Chirky

This weekend we painted the nursery. Before I tell you anything else, I should explain that I use the term "we" very liberally. Roger is the one doing all the work around here, and I amble in every few minutes to check his progress and tell him how awesome it looks. (Which, it does look awesome. We love the bright, cheery lime color. During the day, sunlight floods in from the window and the color is a very, very pale sherbet shade. In the evening, it becomes darker and more olive-toned. The color is called "Seawall" and this is the thing: I love the sea. So I'm kind of hoping that the wall color will foreshadow how this room will affect our daughter, meaning: SOOTHING AND CALM.)

While Roger works on the nursery, I am busying myself in the kitchen. I spend my weekends cooking, and then cleaning up my (very large) messes, and then making grocery lists, and then shopping. Which pretty much cements that nine times out of ten, I am the epitome of the old cliche: barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. But I don't mind, because I like to cook and think it's fun to serve up delicious food to my husband, who is working so hard on our house. And he likes eating it. So it's a win/win for both of us.

I also spend my time flipping through a variety of children's decor magazines, and I've noticed this trend of placing mobiles over the changing table instead of the crib. Which is utterly confusing to me, because when did we stop putting them over the place that newborns spend most of their time? Or am I supposed to move the mobile once our daughter starts standing up? Or did I have it wrong in the first place? Because I'm entirely planning on attaching the mobile over the crib, if we can figure out how to do it without putting holes in the ceiling.

Speaking of mobiles, we just received ours in the mail! We had custom-ordered it from Gifts Define, an etsy shop of hand-sewn plush designs. It's a little out of context here, since last night I just held it against the wall and you can't see the furniture in the room (ahem, because right now there isn't any furniture in the room), but the mobile is made of five sweet little birdies: yellow, lime, coral, blue and olive. The coral and olive are hues from her bedding, and the other colors will be incorporated in the artwork we're planning for her room.

Next weekend “we” are planning to move furnishings into the room, and sometime in the next couple weeks we’ll design the artwork (Roger is creating the design!) (I love being married to a graphic designer.) and have it printed. In the meantime, we’re staring doe-eyed at five little birds, hoping we’ll get it all done before our daughter arrives. And though her due date is less than five weeks away, we think she might come earlier based on an ultrasound we had two weeks ago. But that’s another story for another day.

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We have some neighbors who, let's say, greet each holiday very enthusiastically. Thankfully, the most enthusiastic neighbor is one street over and down a block - so I don't see their house unless I purposefully try to. Which, you know, I've kind of developed a fascination with. So I try to often.

When they put up decorations at Halloween, we didn't think much of it. Some people do that, that's cool, the orange and black lights hanging from their rooftop just provide a little extra lighting for kids trick-or-treating and it definitely spotlights them as a candy-friendly home.

Christmas wasn't that big of a deal, because nearly everyone in our neighborhood pulls out the lights, whether red or multi-colored or classic white, whether large bulbs or icicles outlining the home's frame. That's normal. I get that.

And then Valentine's Day approached, and our one very enthusiastic neighbor put up pink and red lights. With heart-shaped garland draped around the lion statuettes on either side of their sidewalk. And romantic greetings splashed across their windows. With giant candy hearts and cupid blow-up dolls on their lawn, blown full-size by some sort of air-blowing machine. And that was a little weird. Who puts blow-up dolls on their lawn for Valentine's? I mean, I get that February 14th is somewhat of a major holiday. I understand the commercialism of it. But really? Decorating your house like that? That is a little over the top.

And then St. Patrick's Day rolled around. And kelly green lights were donned. Shamrocks graced the lion statuettes. Enormous leprechaun blow-up dolls stood tall in their yard. It kind of became a spectacle, and I decided that if they would decorate for Saint Patty's, then I would be disappointed if they didn't decorate for Easter. Because Easter is totally a better holiday. St. Patrick's Day has no point, other than drinking green beer. Easter has a point.

Continue reading "Season's Greetings" »

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Hello, my name is Jes and I have irrational fears.

Several times a day, I hear noises that sound like someone is knocking on our door. On the way to the entryway, I always glance behind me at the massive wall of windows in the living room, which looks into our backyard. Each time I'm convinced that someone is going to back there, standing around or sitting at our patio table watching me, despite the fact that we have a 10' privacy fence and two locked gates. Sometimes at night I sneak up and BAM! turn on the lights outside to catch whoever might be out there. No one ever is. Thankfully.

From where I stand in the entryway, I am visible through the dining room, where one full-length window and two smaller, chest-high-to-ceiling windows face the front yard. I love natural light so the blinds are always open during the day, which gives away the fact that I am walking around at home. So if I don't open the door, there's always a chance someone will peer in through the windows and see me standing there, very decidedly not answering the door.

Because of this, I've begun sneaking around our house a lot, peeking around corners to make sure no one is actually looking in the windows, then tip-toeing past them. But by the time I get to the door no one is there. This is annoying because I bothered getting up in the first place, risking window exposure for someone who has already left. I am beginning to think that I am crazy, but then I remind myself that the moment I stop with my charades, someone will be looking in my window. It is creepy to imagine, because in my mind the person is always wearing black, carrying a stick to break the window, and has narrow, dark eyes.

