705. Map of My Heart 3--etsy Digital Photo Illustration

Today I thought I would do something different.  I am showing you a piece of art that is a digital illustration by an etsy artist.  She did this for me a few years ago: 

I will give you her link at the end of this post.  (Frame not included, but you knew that.)

This is what she does:  you send her your digital file of your photograph (or you can mail her the photo via regular mail and she will scan it and send it back to you) and then she makes it into a digital illustration!  She prints it on oversized and very good quality paper.  She charges around 50 bucks.  A bargain for specialized personal art!  I just love the look of this.

Here is the original photo she scanned from: 

I love this picture so much.  I had the idea of posing my kids this way after seeing a picture of my cousin Kristi that my aunt had set up when Kristi was a baby.  My aunt had posed Kristi with all her stuffed animals and dolls, and it looked like Kristi was a doll, too.  Kids are only this little for such a short time, I thought it would be fun to photograph my sons like this.  They loved their stuffed animals, and we still have most of them.         

And now I will show you some close-ups: 

The artist meticulously colors in each part of the art.  If there is some part that is very "busy" or complicated (like Tall's checked shirt) or other busy patterns, she typically will reduce that to one color.  Also, she does one "proof" for you so you can make sure you are happy with it.  I had her do two version of this, one with Tall in a navy shirt, and one in a red shirt.  We opted for the red.

She did another one for me (not pictured here).  It was of my dad swimming with dolphins on a trip he took to South America.  In the first version of the picture she did, she made my dad look way too young (she had not really put in any of his wrinkles, he's in his 70's).  I emailed her that he looked like a Botoxed version of himself!  She immediately made the changes, adding strategic laugh lines and crows' feet as needed.  She is very accommodating, and a pleasure to work with.

Here is a close-up of just the stuffed animals:  

This is, in my opinion, a fun and different way to do personal art.  The size of the art (just the paper with no frame) is about 12 inches by 12 inches.  Hope you like it! 

The artist is named Sadie, and her site is called "Emmie Bean" (after her cat).  Sadie will also do multiples, so if you order a photo of your kids (for yourself) and then want re-prints for extended family, she can do that and give you a break in the price (I think it is $10 for the duplicates).   

Here is her LINK on etsy if you want to check out all the possibilities.  These digital photo illustrations make great Christmas and birthday presents, and are wonderful to commemorate a special occasion like a wedding or beach vacation.  Enjoy!

(*Disclaimer:  She has no idea that I am blogging about this, and this is NOT any type of ad)

MOV

704. Design Weekend 3-- Boys' Room

Hi!  You are in for a treat today.  I am going to show you one of my favorite rooms in our current house:  the bedroom Tall and Short share.  Let's get to the good stuff.  I'm going to start with the "After."  Here is the finished product:


This room just makes me smile.   

When we bought the house, this room looked nothing like it does now.  Here is the "Before" picture below, as you can see, it was a blank slate: 


Yes, it is a picture of a picture.  Queen Virgo ran out of time to find the right disc.   

Let me walk you through what we did.

• Installed beadboard about 42 inches up the wall
• Purposely chose a trim piece (on top of the beadboard) that was wide and flat so the kids could set their robot and cars, etc.
• Also installed new baseboard--thick and chunky
• Painted above the beadboard red.  We picked Heritage Red from Benjamin Moore-- it is featured in their paint fan deck as an exterior color.  On the chip it looks very dark, with a ton of blue undertones and NO orange-- exactly the color we were looking for.  In real life, it makes me think of a child's red wagon, or a firetruck. 
• Painted the beadboard white
• Painted all the trim white
• Painted the ceiling a very pale gray to show off that white crown molding
• Refinished the hardwood floors with a very dark stain (so happy with this--it is dramatic!)
• Went to Next-Day Blinds and ordered the bamboo custom blinds with black-out shades underneath (it is all hooked together as part of the same blind).  Makes the room super-dark for sleeping. 
• The sheets are from Pottery Barn Kids (the duvet cover was made by my mother-in-law by sewing two sheets together).  At the time, (this was almost three years ago) I asked Tall and Short for their decorating input.  One said "cars" and the other said "airplanes."  The pattern on the sheets was a good compromise because it had both.     
• Cannot remember where we got that rug.  Most likely Target, but could have been Ikea. 
• The bed was a cast-off. The Husband painted it a high-gloss white (it was a medium-colored wood before).  We bought a new mattress for it. 
• The chair and quilt are from Pottery Barn Kids (remember, I used to get a 40% discount.  The chair was actually a discontinued floor model, and I got my discount on top of that.  I think they paid me to take it.) 
• The palm tree painting on the left is one of my favorite things.  It is a vintage paint-by-number that I scored on eBay.  The best part is: the artist never finished it, so you can see some of the numbers!   

