reno fever

Beautiful bathroom by Brown Design.


I *heart* Jeff Lewis. And I don't care who knows it.

We are gearing up for a make-over of the tired, old bungalow. A real make-over. With an architect's drawings, a proper contractor and six months worth of Tums in the medicine cabinet. My clippings file swells by the day. I talk to myself in the car, debating the merits of a Carrara marble kitchen counter or new appliances (we can't do both). I look for inspiration in many places, but none more frequently than Jeff Lewis' deluxe pads - all of which are many, many, many square feet larger than our humble home, but I believe small yet well-appointed spaces can be beautiful too.

I was perusing the advice column in a waiting room magazine yesterday when I experienced a moment of self-awareness: some soul queried "When should I be worried that I'm too involved in a TV show?" I've had television crushes before (Lost, Dexter, Flight of the Conchords, Mad Men and once, ahem, the OC) but my love for Flipping Out and all things Jeff Lewis has become a little problematic in a one-television household. Apparently watching the same episode twice is being "hoggy" but watching online until the wee hours is "concerning."

Yes, Jeff Lewis is a mad genius. I personally thing Chris Kesslar was a big baby for not stealing the neighbour's avocados. Say what you will about Jeff and co., you have to admit they make beautiful homes. Ryan Brown, Jeff's partner on the show, has his own LA-based design outfit, and I was delighted and, yes, just a little bit validated that he used the Jonathan Adler bamboo chandelier I've chosen for my decidedly less-grand foyer. Do you love it or do you love it?

everyone loves marineland

Stella and Henry have been captivated by Marineland commercials for weeks, so we capped off the summer with a weekend in Niagara Falls. Their fascination had less to do with actual marine life and more to do with rides and the overflowing gift shop, but I think Stella would agree coming nose to snout with Nootka was pretty cool.

I haven't been to Marineland since I was a kid, and to see it through jaded ($150 admission?!) adult eyes was interesting. Outrageous prices aside, there is an unslickness about the place I find kind of endearing. Like the weird font. And those funny wood-burned signs. And the vaguely Bavarian-style architecture of the little huts that dot the park.




But the highlight (Nootka antics aside) for me was watching the teenager inflate hundreds, no thousands, of vinyl walruses inside the gift shop. Next to the pair of lifeguards who whiled away the summer playing Gin Rummy at the splash pad by our house, this dude has the best summer job ever.

harvest

The veggie patch runneth over: tomatoes the size of small pumpkins, and a bounty of cherry toms so profuse, so perfect, so delicious I do believe I need a stall at the farmer's market. I'm enthusiastic about my backyard garden every summer, but this year we've been eating them straight off the vine, sharing great bowls of them with neighbours and there is still more than we can use. With such a bounteous harvest, there's only one thing to do: fresh tomato sauce. Lots of it. If I can't spend August in Amalfi sipping Limoncello I'll spend it eating angel hair pasta tossed with garlicky-good sauce. Believe it or not, the best (and easiest) recipe I've found came from a GQ magazine five years ago. I've since lost the actual recipe but it goes something like this:

4 - 6 medium to large ripe tomatoes
2 whole cloves of garlic, peeled, smashed and finely chopped
Lots of fresh basil, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
kosher salt
fresh ground pepper (if there is one thing I'd gladly banish from every kitchen it is sneezy, bitter, powdered pepper)

Coarsely chop the tomatoes - discard the stem and core
In a broad, shallow pan heat some of the olive oil, warm up the garlic (don't let it brown or burn). Add the tomatoes & salt to taste, turn up the heat to an almost boil. Let it bubble and cook (this softens the skins so you don't have to peel the tomatoes) for 5 - 10 minutes. It should thicken up a bit but still be chunky. Remove from heat, transfer to a big bowl or serving dish and add the basil. If you add the basil while it's on the heat, the leaves turns brownish and unattractive. Add more salt if needed and a swirl of olive oil. If your tomatoes are acidic add a dash of sugar. Let it all stand for 10 minutes or so while the pasta cooks. Add the cooked pasta to the sauce and use tongs to dress. Lots of fresh parmesan slivers and fresh cracked pepper. Buon appetito.

life through the zoom lens

You might recall that I received a new camera, a Rebel DSLR, for my birthday back in January. I wanted a "real" camera for some time, having run up against the limitations of my trusty instamatic Fuji Finepix. Don't get me wrong: you can take a damn good picture with a slim silver, but I wanted to do more. As it turns out, it was a bit like trading in a Saturn for a Porsche. Too much power. The LCD screen was dizzying. The 3-page menu inscrutable. The manual settings eluded me. In the eight months since I got it I haven't taken a decent picture. The logical thing would be to take a course and learn how to drive this thing properly, and I'd still like to do that, but the other day I took a closer look at the instruction manual and when the answer to my vexing exposure problems presented itself I yelled out aha! and began snapping.

