Why Am I Tripping Over Your Shoes?

This question is asked at least three times a week in my house. When we lived in a 700 sq.ft. apartment, it was frustrating, but I got it. We had no real entrance way, our "hall" closet held coats, off-season clothing, brooms, a vacuum, laundry baskets, holiday boxes... the list goes on. Our pub table slowly turned into a coat rack and Reed was always good for at least two pairs of shoes strewn across the living room on a given day. BUT...now we have a 2,8000 sq.ft. house. Why am I still tripping on shoes and finding coats on the kitchen chairs? I'll even fess up here and admit I've hung a coat or two on the counter stool - seems silly to put a wet coat in a closet with 10 other dry ones, or hang up a jacket you know you'll wear again in an hour.

A few weeks ago,  in my mission to rid our "new to us" 29 year old house of every inch of floral contact paper (is there ANYTHING grosser than old, sticky, stained paper under your pans and food?) I decided to tackle the pantry. (Disclaimer: This picture is from the previous owners. I do not and will never have multiple bottles of fake maple syrup or keep onions on a dirty old floor)

The pantry is somewhat oddly placed, as it's not exactly in the kitchen, but in the little cluster of 1/2 bath, laundry room, garage entry. We also use that area as Murray's room when we're gone, so a pantry there would be a little too tempting for him and very annoying for me to open a dog gate every time I need cornmeal.

As I was swearing over contact paper and what used to be a lovely manicure, I thought "Why am I even doing this?". Our kitchen has ample cabinet space; I'm even ignoring an entire cabinet because the contact paper is especially stubborn and I temporarily gave up to avoid crying on the kitchen floor (also dirty, linoleum, and does not have a long future in this house). So I said "Fuck it" and asked Reed to come get the shelves and dump them in the basement, where removed doors, old shelves, and paint cans now live. As I stared at the empty space, it occurred to me this should be the jacket, boots, winter accessories dumping ground. We are never going to use the front door, so the hall closet there can happily accommodate the less-worn coats and guest jackets, but this space was perfect to remove the everyday outerwear before you even reach the kitchen.

So, the project:

We bought this house sort of unplanned, first planning to rent, then buy a no-maintenance brand new 1 bedroom condo (Thank God for unanswered prayers on that one), and somehow ended up in a 4 bedroom house on 1.2 acres in need of some cosmetic updating. Reed was a little overwhelmed; I was overexcited with naïve beliefs in my skills, thank you HGTV and Pinterest. When I came up with my brilliant mudroom idea, I searched Pinterest for "closet mudroom" and found every plan seemed to include a very handy husband, of which Reed is neither. It occurred to me I always see IKEA Hacks on Pinterest, so I went to the IKEA website for some ideas and voila! My mudroom was born.

Materials:
Paint
IKEA KALLAX shelving unit: $59.99
Coat Hooks: $7 each
Foam pads: $8 each
Fabric: $29

As we've just bought a house requiring 8+ rooms of new paint, we had a few stray buckets lying around. I used the same color as our living room (Glidden French Grey) and painted what were the supports for the old shelves white (Benjamin Moore White Dove), which is the same color I used on the trim throughout the house. I'd already painted the doors, but decided to remove them as the garage door and dog gate hit them anyway and I don't envision closing them again. They've retired to the basement as well.

I found the KALLAX shelves measured almost perfectly the same width as my closet. I'm aware this was a pure stroke of luck, but I have to imagine even a few more inches off is worth not fighting with your husband/boyfriend/self in Home Depot and back home when measuring and cutting wood. I also know it's much less money than buying wood, more paint, and the proper saws, not to mention time saved. I ordered the shelves and they arrived in 5 days, requiring 20 minutes of assembly.