Quirky, like me

• Tall drew the car pictures above his bed.  Anything that is in a frame and "appears" to be leaning on the ledge is actually nailed to the wall.  Don't worry!  Nothing will fall on him.  
• One thing that is so nice about this room is that it is a corner room and there are two windows.  

Before you think that we make Short sleep in the closet, I will draw a floorplan of the room for you: 

You just can't really see his bed from the angle that I took the photo.  His sheets are the same as the ones Tall has.  His bed is plain because Sammi only had one bed to sell me, not two.  (Why, Sammi, why??  What do you have against pairs?)  

This room was so fun to do!  I knew that I wanted to do something with beadboard and also I am crazy about the color red (in small doses).

One thing I would like to point out is that the room is so tiny that it makes for very little play area.  That is okay, because we made a playroom for them next to my study on the second floor (converted attic space).  The reason we did not give them separate bedrooms is because we did not want one child upstairs and the other child on the main floor (our master bedroom is also on the main floor).  With the house set up this way, the bedroom is mostly for sleeping or reading.  The upstairs playroom (we call it the "Toy Room") is where they have all their Legos, trains, dinosaurs, cars, games, drawing stuff, etc.  They can get that room as messy as they want and I do not have to stress about cleaning it because it is removed from everything else and not very visible (especially if friends or neighbors happen to just drop by). 

Anyway, I love the finished bedroom.  I have been known to go sit in that chair when the boys are at school and snuggle up with a good book.  Don't tell anyone. 

MOV

702. I Almost Married Tony Robbins

I almost married Tony Robbins.  Well, not really. We were almost engaged though. Umm … if you must know, the very next girl he met after me was “The One,” so if the roulette wheel of time had skipped back by just one space, it would have been me.

Let me tell you my story.

It was a dark and stormy night.


Okay, not so much dark as “daytime,” and not so much stormy as “72 degrees and Southern-California mild.”

So it was a beautiful day and the temp agency had sent me to interview for my dream job: Personal Assistant to Tony Robbins.

As I drove up to his mansion perched high above the Pacific Ocean …

I was realizing that this was the job I was born to have. Travel?

Check! First class travel?

Double check! Get to hang out with celebrities?






This is maybe Luke Perry and and Julia Roberts

Check mate! And, I was confident that once Tony met me and spoke with me for a few minutes, he would see that I was a recent college grad, plus how detail-oriented and extremely organized I was …






So organized!  So efficient!  The Virgo gene had not matured to the level it is at now.   

… and that I would be the perfect candidate to assist with, uh, whatever he needed assisting with. This part was a bit fuzzy. Maybe I would have to make a few phone calls for him or fetch him green tea all day?

That would be fine.

Before being assigned this job interview, I had never actually heard of Tony Robbins. The temp agency had said, You’ve heard of him, MOV, he’s the famous motivational speaker? Teaches people to walk on fire?

Nope, not ringing a bell.

A few days before I-Day, I asked my roommate Lisa what I should do to prep for the interview. She was always super-smart about things like interviewing (she had worked on a cruise ship) …

… and she recommended I go to a bookstore and get one of Tony’s books. Books, as in plural. I did as instructed, then locked myself in my room for a day and devoured his book.

By the end of the 749 single-spaced inspirational pages, I, too, was ready to walk on fire. Or at least run quickly on lukewarm coals.

Now I knew his history, how he had grown up poor and struggling, and how he had turned himself around to establish his empire. He was not just rich, but filthy rich. This was my chance to learn his secrets or at least become rich by osmosis.

He met me at the door. I had already interviewed with his wife Becky, a lovely woman, who (to me) looked much much much older than Tony (a quick Google search today reveals that she is only 10 years older than he, but to the 26-year-old me, that might as well have been one hundred).

Poor Becky 

At the time, I was 26, Tony was 36, and Becky was 46.

