It Ended Up Being A Baseboard Day

Every weekend I clean. A lot. For many hours. Sometimes just Saturday. Sometimes I span it over two days, depending on my energy level. But every weekend I clean, like it or not.

After horseback riding lessons we got home and I had a small lunch type situation and then started my mental checklist. A friend who recently moved away left us an obscene amount and strange array of leftover cleaning supplies. I had slowly been using them for random things around the house, as I usually do vinegar based things and have some weird aversion to the smell some cleaning products, bleach especially.

I found an all purpose cleaner and looked down and realized...it had been a good month since I did the baseboards. I saw one particular spot that was completely gross. And then it began...and it ended up being a baseboard day. 

I can only speak for myself, but have to ask, does anyone else loathe doing baseboards? I have this weird wave of emotions and hilarious thoughts as soon as I start the task. It goes from, "I immediately regret this decision," to thoughts like, "oh my gosh, how gross are we living?" 

I start and I'm like, "Hey this isn't that bad." But as I progress I'm like, "Ugh why did I even start this? Well I already started it so I have to finish now. How did dirt get there?" Before you know it, I'm internally having a full on conversation with myself, and therefore have entered crazy town. 

I was cleaning the baseboards thinking of writing this blog and how, you have to get in all these weird uncomfortable positions to clean them, and reach all these weird angles. All of the sudden, then I wonder, why do we even have baseboards and why did I arrange the furniture to make this so difficult? Again, cleaning the baseboards becomes some weird internal philosophical conversation. It's so strange how my mind wanders when I'm doing cleaning tasks.

Cleaning the baseboards is gratifying and annoying all at the same time, and I totally wish it were less exhausting, but when I'm done I feel that amazing sense of accomplishment. So I'm bending and squatting and conforming and scrubbing, all to clean the dog hair and every day life of the spot that buffers the wall and the floor. All the while my daughter is scurrying around clearing her messes and getting ready for a play date.

I finally start to see the light at the end of the tunnel and then hit that mental wall about the rest of the things I need to clean. There's a huge part of me that gets a sense of pride knowing that I'm the one who does the bulk of the cleaning in my own home. My husband has recently been a huge, huge help and even the kiddo pitches in from time to time but mostly it's all me that keeps up with the chores and maintenance making the house a home.

Of course I dream about having a house cleaner and not having to spend my weekends cleaning, and if I ever had room in the budget I would spend it on freeing up my time in that way, but I also like knowing when I cleaned what and with what supplies. I think it's more of that control in the chaos thing that I live by. I love knowing there are certain things I have full control over, no matter what else is going on in my life. And cleaning arranging is one of those easy things to manage.

I always sleep better when I have a clean house. I can start my week successfully knowing that kicked butt at home ownership and did all my necessary chores. I also feel better mental health-wise knowing that I keep my house tidy and the filth minimal. 

So today ended up being a baseboard day. And in some ways that was not at all what I had in mind. In other ways I'm glad I decided to get that done so it was one less thing for me to do tomorrow or next week. There will always be a to-do list. The husband will always have a "honey-do" list. There are times to kick back and ignore the chores and then there are baseboard days. Whatever your Saturday brings, I hope you get that sense of accomplishment too!

My House Is Forever A Mess, And I Kinda Love It That Way

This is my dining room in it's natural state. And this is our table. We don't eat dinner at the table enough.This table was a gift from over a decade ago, when I moved into my first apartment, and it was from the first family I nanny-ed for in Oregon. My mom hates this table. It's covered in marker, pen, paint, scratches, dents and dog hair at times. But I've raised ALL my children at this table, meaning the ones I nanny-ed for, and now my daughter. And until it falls apart, it's staying.

My daughter does arts and crafts everything and all the time. I haven't figured out a decent way or space to organize the mania, but she is always drawing and creating things. Once a week we clear this table, but during weeknights it pretty much stays like this, and I'm kind of in love with it.

I've never bought furniture from anywhere but an Ashley Furniture outlet (my husband's recliner) and Ikea. Although from time to time I get used pieces from online interactions like Craigslist or Facebook Marketplace. We've been given everything else as a gift, and are so fortunate for that.

I dreamed once of nice things and furniture sets, you know Pottery Barn type illusions, but then I realized how little that actually has to do with making a house into a home. I'm also so busy with motherhood, work and life, that my home time is limited, so rather than obsess about it looking a certain way, I'd rather it be functional and comfy.

My uncle used to have this joke that first apartments and homes are always decorated in the style of "American Poverty," because it's enough to just have a roof over your head, let alone fill it with stuff. I always love being around people who have the eye for decorating and fill their home with pretty and nice things that match, with little accents for their home, but I'm always afraid I'll mess up their house in some way. 