I decided making a cushion for the bench was within my realm of capabilities and much easier/less expensive than stalking HomeGoods, Pier1, etc. for the perfect size cushion. Word of warning: the Jo-Ann Fabrics cutting table, if you don't frequent it, is possibly the most intimidating location ever. I asked for the wrong measurements first, broke into a sweat, and fumbled off to the back corner to collect myself and re-evaluate when the cutting lady told me foam is "very expensive" and they'll only cut the length for me. This was after spending a solid 30 minutes deciding on fabric. As I sulked to the back corner, still sweating, I found a wall of foam in various sizes, thickness, and (yes, quite high) prices. In another stroke of luck, I found 2 inch chair pad foam which was 15 inches wide, meaning 4 would perfectly fit on the new bench. Since we'll only sit on the bench to remove boots etc., I was more than happy to save a few bucks and decided to use hot glue to create the proper sized cushion. The fabric, which of course was not on sale, came to about $29 for 72 inches and the foam cushions were $8 each, totaling $32. The cashier also had a 25% off coupon, which made my day, but the moral of the story is if you're a bit savvier in the crafts store than me, you can do this even cheaper with coupons, sale fabric, and when foam goes on sale (which I'm told, does happen. Just not now. Woops.)

I successfully hot glued the four foam pads together, fitting nearly perfectly over my bench. The pads were a bit wider than the bench, but I just scooted the bench forward a few inches to make it look even. Again, this isn't a couch, so since it will get such minimal seat-time, I was happy to make a few accommodations for appearance and to save money.

I had every intention of sewing the fabric for the cushion, but in a last minute Pinterest search "how to sew without a sewing machine when I haven't sewn a stich since 8th grade" I found a no sew cushion tutorial  (In MY Own Style), instructing me to wrap it like a present and use safety pins. SOLD. I actually like this option better because I can easily switch the fabric when I inevitably get sick of it.

I bought three coat hooks from Home Depot ($7 each, but again, I spent more as I wanted the brushed copper hardware I'm using throughout the house. They had much cheaper options in plastic or nickel). I also had baskets from IKEA shelves elsewhere in the house and borrowed from there for winter accessory storage.

So, that's it. Here's the finished product. I absolutely LOVE how this came out:

This project was SO easy, SO quick, and much less expensive than a custom built in mud room. It's just the two of us and a dog for now, but if / when there are other, smaller occupants of the house I can dig up one of the shelves in the basement, finish scraping off the dreaded contact paper, and put it in the top with cute baskets for additional storage.

Transformation Tuesday!

As previously mentioned, Reed and I decided to dive headfirst into a 30-year commitment to each other and bought a house. I was planning to post a blog about the first few days in the new house, how weird it was to know we moved, but not really feel like it was ours yet (despite the stack of signed paperwork stating otherwise)...but, I was tired. And covered in paint. And my computer was either dead, hiding somewhere, or when I actually sat down it was for boring work not blogging.

 

So, now that it's been almost a month since we closed (is that possible?), and we've gotten ourselves somewhat situated, I'm going to take a minute to show off our hard work. At this point, it's really just paint, and what feels like every spare dollar spent at HomeGoods, but I'm very happy with our progress thus far and feeling very blessed for the reason my back aches, my hands are blistered, and my nails haven't seen a manicurist in a month.

 

Family Room (Fireplace Room? Sitting Room? Not sure what to call this yet...)

Before & After:

 

 

Living Room
Before & After:

 

Eat in Kitchen Area
Before & After:

 Guest Bathroom
Before & After:

Master Bedroom
Before & After:

 

Boy's Room / Office

Before & After:

 

i.am.old.

I think I am currently / still dealing with a two day hangover. From 3 drinks and 2 shots. That used to be called a pregame. Now it is my demise.

Reed and I spent Saturday packing. Or I packed and he watched Miss Congeniality. Whichever. We then got dressed like adults and went to dinner with his friend, where we discussed our new house,  his pregnant wife, friends' weddings, and how to lay hardwood floor. Very grownup.