I did not understand how tall Tony Robbins was. Tall. Taller than tall. Sure, he looked (in pictures) to be about basketball-player-ish height, but what is that in reality? 6’2”? 6’3”? I am 5’8”, so I am actually pretty tall myself.

I was absolutely unprepared to see someone seven feet tall at the door. He was a giant.

I suddenly knew how Alice in Wonderland felt when she shrunk to the size of a caterpillar.

I could think of nothing better to say than, “Hello! Nice to meet you! Wow, you’re tall!” As the words were cascading out my mouth, I was internally berating myself, Say something intelligent! Right now!

“And it’s a pretty day out,” were the next words that left my lips.

“Yes, it is,” he shook my hand, which now felt like a tiny doll hand in his huge bear paw monstrosity …





Drawing is to scale

“Please, come in, MOV, let’s walk out back—we can sit by the ocean and have a little chat.”

I had spent the last few hours memorizing various parts of his book, like he might randomly quiz me on facts and details from his youth or from how he built his empire. I knew the name of his mentor, how many children he had and what their names were, his theory for unleashing the power within. However, I had not watched any of his myriad videos and actually listened to him speak. Therefore, I did not know that he had a raspy voice—that this hoarseness was, in fact, his trademark.

“Just getting over a cold?” I inquired politely, as I reached into my purse to hand The Giant a cough drop.

“What? No. No. Ha ha.” He gave a fake smile, and I knew the interview was over before it started.

We walked out to his back patio which was about ten million thousand stories above the ocean. To say that you could see for miles would be an understatement. You could see for miles, continents, solar systems, years, and eternity.

This was a view.

We sat down and I forced myself to focus on Tony and not on the view. After talking with him for 10 minutes, I could see how he got whatever he wanted out of life: he was pushy. He would ask a typical interview question like “If you only had six months to live, what would you be doing?” and I would hem and haw, knowing the right answer was Getting green tea for you but wanting to say Travel all over Italy.

So instead I said, “Gosh, I don’t know.”

“If you had to give an answer, what would it be?”

“I never really thought about it. Huh, six months? I would … uh, I don’t know.”

“But if you had to give an answer, what would it be?”

He broke me down. “I would max out my credit cards and travel all over Italy!” I blurted out.

I knew as I was saying it that it was not the most financially-sound plan to give someone in an interview. But if the doctors told me I only had six months, then I would be dead by the time the credit card companies caught up with me and cancelled all my cards.

Things went from bad to worse.

“MOV, what is the one thing you could not tolerate in a work environment?”

Gah, what was I supposed to say to that? I had not worked many places by this point in my life, I had only worked in a few hotels and for one year as a flight attendant for Continental Airlines. I tried to think what I did not like at any of those jobs. One time, a passenger had cussed me out when I accidentally dropped his carry-on bag on his head while I was trying to help him stow it …

… and I didn’t particularly relish that memory.

“Ummm, I don’t know. I like any kind of work environment.” I smiled a weak smile, thinking, Please hire me even though I give all the wrong answers.

“But if you had to say, if you had to, what could you not tolerate in a work environment?” he repeated, not surprisingly.

I said the first thing that sprang to mind, which was about that one random passenger that one isolated time swearing at me:

I bit my lip to stop the rambling.

“MOV, what was your major in college?”

“English.”

“Ah, okay.” He scribbled something down in his notepad. I tried to read it upside down. It looked like “muck.”





This was in 1996.  He probably uses an iPad nowadays.

(When I replayed this part of the interview to Lisa later, she told me that Tony Robbins likes to swear. A lot. Like a drunken sailor in a bar in a swearing contest with other drunken sailors fighting over a girl.)

I glanced at my watch, knowing that there was no way I was going to get this job.

We had been sitting out here for one hour. A whole hour where not one of my meticulously pre-rehearsed answers was needed, a whole hour in which I could showcase to Mr. Tony Robbins that I was not good in interview situations with a raspy-voiced giant.

Even though every cell in my body knew I would not be getting a job offer, I still held onto the remote hope, like if the TV announcer was calling the winning Lotto numbers and I did not have the first four numbers, but I could still win a million dollars if I got the last two right.

Story of my life

“Let me walk you to the door.”