My house is very much "lived in." It's broken in, comfortable and, I hope, welcoming. Its is wonderfully imperfect no matter what. From the weathered grout, which is my serious obsession in superficiality, the non-matching furniture, the crazy colors of bedroom walls and the stuff...everywhere, it's everything that is US.

Maybe it was too many years of my Friends obsession but, much like Phoebe, almost all of my furniture has a story, however simple or small. So we have the dining room table story covered, and the long bench with it was Eben's cousin's. Our couches came from one of my favorite co-workers from a past job who was kind of like my "work mom." We have two recliners, a buffet, a coffee table and a piano from my old boss. He was going to give really good furniture and a PIANO to Goodwill! It just needs to be tuned, hello!

Our queen bed frame is from IKEA and has followed us to 3 houses from it's construction. The construction, my husband teases, was almost a breaking point in our marriage because that thing was so difficult to put together! We keep it now as a guest bed, after it was our daughter's for 2 years and ours for 2 years before that, and we reference it as a joke often.

Our king bed frame was from Facebook MarketPlace and they lived 10 minutes away. I had an old boss help me pick it up, and he was not a fun person to move things with as he didn't understand the difference in my size versus his, and how to move furniture with someone small but mighty. The king mattress and box spring was an amazing gift from one of my favorite people from when we got in the car accident as our mattress at the time was just on the floor in the old house. I cried when I came home from the hospital and saw it, and I miss that friend every single day because she got me through one of the worst times in my life.

My daughter's room is 90% hand me downs. Her toy box was my mom's and then mine. Her kitchen set came from another gorgeous friend I miss daily, her train table from another mom that I went to boot camp with and the dollhouse was mine. Her princess TV is from another mom friend and her daughter. There is some various Ikea furniture that we put together that didn't result in divorce, and her dresser was mine when I was baby and has followed me every place I've ever lived. Her new bunk bed is from Facebook Marketplace; I repainted it and my dad fixed it to the wall and built stairs for the dog to join her atop her full sized loft.

My husband and I have 2 dressers we got from family friends whom we love and appreciate a lot and lastly, we have my mom's old cedar chest filled with my grandmother's things. Oh and a hutch I bought from Luna's swim teacher that I repainted and filled with my grandma's china. That is probably it, I think. Everything has a story, and nothing matches, and I LOVE IT.

This wasn't always so. This has taken me YEARS. I used to love my apartments before we had a kiddo because everything would stay as it was when I was out. When you have a kid suddenly furniture becomes a liability. Or they put crayon on cushions and stain your favorite duvet. But, that's part of parenthood and adulting. 

My mom tries to force on me "matching things" and "newer things," but I like what we have and I don't need to waste money on new stuff just to have something new! My table being a mess means my daughter is creative. Her room in disarray means she was using her imagination. Blankets all over the couch means my dog is comfy. 

Everything I have is coated in sentiment and memories. There are layers of stories and emotions, even life phases that go with it. You can always rearrange to give things a different look or refreshed style, but replacing all the furniture seems really silly to me. We don't entertain much and let's face it, I have very few people to impress in my life. I'm just an anxious, working mom trying to get through each day and enjoy life when I can. If you can't enjoy my mess, don't come over. Take me out for a drink instead!

I spend hours cleaning every weekend. I maintain my house with family help and love all of it because it is ours. I don't care how cluttered, okay I do have a limit, I'll admit, but it's still mine and ours. Every area is part of home. I haven't had a place like that since I was 15 so I'm digging my heels in and enjoying the space, no matter how messy it can get, it's mine, it's my daughter's, my dog's and my husband's real, live home. Furniture can be bought and we can arrange and style any way, any day, but the memories will be stronger than any dining set, sectional couch with matching ottoman or bedroom set could ever be.

For now I'm going to enjoy the method to the madness because there are good times to be had, clean house or not. And the picture below is the result of my daughter saying, "Hey mom take a picture of my table. It looks pretty." Oh and this table was painted and styled by my sister, driven across the country by my dad, also after the car accident. I forgot that one too! So many stories with the furniture, so little time! Here's the cute table:

Happy Thursday readers!

Fire Pit Future: Simple Things Are Often Big Achievements

I was totally into apartment life when we first moved to Florida. Rent wasn't too terrible, and unlike in Oregon, there was a pool. Plus the neighbors were okay; we were comfy. I arranged and rearranged set ups and we even had a spare room for visitors. 