I've recently discovered that our ice maker sounds perilously similar to someone knocking on the door. I could just turn off the ice maker, but that is too easy. My brain prefers my quickened pulse and the shock of my heart dropping into my stomach every time I hear the loud, rapping noise. Instead, I'm considering whether I should mount a video camera on my front porch, which I could monitor from my computer. That would be much more convenient, because then I wouldn't have to worry about someone drilling my eyeball out when I peered through the peephole. That, and I can't count on the noise always being my ice maker. Sometimes people really do knock on the door.

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For the past many years I have ignored making resolutions, mostly because I know that within a couple weeks (or days, or hours) I will have already abandoned whatever proclamation I've made. Until last year.

Last year I resolved to Get Out More, to do and try more things, to explore new areas of Dallas. Then Roger and I bought a house, and started remodeling, and on top of that we both made new career moves. While the year has been full of change for us, it hasn't been full of exploration. So I'm planning a Resolution Rollover, and adopting last year's plan to 2009. I can do that, can't I? But that's not my only plan.

I'm making a second promise to myself: to get more organized. This is kind of a shoo-in, because Roger and I just finished designing our closets and will soon have walnut and platinum storage systems lining our closet walls. For the past few days I have been near-drooling over the upcoming installation, and this is why:

We have two closets in the master bedroom, and this is the first closet. The second will have drawers and shelving, which will completely eliminate our need for our collective three (three!) dressers and armoires. And maybe that is what I'm most excited about: my evil plan to eradicate all extra furniture. So minimalist! Clean lines! Be still my heart; thou hast known no better than this.

And so while I'm organizing my home and exploring my neighborhood, I'm curious to know what you'll be doing. Have you made any New Year Resolutions?

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Since Roger and I bought our first house last March, we've been hard at work remodeling it. So far, we have:

• peeled up the carpet
• tackled the ceilings (and then smoothed them out)
• tore all the wood paneling off the walls
• dismantled a built-in book shelf and furr down in the living room
• (for that matter, we removed furr downs throughout the entire house)
• installed a new garbage disposal and garage door opener
• replaced both exterior faucets
• removed a divider wall in one bathroom (between the sink and the toilet)
• rewired all electrical outlets and light switches
• installed new pipes for running future cable lines to all rooms (including study, media room and bedrooms)
• re-built a wall in the hallway leading to the master bedroom
• stripped hideous wallpaper from the kitchen, breakfast nook and master bathroom
• removed all baseboards and door trim
• decimated the wet bar
• demolished a closet
• built a new laundry room
• converted the old laundry room into a walk-in pantry
• re-textured all walls in the house, including closets

And, after all this time, we FINALLY get to paint. (Thankfully, Roger's parents are coming into town for Thanksgiving. Guess what they'll be doing while they're here? Hey, I'm not against parental labor. I'm an equal-opportunity kind of gal.) We've narrowed our base paint colors down to the following...

Continue reading "The Color of Change" »

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Since I’ve been working from home, I’ve become more and more aware how my daily style and interaction is changing. I work in silence most of the day, aside from conference calls. I chat with friends and co-workers online. And mostly, I like it.

Since we are remodeling our house, the room that will be our office is out of commission. So for the past month, I have been working in my bedroom. Sitting on my bed. Laptop on my lap. Wearing my pajamas. I generally don’t get dressed until noon, when I walk into the kitchen for a sandwich and realize: Wow. I am kind of sloppy. Maybe I should put on real clothes. And sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t. Unless I am going out to get the mail, and then I always put on real clothes. What would the neighbors think if I were in my pajamas? Are my neighbors even home? Or peering out their windows when I happen to be outside? These are my burning questions.

So lately I’ve been thinking that maybe I should get up and get dressed every day at 7am, the same way I did when I worked in an office. Just because I’m working from home doesn’t mean my main clothing choices have to be robes, exercise clothes, or pajamas, right?

And to take it a step further, I’m even considering fixing my hair (a style other than a ponytail would do) and – gasp! – wearing makeup. I mean, if I don’t wear makeup, what exactly will I be washing off my face with my fancy new skin care system?

Do you ever work from home? And if so, do you have this same problem? How do you combat a month-long case of the frumps? Not that you look frumpy, darling.

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I’ve lost my underwear.

Now, don’t you worry yourself, because there is good news: I do have the seven pairs I packed in my suitcase when we moved more than two weeks ago. The washing machine and dryer are hooked up (thanks, Dad!), so I’ve been able to wash our clothes over the past couple of weeks. Still, there are dozens of pairs that should be somewhere in our house, and it kills me that I don’t know where they are.