After I left Tony Robbins’s house, I drove to the vet to pick up my cat. I cannot remember now, as I tell the story, why the cat was at the vet, but it doesn’t matter. She was not happy to be in her cage and meowed fiercely for me to take her out.

"I hate you!"

As soon as I got her inside the car, I took her out of her carrier to calm her down. She promptly sat on my lap, the lap of my $300 blue silk interview suit from Nordstrom’s, and peed.

It was a metaphor for my whole day.

I called the temp agency a few days later to find out if they had heard anything. Not surprising, they mechanically informed me that the HR people at Anthony Robbins Inc. had hired somebody else.

I found out many years later that shortly after I had met Tony, he had divorced his not-quite-ancient wife, Becky, and run off with his newly-hired-much-younger-and-quite-beautiful assistant. Whenever I see a photo of Tony and his second wife on the Entertainment channel or in Oprah magazine, I muse That could have been me.

But then I hug my two beautiful sons and think, I’m so glad it wasn’t.






My happy ending

MOV
(I, MOV, wrote and illustrated this post. It was first published as a guest blog piece on Haley's Comic on Leap Blog Day. Reprinted with permission granted by blog owner, Haley. Thanks, Haley!) 

700. The Email I Received Wherein I Am Insulted for My Inferior Cleaning Skills

“Dear MOV,
I met you at the kids’ baseball try-out’s, I’m Zack’s mom? Remember I had to drop off the lunchbox your son Tall left behind?
Anyway, thought you might want the number for my maid. Here it is: 555-7214. She is expecting your call.
Regards,
Sophie Jones”

What just happened here? The woman came by my house for 3.2 seconds with a lunchbox that I happened to have scribbled our address on with a black Sharpie when I was in one of my more Virgo moods. I opened the door and she mumbled something about Zack (I always thought his name was Jack—oops) and Tall, and then handed me the lunchbox.

I did not invite her in. Why would I? I was in my pajamas, and my Thin Mint Girl Scout cookies (that I did not want to share) were thawing on the coffee table.

I blurted out something like, “Thank you, go away now,” and shut the door.

She never saw any further than the front entry, maybe the living room too if she craned her neck a bit.  So why would she assume I needed a maid? For all she knew, the maid might have actually cleaned my house that very morning.  

I think this Sophie person was being very judgmental of my cleaning abilities. Even if I do possibly maybe perhaps a little tiny bit happen to agree with her that I might need the assistance of a maid—it’s the way she went about it that shook my mental cage.

I deleted the presumptuous email. “Here is the number for my maid,” (said in my head with a whiny mocking tone). Fine, Sophie! Here is the number for my hairdresser! Here is the number for the Botox hotline! Here is the number for Overeaters Anonymous! Here is the number for Snotty Judgmental People ‘R Us!  Ha!

I pour myself another glass of wine. Maid! Like I’m lazy! Like I can’t keep up with the laundry! Like I don’t have time to clean because I’m watching another episode of House Hunters or Top Chef!

At the next commercial, I walk through the hall, being careful not to trip on the giant pile of laundry blocking the basement door. I go upstairs to the computer, wipe off some stray dust with my hand, then find the deleted email in my virtual trash folder. Next, I open up my cell phone and punch in 555-7214. 

MOV
p.s.  And please take a second to vote for me for Top 25 Funny Moms.  A new day = a new vote.  You can vote once per day for the next two weeks.  My number is flirting with the 24-28 range, so I am very close.    

693. Three's Company

When I was 14, I moved in with my recently widowed grandmother and her full-time maid. The west coast prep school my mother desperately wanted me to attend happened to be only five minutes from Mimi’s house, so I packed up my hockey stick, drawing supplies, books, swim goggles, and three dozen diaries, and off I went, while my mom, younger siblings, and step-dad stayed behind in rural Alabama.

It was intended to be a temporary arrangement for just a few months until my step-dad secured a job transfer and then the rest of the family would move out; I ended up living with Mimi for four years.

I adored Mimi, so although I missed my mom and the rest of my family, I was quite ecstatic to live in the spot where I previously only spent summers and holidays. Every day is a vacation in California, the cooperative weather winked at me, Yes, yes, tropical holiday weather in November, sure, why not? And shopping with my grandmother was like an extended birthday celebration every day—Need a new tennis racket? pair of shoes? silver bracelet? Sure, no problem. We’ll just bill it to your father.

