a bed with no headboard?

If you were to come over to our house today and peek in our bathroom there are three things you would notice right away.

From Daily Daguerreotype

1. It’s about time for the bathroom’s weekly cleaning, but I’m sorry… I’m too busy compulsively working on my 3 year old quilt to realize, care, or do anything about it.
2. There is still no door. Matt found five layers of paint on the door that he was painstakingly trying to strip using The Worst Chemicals Ever before we decided to spring for a heat gun to peel off the old paint. As strange as it may seem, the bathroom door is low on his priority list because he’s a notorious Project Finisher and wanted to complete the laundry room first to fill his deep internal void. At least this is what he claims. I have a feeling he is putting off the bathroom door until LOST is over to prevent me from inviting people over for weekly LOST parties. He claims I “chitchat” too much during the tv show when we watch it with other people. WHATEVER.
3. And then this one… a grody tennis ball sitting on the pedestal sink. Shall I zoom in for you?

From Daily Daguerreotype

Yes, a drooly, filthy once-bright-pink tennis ball. Anyone who has spent five minutes with Berlin has figured out that she is OBSESSED with fetch. It could be considered clinical… or just the “golden retriever” in her. So every time I’m in Target and they have tennis balls in the $1 section, I pick up a bag. Or two. Or two hundred.

Well they seem to get lost in the backyard frequently, so we’re always pulling out new balls for her to play with. But then out of the blue she’ll find an old ball, and it’s always at the most inopportune of times. Like this morning when she was up and ready to go outside at 6 am. Matt walked her over to the back door and opened her doggy door which she quickly bounded through. Five minutes later I got out of bed for my 911th trip to the bathroom, and who should come in to join me but Berlin with her dirty, stanky backyard find. Knowing full well that when I headed back to bed she would lay down next to me on her own bed and tear the ball to shreds leaving felt and rubber pieces all over the bedroom floor, I quickly confiscated the ball and placed it out of her reach… on the sink.

She was devastated and went back to her bed to pout. Until she found another ball out of reach under my dresser which kept her occupied for about an hour.

So is a nasty tennis ball sitting on our bathroom sink unusual? Not at all. Just stroll through our downstairs and you will find them everywhere. On top of bookshelves, the fireplace mantle, hidden in drawers. Inevitably when I go into labor and need to be packing up my hospital bag, instead I will be frantically running around the house collecting old tennis balls and sanitizing the surface they were sitting on because MY MOTHER WILL DIE AND KICK ME OUT OF THE FAMILY WHEN SHE SEES THESE!

I’ve already posted about one gift I received at Christmas with the “local” theme, and today I want to post about the other gift which is local to Chicago, where my oldest sister lives.

From Daily Daguerreotype

It’s an insanely cool and funky appetizer tray featuring a plate with Chicago landmarks. I realize that it is supposed to be used for hor d’oeuvres or cupcakes or other bite-sized entertaining foods, but I’m one of those people who has a hard time putting something away in a cupboard and only using it on special occasions. Do I have hor d’oeuvres out every day? NO! But I have bananas out every day, so let’s put em on the cake plate!

(Also, don’t those tomatoes look good? I typically despise an uncooked tomato, but pregnancy is doing weird things to me, people!)

Chicago is one of my favorite places even though I’ve never lived there. My first trip to the Windy City was right before my freshman year in high school when my dad took me on a business trip with him. We stayed in a mind-blowing suite on the twenty-something floor of the Hilton Chicago Magnificent Mile that included a cheese platter and a bottle of wine. My dad let me have a swig of the wine which I thought was disgusting at the time, but I was all about that cheese! I handed out pamphlets at his seminars, went to numerous dinners in private rooms of fancy restaurants, enjoyed a true Chicago hot dog while watching Sammy Sosa play at Wrigley Field, and fell head over heels in love with the son of my dad’s old college roommate – a senior at Arizona State University. I came home knowing I was going to live in Chicago one day and even created my very first email address with “ChicagoGirl1″ as the username.

My next trip back was in college when a few of my friends piled into a white Oldsmobile for a spur-of-the-moment roadtrip. To save on accommodations we pulled the car into truck stops to sleep for a few hours each night leaving us mighty tired and mighty greasy when we finally made it into town. Our trip was ill-timed, just a month after 9/11, so everything in the city was completely shut down. We couldn’t go to the top of the Sears Tower, most of the municipal buildings were closed, and the streets were dead quiet. But the city was still beautiful, and the guy I wanted at that time kissed me, so Chicago remained magical in my mind.

I took another trip back to visit my sister for Easter and interview for a record company internship later that year. I loved driving around downtown and imagining myself hanging out there all summer long, although I eventually wound up in DC for a different job. I met up with a friend who took me to Maggianos for my very first experience with calamari. (Mance, I think I still owe you a dinner at Smith & Wollensky.) And I finally got to the top of the Sears Tower on a gorgeous day where I could take in the whole city – beautiful and sprawling as ever.

We’re headed up 65 again this year for Easter to eat some more great food and enjoy the company of family. No matter what I can’t help but think that maybe one day I’ll live there for a while. Although perhaps if I lived in Chicago the romance would wear off, and I’d rather always think of it as a beautiful place to fall in love with the wrong person… but eat the best slice of pizza around.