a place for everything

Despite my well-documented issues with clutter, I am magnetically attracted to the promise of organization. I crave a simpler life. One filled with less stuff. And yet, paradoxically, I am able to discard very little. So it all gets shelved or binned or, more likely, piled and stacked to be dealt with at a later date. Or until someone stages an intervention (please!). I'd been meaning to make myself a lunch tote, and had every intention of making a lunch tote, but wound up making a wall pocket organizer last night. Another place to stash things. Exciting.

The white backing is an old Ikea curtain panel and the yellow dahlia fabric, a thrifted sheet. All in, I'd say just shy of three hours total project time. If I could cut a straight length of fabric the first time, that would save a good 30 minutes. The pattern is based on one from Celine Dupuy's book, but I made mine shorter, narrower and I stuck three tabs on top instead of the grommets that were called for.

spring becomes me

An entire day spent outside. I wouldn't call it gardening exactly, but there was some raking and sweeping and the happy discovery of things in bloom. There was the repair of a decrepit clothesline (followed by t-shirts and pyjamas flapping in the breeze.) Bikes were dusted off, lawn furniture hosed down. There was a barbeque. Ice-cream. And all is right with the world.

if you loved me you'd go to tim hortons

It is essential to start the day off on the right foot. And for me that means two things: a shower and a cup of coffee so hot it would cauterize the taste buds of most. Allow me those two things and I can deal with anything else three disorganized people throw my way, which includes but is not limited to: a perpetually misplaced parking pass, socks with "bumps," an empty milk jug (after the cereal is already in the bowl), shirts with "bumps," and a sudden, urgent need to colour. I need a shower and then I need my coffee. It's elemental.

I turn 40 next year and I'm taking stock. And you know, settling into life a bit isn't so bad. There are things you learn and things you earn with age. I finally get the whole wisdom/age thing people are always banging on about. Being a regular at a restaurant, for instance, means I can order off the menu, my kids can wander into the kitchen and no one minds, and the owners treat us like cherished friends. Another thing I've discovered: I really don't care about fashion anymore. I realized this after I pulped three issues of Fashion magazine without cracking a spine. Frankly I wear what's clean and doesn't cut off my circulation. This will probably earn me a visit from Stacey and Clinton one day, but no mind. My relationship with my coffeemaker has also evolved over the years. The DeLonghi was a wedding gift. It was hauled out of the cupboard every Christmas to make one flavourless pot and then it was promptly put away. I could never make a decent brew at home. One day I set about scientifically testing different beans, grinds, and water-to-coffee ratios until eureka! I made a fantastic pot of coffee and it changed my mornings for the better forever.

This morning I arose as usual to the pleasant sound and aroma of percolating coffee but when I went to pour a cup I discovered the filter basket was not in place. It was, inconveniently, two feet away in the dish rack. What happened next doesn't bear repeating. Suffice to say there was a mess, there was mild scalding, there were accusations, and then during the clean-up a plastic thing broke off the coffeemaker leaving the filter door swinging uselessly like a broken arm. The long-term implications (what if DeLongi no longer makes this machine? Will I have to learn how to make coffee all over again?) were dwarfed by the problem at hand: getting a coffee now. Imagine discovering that the man who would once walk across hot coals for me (and let's not point fingers but let's also not forget who actually broke the coffeemaker in the first place) would not go to Tim Horton's in my moment of need. Thankfully I was able to jerry-rig something with a couple of elastic bands and eke out a small pot. All I will say is duly noted friend, duly noted.

me Vs the wild things

There were many truths in Katrina Onstad's Baby Wars article in this month's Toronto Life, but for me none more so than the simple fact that parenting is work. It is work on many different levels of course, but at its most basic the nightly sprint - or maybe it's a marathon - to get kids bathed, played with, read to and tucked into bed by sundown so that a decent amount of evening remains... it's work, man.









And then suddenly it's quiet.

A spring jacket. Another super-quick project - as in 45 minutes - from Amy Karol's book. The most time consuming part was finding a copy place to enlarge the patterns to 215%. Staples can't do it, so I had to copy different parts of the pattern and then cobble them together. I recall reading something on Amy's blog that her next book will have proper patterns. Yay. I was lucky to come across this camouflage fabric in the remnant bin at Fabricland: I'd wanted to make this little jacket for some time now but Stella and I could never agree on fabric. You might think I clothe her in dresses with leg o'mutton sleeves and send her out with Gibson girl hair for all the fuss she makes.

Along with this cute chocolate brown paisley jersey that's a gift for my niece, I made two little jackets for $7, including the bias trim. And now I'm off to spend the savings on a new spring 'do for me. Enjoy your day!

out of sight...out of mind

Imagine: I returned home this afternoon to find my chalk portrait two full sections of sidewalk away from the rest of the family - and facing the opposite direction. Weekends, or 'home days' as we call them around here, aren't quite the same now that I'm working Saturdays. I miss hanging out with my peeps.

And on that note, I mustn't be late for movie night: 101 Dalmatians and ice-cream sundaes.

making it lovely

Four Dining Room Ideas, originally uploaded by pinklovesbrown.

Moss on a rolling stone and all that, we are finally getting serious about a renovation around here. The old homestead isn't looking too good, truth be told. Not that it ever did. We bought it because A) it was summer and there was a pool in the backyard - a small one with faux mosaic faux tiles that defy explanation, and B) There was a yard! With grass! The combination proved irresistible. Five years and one incomplete paint job later here we are. Ready to renovate.

I have my folder of magazine tears. I have a sketchy floor plan and a laundry list of hoped-for improvements. We have a budget. What we don't have, unfortunately, is an architect/builder/designer to draw up the plans, and perhaps reign in the less realistic items on my list, like taller ceilings. The first design/build place I contacted eventually did return my email, but they're booked a year out and even if we do the $500 consultation there is no guarantee they'll take on our job. My second and third choices have not returned my calls. What we have in mind is beyond DIY - taking out a load-bearing wall and moving a staircase to eliminate a crazy jog in the kitchen that renders half of the usable counter space unusuable - so we're in limbo until we find someone to do the plans. Someone simpatico, not merely available. I had some cockamamie idea that we'd start in September, take off for a few weeks during the worst of it and have the dust settled and the paint dry by the time we're ready to deck the halls with balls of merry. I may have to reassess the timeline. But in the meantime, my hunt for inspiration continues, which brings me to Making It Lovely, which is a fun and inspiring place indeed. I love these curtains. Or are they window treatments? I never know really. Anyway, she's done a bang-up job on her bungalow. I'm itching to get started on mine.