Accounting practices aside, Mimi was a devoted matriarch. When I was not in school, she spent her hours shuttling me around to various activities, sleepovers, and sporting events, something I took for granted at the time, but now with two young sons that I ferry to and fro, I appreciate. The woman, at 67, was resilient. I am only 43, yet want to go sit in a corner and rock myself when I stop to think about the next decade or so I must commit to driving my children places.

More than a chauffeur service, Mimi could make me laugh. And vice-versa. She had a wry sense of humor, and I loved her because I felt that she was one of the few people who just “got” me. I did not have to explain myself to her—she just knew who I was and accepted me.  It was also liberating to not share the limelight with my sister and brother; for once, it was all about me.

Steak for dinner? The maid can whip that up. You want to lay out by the pool for a few hours? What’s stopping you. You need $20 to go buy new records with your best friend Hope? Sure, and I’ll drive you. It was every teen girl’s fantasy: a dedicated adult at my beck and call.

If Mimi was accommodating to me, it was a two-way street. I would listen to her endless stories about her modeling days, movie star neighbors, three marriages, or African safaris over the hundredth game of Gin Rummy, Crazy Eights, or backgammon. I was thirsty for her attention, as she was mine.

There was, however, a crack in the veneer. Our mutual arrangement of peaceful domesticity was marred by the indisputable fact that Mimi despised 99.9% of the programming on TV, unless it was the boring 11 o’clock news. To the ninth grade version of myself, this was a devastating and almost unforgivable breach.

If she was out of the room for more than a second, then CLICK! on came an episode of Facts of Life, Happy Days, Mork and Mindy, or Too Close for Comfort. She hated them all.

“Gah, MOV, turn that garbage off! How can you watch this stuff? That’s not real laughter, you know. It’s canned. It’s a tape. It’s so fake.” She’d shake her head dismissively, wondering where she’d gone wrong. “Your mother trusts me to take care of you and make sure you do your homework, and then I walk in here and you have this,” here she’d gesture to Robin Williams or Ron Howard or whoever had the unfortunate timing of being on the screen at that moment, “this … this … wretched excuse for a show? When I was your age, we didn’t even have television, and thank goodness because there’s absolutely nothing worth watching. We listened to the radio. We had drama and comedy and westerns and mysteries …”

A smile would come across her powdered white face as she’d reminisce about the Golden Age of radio. “Those were stories. That was good writing. Nowadays, you can’t find that kind of quality entertainment because …”

“Señora, Señora,” the maid would come bustling in the room and pick up the remote control off the coffee table, “Your show on now. Es sick o’clock.”

Mimi would stop mid-sentence and lunge for the remote. Three’s Company.

“Come and ??? on our floor/ Take a step that is new / We’ve a lovable ??? that needs your face, / Three’s Company too/ Come and knock on our door/ We’ve been waiting for you/ Where the ??? are hers and hers and his …”

We’d both sing the theme song or at least pretend we knew the words we couldn’t quite decipher. This was in the days before TiVo and the Internet, when you could not so easily correct your musical deficiencies by finding out the actual words. It was our fate to sing the song wrong forever.

I don’t know why Mimi had a weak spot for Three’s Company. Perhaps goofy John Ritter reminded her of her late husband in his earlier years? Maybe sultry Suzanne Somers reminded her of herself as a young woman? Whatever the reason, we sat transfixed to the glass screen while Jack, Janet, and Chrissy played out their comical misunderstandings that were somehow always neatly resolved in precisely 22 minutes.

“Oh, Jack! I just love him!” Mimi would swoon at the first commercial break, completely forgetting her previous diatribe against TV in general and sitcoms in specific. “He is so much fun!” She’d clasp her wrinkled hands together as if she was planning a dinner party and was mentally reminding herself to include him on the guest list. You could not interrupt Mimi from 6 to 6:30, unless an earthquake hit, and probably not even then. “I have to find out what happened to Chrissy with that new boss of hers!” or “I hate that nurse Terri, why did they ever get rid of Chrissy’s cousin? What was her name again?” or “No, Jack, no! Don’t call Mr. Angelino back! He thinks you’re still at the restaurant!”