When we got the dog apartment life didn't bother me but I wanted a nicer apartment and neighborhood and dog parks. You gotta level up sometimes. So we made an upgrade and off we went to a place with huge bathtubs and walk-in closets right by my husband's job.

As soon as I had a baby though, I wanted a house, and not just because we lived on the second floor. I wanted to paint walls and hang pictures and decorate for real. I wanted to argue about curtains and flooring and have grown up furniture. Even just a little house. With a yard and a fire pit for roasting marshmallows. These were my simple dreams and goals.

The family that I nanny-ed for bought a new house after their daughter was born. It was like 4 blocks from their old one but set up much better for a little one to grow. And I loved their yard. They had a pavement two story patio (a lot of houses in Oregon are like that) that overlooked part of a valley and the middle school their kiddos attended. Their yard wasn't huge but they had bushes around the fence and 3 planter boxes with veggies growing. It was a homey place. Even after we moved and we would crash there, I'd sit on the patio and drink wine out there with my old bosses on an Oregon summer evening and think, "This is my goal."

Of course in Florida it requires a screened in porch and there are no valleys, but still. I wanted an outdoor area to decompress. Our first attempt at buying a house was harrowing. There was buried debt and we basically were told we were undesirable #1, Harry Potter style, when my daughter was 1. I was completely devastated but not unwilling to put in the work to get what I wanted. 

I had two dream towns in Florida and both, of course, were expensive. We finally found a kitschy house in Safety Harbor to rent, which was dream town number one, and I started paying attention. Places sold there fast and in my mind it seemed there were two kinds of houses: Old Florida where you needed to be handy enough to keep them going on your own, and newer construction that I like to refer to as "Pre-Fab Shit Boxes," or cookie cutter architecture. Of course there were also the monstrosities that mirrored those that lined A-1-A in West Palm, but I could never afford a Floridian 6 bath 6 bedroom on the water, nor could I maintain keeping that thing clean. The few in betweens that stood on their own were worth the hunt though. 

I just wanted an old Florida single level house I could clean on my own. It wasn't until after the car accident that when some money came our way we were less unfortunate-looking candidates for a home and were allowed to actually look. Most of the places I liked that my husband went to see were picture perfect but seriously flawed. One was slanted, and the other had the perfect screened in patio and pool, but was in a really rough neighborhood and also had some seriously evident water damage on the floors. The floor tiles were even loose. Another just had so many renovations to make it what we wanted. It was overwhelming. 

When we finally found our house, they had completely redone the inside, it was in a really good, quiet neighborhood and at the top of our price range but perfectly sized. There was a walk in closet from the master bathroom and...a small screened in porch in the back of the house that overlooked the next street over and below us, and all the trees that gave us privacy. This was pretty close to what I'd always wanted.

One of our first house warming gifts was a fire pit. I was so excited. The first chance we had to use it was at the edge of the porch on a cooler Florida fall evening. My husband gave me this huge, huge speech about how you can't put a fire pit on a wooden porch and it was a huge hazard so it would live in the yard. The first night we were out there was so nice, and then the mosquitoes ate us alive. Not my dream.

Then I used it in our stone driveway on new year's eve one night but kept the front window open so I could hear the kid in the house if she woke up. Then I got another speech about smoke in the house and it was the worst idea. It was kind of defeating. Don't get me wrong, I'm not always the sharpest tool in the shed, but I grew up camping and know how to start a fire and all the precautions that come along with it. It wasn't the BEST situation in either case, but we also weren't having huge bonfires. We were just having a little warmth and marshmallows.

After awhile I gave up on my fire pit quest for comfort and the porch became less and less a place of re-charging, and more of just another area on the property. Recently something happened that has been a big win and achievement: the fire pit has been moved into the screened in porch!

After a very calm and sensible discussion with the man of the house, he decided if we're keeping it really low and it's breezy enough and we keep our eye on it, yeah it can be in the screened in porch. This was the stuff of dreams coming true. Less than 24 hours of the fire pit arriving in it's new home and I was lighting it up! I was so excited to just hang out by the fire. And it's been Florida winter lately so it's super perfect for it too.

This might all sound ridiculous but these little wins are what life is all about sometimes. In the span of an evening we gave the porch a little up-cycle action and it took on a whole new vibe. I like being out there again, fire or no fire, and my daughter insisted on a fire-side picnic. We even got the dog to snuggle by the fire with us.

Why is this a big achievement for me? Because it means compromise and something homey. We've had the house for 2 years and it is just now starting to feel like home. We still have projects looming and goals to reach but this is home. And for this winter day in Florida, I'll be home and fireside, staying warm and basking in the small successes that make this house ours. Happy Saturday readers!