This one is probably a little over-exposed, but I like Stella's expression. It's not often I catch a contemplative moment.




Playing around with the self-timer. Blurry, yes, but I like it.

But it's 3:00 am

Or thereabouts.

"I want bekon"
"I want bekon"
(louder)"Mama I want bekon! Bekon mama"

Cue the bleary-eyed stumble into Henry's room.

"What do you want Henry?"
"Bekon"
"Your blanket?"
"No! I want bekon. I want BEKON!"
"What? Bekon? Your blanket? You want your blanket? Where is your blanket?"
(howling) "Bekon! Bekon! I want some bekon!"
(incredulously) "Bekon? Bay-con? Bacon? You want bacon?"
"Yes. I want bekon. Now. Bekon now!"

I mean really. Being awoken by an earache, a poopy diaper or a leg trapped in the crib bars: all valid. But crying for cured meat in the middle of the night? My patience has limits. Of course the bacon hullabaloo has woken the other two members of this family and as we shimmy blankets and pillows and make room for two more bodies in the bed, I can no longer sleep because I'm trying to puzzle what he could have been dreaming about. Was he counting slices of peameal instead of sheep?

It all means I have a raving headache today - I am a ten-hour a night gal - and woe to us all if I'm denied my beauty sleep. The thing is, the real point of all this, I suppose, is that we are talking about having another baby. I'm waiting for a sign that I should or I shouldn't and the Super Eight ball is being maddeningly ambiguous. Being awoken by cries for bacon = not so good. Waking up in the morning in a tangle of little feet and arms and baby snores = kind of nice. Makes me almost stop thinking about bacon.

Henry's Big Boy Room: the inspiration

dresser, now with drawer pulls, originally uploaded by aoneko.

When Henry's nursery school teacher told me he was ready for underpants (what? he pees on the toilet?) I could no longer pretend that my baby is still a baby. I'll fess up and tell you that that at the ripe age of 2 years and five months he still has a warm bottle of milk before bed - a ritual we all enjoy despite the ridiculousness of cradling a 30 pound boy like a newborn - and the idea of toilet training was on the distant horizon, and, yes, he still sleeps in a crib. Well. It's time we pulled our act together over here. What with all the time I spend reading parenting books to equip me to deal with a "spirited" five year old, I've been neglecting poor old Henry. Which really does prove what I knew all along growing up: the easy-going child gets stiffed.

Anyway, Mr. Henry is getting a Big Boy Room. Soon. Parked in the garage for the past three years are a gorgeous but dinged up Art Deco twin-sized bed and a matching tall-boy dresser. We hauled them out on Sunday for inspection. The wood isn't in such good shape in parts, which I don't actually mind, but all that wood just looks so serious. Painting it outright doesn't seem like the thing to do - I love burled wood - but then I remembered this terrific idea, spotted last year on Angelique's lovely blog, and Eureka! This is exactly what I'd like to do with Henry's new bed. I love how the wood peeks through the paint.

Stay tuned. I'll post some before pictures later this week. I may need some help choosing a paint colour.

a bouncy castle swallowed the house

This really does say it all. And by all I'm speaking, of course, about how children take over. They take over your life, your yard, your closets, your world.

The bouncy castle, which really didn't look that big when I viewed it online, arrived early Sunday morning - the day of our summer party. I was in the kitchen threading veggie kebabs when a glow, as orange as a Florida sunset, settled over the room. The vista out the living room window was of a quivering amorphous blob growing at an alarming rate - to the delight of Stella and Henry - until the spires of the castle reached higher than the roof of our bungalow. I'm confident in saying it was a good party. When all is right in their world, all is right in mine.

gone fishing...

.....Gone Fishing!, originally uploaded by imapix.

Taking the long weekend off. Spending it with good friends & neighbours. Squeezing every bit of summer out of the next 30 days - I hope you're doing the same.

Take good care friends,

Nicole