Like Mimi, I too was crazy about Three’s Company, the predictable plot, the familiar format, the easy comfort of a show that was merely about taking yourself out of your own head for thirty minutes and transporting yourself to a place of easy laughs. It was a silly show, and has been accused of being the same episode over and over. But it was our show.

MOV

691. Design Weekend 2-- Bathroom Remodel

I'm going a little out of chronological order here and showing you the bathroom of our current house.  We also gutted our California bathroom, but I will have to dig out the photo discs for that later.  For now, let's focus on this, our basement half bath.

BEFORE:  As you can see, no one would ever want to use this bathroom because they would recoil in fear and horror.  Our younger son (three years old at the time) said, "Please do not buy this house.  Who knows what lives in that bathroom?"  I can see where he was coming from.  The bathroom earned the nickname "The Chevron Station Bathroom."  Luckily, or unluckily, our house was diagnosed with mold before we ever moved in (we knew this upfront when we bid), so that meant the entire (100%) basement had to be demolished before we could move in.  Oh, believe me, I was so so sad to see that bathroom go (not!).



No murders happened here (that we know of).

What a sad little bathroom.  At this point, I should let you know that we changed the footprint of the space slightly.  Here, I will draw you a little floorplan so you can see what I am talking about.

As you can see from the top drawing, the bathroom was so teeny tiny because of all the wasted space of that hallway.  To be fair, the hallway was necessary to get you from the main large space of the basement to the other side and out the basement side door.  However, I put a ton of thought into it and decided to re-route traffic through the basement guest bedroom to get to the outside.  Also, this meant that (unfortunately) you would have to go through the bedroom to get to the bathroom.  So, it is a little inconvenient if you are in the basement that you have to walk around, go through a bedroom, and then there is the bathroom.

Why I did it:  it was driving me insane to think that the bathroom would stay that tiny due to that stupid hall.  Now there is no hallway in the basement whatsoever.  The next photo gives you the image of how the bathroom was framed out.  This is right when we ran out of money in our remodeling budget (due to that fun mold), so we had to live with just framework for about a year.  Boo.


We ended up storing plastic bins full of junk in here for a while.

What you are seeing on the other side of the space is the back of our laundry room.  That diagonal line on the floor is (I think) where the wall of the bathroom had been.  You can see the same white pipes in the first pic (the Before) and here.  The blue painter's tape I put down to show where the new toilet and sink would go.



Getting closer to done!   

Finally we had the funds to move forward.  Here is the same space all drywalled. 

As you can see from the photo, there is an indented space on the right above where a sink would go.  I designed this.  I thought it would be neat to have a little extra ledge to put make-up or a hairbrush or soap or whatever.  I had stayed in a nice hotel in New York once that had a built-in ledge above the sink like this, so that is where I got the idea.  (The hotel was the Helmsley, by the way.  United used to put us up there.)

Okay, on to the big reveal.


Ta da!

Finished!  Let me tell you about the specifics.  I had gone to this beautiful tile store, I think the name was "Overpriced And Lustworthy Tile" or something like that, and looked at many gorgeous tiles that we could not afford.  The Husband, being the practical man that he is, said, "MOV, we cannot have the basement bathroom looking nicer than the main floor bathroom.  Come on."  As usual, he was right.  I ended up going to Lowe's and buying ALL the floor and wall tiles for under $600.  We did not have enough money to tile all four walls, so I decided to get the most "bang for the buck" and have our contractor tile halfway up the sink wall since that would have the most impact visually (it is the first thing you see when you walk in). 

As for the floor tile, it is simple black and white checkerboard tiles that we had the contractor lay on the diagonal, with the alternating random squares of black or aqua.  This pattern of laying tiles is (I believe) called "pinwheel." 

The paint color is by Benjamin Moore and is named "Gray Cashmere."  It is not really that gray in real life, it is more of a muted aqua green color.  The toilet is new, and I think we got it at Home Depot (Kohler).  The sink is (ready for this) from Craig's List!  I had seen one like it at Lowe's, but I decided to check Craig's List just in case.  THE EXACT SAME SINK, in my town!  The reason the people were selling it is they bought it for their bathroom, installed it, then decided it was too big.  They had already put their faucet in (not the one in the photo), and Lowe's will NOT return a sink that was already installed!  The people ended up selling it to me for half of the original price.  Yay!  The sink is made of two pieces, the basin and the pedestal base.