Then we went to Down. Down is a nightclub in Boston. I looked like a conservative old lady in my maxi dress, sipping my drink and judging the 21 year olds in their belly baring outfits. ( Okay, I half judged, half wished I wore something sluttier.) Just as I thought I'd successfully survived a nightclub with one drink, peer pressure reared it's ugly head. Shots. I tried to walk away. I tried to drink a sip then put it down. 8 sips later, tears streaming down my face (Fireball is no joke when you have sinuses), and multiple gags, I successfully placed the shot glass back on the counter...where a much larger one was waiting for me. A Red Headed Slut. I can't. 5 more sips and a water later I got it down. And then we went home and went to bed. Because we were tired. And old.

I awoke Sunday to ready myself for a baby shower - because when you're 29 and accidentally hungover you without fail have an adult commitment that day - and thought I was okay. I quickly learned I was not. It took me two hours to get ready, drink half an iced coffee, and eat 3 bites of a croissant. I thanked the Gods when I learned our table at the shower was closest to the door (and bathroom). Mini golf with Reed followed, with me fat-girl style plopping down at every bench I could find, whilst internally debating whether a 29-year old in a pink dress should blame a hangover or fake pregnancy if she happens to puke in the bushes in front of all those families.  Fast forward 8 hours and I am STILL sick, in fetal position on the couch, unsuccessfully trying to keep down Goldfish crackers. Fast forward another 12 and I have a splitting headache while trying to get through a Monday at work, tie up loose ends for our mortgage closing this week, and attempting to wrap my brain around how I am STILL hung fucking over.

I am DONE with surprise hangovers. The bachelorette, wedding, birthday party hangovers are still awful, but at  least you see them coming. The random hangovers you didn't expect because you forgot you don't have 24 year-old-you's tolerance are brutal. I hate losing a day of delicious meals, nausea-free movement, and actual activities. I can't stand wasting a Sunday on the couch now, previously my favorite weekly pastime. I feel so old and I am so okay with that. Please God, let me be able to wake up tomorrow feeling like a human being capable of morning spin class, work, a little laundry, and dinner with my friends. These are the dreams of a 29 year old.

Something New

I haven't blogged in a while. Again. Whoops.

I'll just jump right in though...

I'm moving. Reed and I are buying a house. In New York (less city, more country). And I'm scared.

I'm scared of moving away from my friends. I'm scared of moving to the honest to God middle of nowhere (Fucking middle of nowhere was perhaps screamed by me in a recent "discussion", but we're feeling better about things so I've cleaned it up a bit.)  I'm scared of working from home full time, for both work and social reasons. I'm scared to be further from my family and closer to Reed's. I'm scared Reed and I will kill each other, together 7 days a week, without any besties in sight. I'm scared of mortgage payments, taxes, appliances that will break, and how to pay for the list of home improvements I'm planning.

BUT...

I'm also excited. I'm excited to buy a house. I'm excited to finally paint and pick furniture and make something ours. I'm excited for Murray to have a yard. I'm excited to pay my mortgage, not someone else's. I'm excited for this next step in our relationship.

And I'm hopeful. Hopeful we make friends (quicklyyyy). Hopeful my current friends will visit. Hopeful I can find a Barre class and a spin class. Hopeful I can deal with rivers and lakes instead of ocean. Hopeful Murray calms down and we can get him a friend. Hopeful we're making a smart investment that is indicative of more intelligent financial decisions in the future (adult, boring, blahh). Hopeful we're putting down roots, starting a life, and we'll look back in 5, 10, 20 years and just be incredibly happy.

So...my life is about to change for realz. And with that, I thought my blog needed an update. I'll no longer be a girl from Rhode Island in Boston. I'll be a girl from RI,  who loved her time in Boston, that's moved on to New York. And I think it will be okay. And I'm making this choice for love. It sounds so sappy, but that's what it all comes down to. Love really is life. Your family, friends, and your Person. That's your life. That's all that matters.

I'm thinking of doing #100happydays on my instagram when we move. I want to really focus on the positive and the new. I LOVE my life right now, and I am so sad to leave it, but I'm going to make a choice to love my life going forward as well. I'll take any positive energy from my invisible audience as well. As that fool Danielle from Real Housewives of New Jersey  said, "Love and Light."

I'm Heeeeeerrre

So. It's been a while. Somewhere along the way I forgot to blog and now it's been almost a year. I just spent the last hour reading through my posts (is that narcissistic? I can't decide) and it's amusing to see how things changed over a year. Here's a quick recap of what we missed:

I forgot to blog about Reed and I moving in together. Probably because I was busy trying not to kill him during the process.Or trying not to cry over leaving my Roombud Bestie to live with a smelly boy and smelly dog.

I didn't discuss the adjustment of moving a country dog to a city, having him nearly die first from eating non-food items, then learning he hates other dogs (especially the 200 or so in this building) and has the energy of a 6-week puppy when cooped up in a 700 square foot apartment. And I have to make him home cooked meals. And pay a dog-walker half a car payment to feed him and take a stroll twice a week.

I skipped over my brother's wedding. Somewhat of  a trainwreck (Think Teen Mom meets bad prom) that taught me I officially do want a small wedding, done right, with my besties and family to celebrate with. Roombud Bestie can officially rest easy that I won't disappear to elope one random Thursday.

And I failed to mention one of my best friends, Mick Bestie, having a Mick Baby. An unexpected occurrence that led to the first bestie baby and what I anticipate to be a beautiful new friendship (once I'm not scared of her anymore).

I think those are the highlights. Nothing else exciting to report, so I anticipate the blog entries to fall back to the regularly scheduled programming: Why are boys dumb? Why did Carrie pick Big over Aidan? Why can't I have a puppy?...those types of things.

Boys. Are. Children.

How is it, that no matter how old a male individual is, they still lack enough traits to qualify them as true adults? This is of course based on the males I know. Perhaps there are males out there that indeed are adults. Anyone? Does anyone know one? Bueller? I thought not...

Source of my current rant: My boyfriend's complete INABILITY to pick up after himself. I swear, he is a tornado. Mess follows him. His cleaning abilities were stunted somewhere around the age of 8, where he realized if he took long enough, or did something wrong enough times, he could convince someone else to clean up for him because it was easier than nagging him to do so. Fast forward 19 years and I am still fighting with said 8 year old, he's just taller and much more sarcastc. His mother actually pulled me aside one day to apologize to me for him being such a slob. "I don't know what happened to him Ally May; I don't know where I went wrong."

I love Reed with all my heart, but when I see the growing pile of dirty laundry, coffee grinds across the kitchen counter, clean laundry spread across the floor rather than moved to the closet or a drawer...I have to remind myself that his good qualities far exceed this beyond annoying bad quality. "He makes you coffee every morning. He takes you out to dinner every night and never lets you pay. He remembers everything and is beyond thoughtful. He can have adult conversations about your future and money and has a very good career and head on his shoulders...blah blah blah." This is the internal dialogue going on as I simultaneously consider burning his house down so the mess bothers me less.

So, what's a girl to do? Clearly, I am not breaking up with an otherwise near perfect match just because he can't figure out what a vacuum cleaner is for. But I also don't want to fight about dirty laundry every weekend. I've tried a few approaches to this dilemma, with less than impressive results.

First, I tried imprisonment (the adult version of grounding?): We are not going anywhere or doing anything until this house is clean. I went "Gloria" on him, (Reed's favorite knickname for me when I start waving my arms around and yelling like the crazy Columbian wife on Modern Family). I dictated every move as we cleaned the house from top to bottom. I ended our successful session with high hopes and positive affirmation. "Now you just have to maintain it; just do a quick clean once a week." Fail.

Then I tried Ninja Warfare. I'm not saying a word or picking up a single thing; he will have to live in his own filth until he's so sick of it he does something about it. Major fail. He didn't even notice.