The mirror is from Target.  The frame looks like Zebra wood, dark brown with black streaks, pretty.

The ledge is Carrera marble. 

The sconces and faucet were ordered online.  I think of them as the jewelry for the little black dress of a bathroom.  The sconces I just love because they are glass (even the part that looks like a fabric shade is really glass).


Like a fancy hotel bathroom, right?

I like this picture because you can really see everything well here.  Above the sink (on the wall) is decorative tile.  Every single detail has to be planned and measured in advance.  Do you see how it just "worked out" that the mirror recessed area is the right size for the mirror and how it just "worked out" that the decorative tile and ledge are the correct height above the sink?  None of that is an accident.  I had bought the mirror before we even framed the space.  I had the sink before we tiled (remember that the sink is installed LAST), so our contractor measured from the floor up to the height the sink would be so the tile would hit the right spot.

When I am subbing for 4th grade and the kids say that math is "hard" and why do they have to learn this because they will never use it, I want to show them photos of this bathroom and explain how my contractor and I planned and measured all of this so the end result would look "effortless." 

Now, I would like to draw your attention to the little arched alcove indented thing on the right.  Again, this was not there in the original house, it is an architectural detail that I added.  I drew it, designed and planned it, figured out the size it would be and how the tiles would go.  (Tip:  always buy 10% extra tile in case you have a plumbing issue in the future and tile has to be removed.  Usually when it is removed, it breaks, so it is good to have the exact tile on hand in case the store has discontinued it.)  That ledge is the same Carrera marble.  It was fairly inexpensive because I needed so little.  I think I bought a remmant for this. 

Another detail I would like to point out to you:  the bathroom has three lights, one is overhead and then the matching pair of sconces.  My electrician could put the light switches wherever I wanted, so I had him put the main one by the door, and then the switch for the two sconces (they are wired to be turned on and off together) next to the sink.  I also had the electrician put an electrical outlet there for a hair dryer and curling iron. 

You cannot see it, but on the other side of the bathroom near the window on the left, we have a small piece of furniture, a tiny little Bombay chest with drawers.  It is very European-looking.  Anyway, again I measured in advance and had the electrician put a plug above the little cabinet, to plug in hot rollers or whatever.

The whole point is:  you have to visualize the bathroom 100% complete before you ever start.  See yourself in the space and imagine where you will need plugs or extra counter space to set things. 

I know it is a cliche, but think outside the box.  Our bathroom would have been tiny if I had not stolen that adjacent hallway to work with. 

I hope you enjoyed Design Weekend 2!  Thanks for stopping by, and I look forward to your comments.

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690. Potato Legs

I know that other people call them potato eyes, but really they are legs. Legs that want to grow long and spindly, and then quickly scuttle back to the ol’ potato country from whence they came.

Potato legs kinda freak me out.

Top Reasons Potato Legs Freak Me Out:

1. Potatoes are, last I checked, food. Foods should just sit on your plate and wait to be eaten, they should not still be growing.
2. I am afraid that if I accidentally forget a potato in the kitchen for too long, it will sprout (in addition to the legs) potato arms and come after me in the middle of the night zombie-style and try to strangle me with its skinny but surprisingly strong potato arms.
3. If I was hungry before, I am instantaneously not hungry after glancing at potato legs. Did I say instantaneously? I meant sooner than that.
4. My mom made the mistake one time of forgetting about a potato and then it sprouted not just potato legs, but a centipede-like army of potato feet complete with shoes. It was not a pretty sight.

The Husband laughs at me and my potato leg phobia. “Aww, Sweetie, it’s just a vegetable! Come on, it can’t hurt you.”

I don’t believe him. The fierce potato legs and The Husband are obviously in cahoots. They have been most likely plotting and planning to take over the world while I pretend to sleep.

I’m not having it anymore. The next time The Husband and I go to the grocery store together, while he is momentarily distracted by free taco samples from the cute Trader Joe’s Sample Girl, I stealthily remove the faux-innocent bag of potatoes (still hiding its multiple legs deep inside, like a dangerous resting octopus mimicking a roly-poly bug) and replace it with a fat bag of frozen tater tots.

I like tater tots. They remind me of something with no legs whatsoever. They remind me of pillows. Yes, pillows of fluffy burnt goodness, that I can douse in ketchup.

Ketchup, on the other hand, reminds me of blood …

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