Last, I tried the Mom approach. He's not going to do it to my standards and I'll just have to do it again anyway, so I may as well just clean it myself. Fail Fail Fail. He still didn't notice and I became silently resentful until I blew up. This is also a quadruple fail because now I'm just feeding into the other tool he learned at a young age: delegation. Another tidbit I learned from his mother - Reed's elementary school teacher informed her one day that he had mastered the art of delegating responsibilities to other children. While this has worked well for him in life, as he owns his own company, for me, it seems nothing more than an uphill battle. We met in college; assigned to the same group for a project in Accounting  class and guess who did all the work (though he swears up and down he killed it on presentation day, and that's why we got a good grade). Six years later he's delegating household chores and we don't even live together. In the words of his people; OY VEY.

My current approach is trying to walk a fine line of cute "reminder" notes, constant nagging, cleaning here and there, and the occasional outbursts resulting in him escaping to walk the dog and the laundry basket staring me down from the kitchen table (we're currently in this situation; not speaking over a basket of sweatpants).

Suggestions and sob stories from other frustrated girlfriends/fiances/wives will be received with open arms. 

P.S. For you male readers who are thinking you're the exception to this post because you are, in fact, truly a grown up: I'd bet anything that you will still do anything to see boobies (even for a second) and you still think farts are the funniest thing ever. So, I rest my case.

Cosmo, You Cray Cray

So I went to a wedding this weekend. On the beach. In Montauk, NY. At the end of October. Brrrr. Being that it was a Fall wedding, I was a bit perplexed as to what I should wear. So, when I found a charcoal dress in July for under $50 I scooped that baby up. Score right? Nope! Reed was in the wedding and learned months later his suit was the exact same charcoal color as my dress. Since he is NOT a proponent of us dressing alike, and his outfit was pretty set in stone, I was kindly (??) told to buy another dress. But I looooved my dress. So, being the resourceful chick that I am, I went online and found the same dress in another color (also on sale), and had it shipped to my house. Crisis averted. Except, I bought it a size smaller, meaning it no longer fit as perfectly as the charcoal dress (may she RIP). This inspired frantic googling of "how to lose weight in a week". Which brought me to Cosmo's website. Which leads me to the real reason for this post.

Never a huge fan of the poorly written articles or somewhat ridiculous messages to females, I probably haven't read a Cosmo mag since Freshman year of college. So, when I stumbled across their Drop 5 Pounds in a Week article, and it actually provided some healthy strategies, I thought maybe I needed to give Cosmo another chance in my adult life. So whilst on the phone with Reed last night I thought it would be fun to peruse the Relationship Advice section together. After reading 9 Signs He Likes You and finding out he does, in fact, like me, I let him pick a category. Shockingly, he picked Sex & Love (emphasis on the Sex obvi. He is a boy after all.). First article - 16 Homemade Sex Toys You Need to Try. Reed: "What the hell is a homemade sex toy?" Me: "Maybe this will inspire you to participate in arts and crafts." (I've been begging for pumpkin carving for three weeks; we've only gotten as far as purchasing the pumpkins as Reed continues to stand his ground on not participating in creative projects. But I digress.) We quickly learned DIY sex toys meant finding things around the house and bringing them to the bedroom. Basically ensuring you should never have a dinner party again, because spoons and spatulas apparently have alternative uses.  Me: "Imagine if I was reading this on my own, and thought these were great ideas? What would you do if all of a sudden one night I came to bed with a donut, clothes pins, and an electric tooth brush?" Reed: "You'd quickly be leaving the bed with your donut, clothes pins, and electric tooth brush." Welp, turns out we're not DIY sex toy people. It also turns out that Cosmo is still the crazy magazine it's always been. While it certainly provided amusing conversation between Reed and me, and the quizzes are entertaining on a hungover Sunday with the girls...ladies, I BEG you, do not take this shit seriously. I'm thinking Cosmo should not be the expert on your relationships just as much as they shouldn't be giving Career & Money advice (actual category on the site). And if you're going to do the 31 Days of Hot Sex Challenge, I suggest you do it with someone you are more than casually dating, and I HIGHLY suggest you fill him in on your challenge, or he's going to be really confused when you get to Day 26 and try to make him pose naked so you can sketch him.