I’ve searched for them, and I know exactly how they are packed: in a white trash bag, which I then stuffed into a black trash bag. In an awkward moment of modesty, I was desperately afraid that, while carrying dresser drawers, the guys helping us move were going to see my unmentionables. So I hurriedly stuffed them into the bags, and threw them onto the moving truck. We had already packed over 100 boxes, and still, we ran out. Trash bags provided the perfect improvisation. Incidentally, we also packed our couch cushions and decorative pillows in this way, and they’re all accounted for. Which brings me to the conclusion that somewhere, somehow, those trash bags may have been thrown away in a cleaning frenzy. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

On one hand, some of my favorite things to wear were in that drawer. When I got married, I was given a piece of advice by a friend who had married the year before. The advice was on a simple piece of paper, and if you don’t already know, let me share it with you: “Always wear pretty panties.” Even if no one else sees them, they make you feel pretty. It’s true - you should try it!

On the other hand, if everything from that drawer has been relegated to the dump, at least I have the consolation that I get to shop for NEW pairs. If there’s anything I like to shop for, it’s under-things. (And shoes, for that matter.) Tables piled high with silk and cotton are like a tractor beam, pulling me forward, and even if I don’t buy anything, I still have to look. (Just in case, you see.)

Unless I uncover them soon, I think I may be doing more than just looking at those tables. I foresee an entirely new, ahem, "wardrobe" in my future.

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We have a tiny aisle from our front door, through our living room and into our bedroom. We also have access to the kitchen, though there's little food to speak of.

The move (well, the packing) is in progress, and I never knew our tiny apartment would hold more than 100 boxes worth of stuff (which is all well-documented on my Very Important Master List).

AND WE'RE NOT EVEN FINISHED PACKING YET. (Perspective: the official move begins at 8:30 a.m. tomorrow.)

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The Great Scrape of 2008 came and went without much fanfare. Our muscles are still sore, we’re still in desperate need of massages, and yet we’ve spent every night this week at the house peeling wallpaper, removing wood paneling, and dragging old, cat-pee-stained carpet out to the driveway for bulk waste collection.

Whoever the previous owners were, their passive-aggressive cat proved its dismay by relieving itself in every corner of the house. I’m not sure which I think is more of an accomplishment: completely ridding our entire home of the distinct scent of animal urine, or eradicating asbestos popcorn from all the ceilings.

We did have help with the popcorn, so we can’t take all the credit – Eddie came over on Saturday, and my dad came over on Sunday – for removing the ceiling.

The living room and dining room each have 12-foot-ceilings, and I sincerely regret not getting a picture of Roger, my dad and me all standing on ladders of varying heights, tackling the dining room. It was the last room we finished. The pride - and relief: it was finally over! - we felt when climbing down the ladder for the last time was unparalleled.

(Unparalleled, that is, until we start our next project. By then, The Great Popcorn Scrape of 2008 will just be a distant memory. We’ll think, “Awwwww, that wasn’t so bad.” But believe me: in the midst of the scraping? The dust? The hot, un-breathable Tyvek suits? The sore muscles? The having to hold my arms over my head for hours at a time? It was brutal.)

To view larger photos and more commentary, visit the Flickr photo set here: The Great Scrape of 2008

[For those interested in technical matters, it took three people to scrape 2100+ square feet of ceiling in two days (6 hours the first day, seven hours the second day). This is mostly because my dad is a machine, and no, you can’t borrow him. We spent three days simply prepping the house – by far and large, that was the more time-consuming project, and considerably easier on our bodies.

We rented an air scrubber to filter the asbestos dust out of the air. The machine did an excellent job, turning the air in each room four times per hour. Considering we let it run for more than 100 hours straight, I’d say the air is pretty dang clean. After we finished the entire house, we simply rolled up the paper/plastic and disposed of it. It was a simple cleanup, followed by vacuuming with a shop vac fitted with a HEPA filter, and after that we mopped both the floors and the walls.]

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Since closing on our first home this week, my emotions have run a broad spectrum:

PEACEFUL (When signing the paperwork.)

ENTERTAINED (While keeping a tally of how many times we signed our names - 34 each)

RELIEVED (When realizing the search was FINALLY OVER!)

EXCITED (When shopping for supplies at Home Depot.)

ANXIOUS (When our bill was totaled at Home Depot.)

INTRIGUED (When Roger installed our new lock. How do guys inherently know how to do these things?)

DEFEATED (When a ladder collapsed while I was standing on it.)

FRUSTRATED (While trying to figure out how to redesign the kitchen/pantry/laundry room/family room section of the house so it flows better, and then realizing that it's wasn't that my solutions wouldn't work, it was just that I had no solutions to begin with.)

DELIGHTED (Upon finding a 100% wind power electricity plan that boasted a fairly low fixed rate and allows us to earn American Airlines miles.)

GIDDY (When I laid eyes on my key to our new home: It's black, with hot pink hearts and rhinestones. Every time I think about my new key, little butterflies swoon in my chest - I never knew that buying a piece of metal would make me feel like I was falling in love all over again.)

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There is nothing more satisfying than making a big decision – like whether to buy a house – and just knowing that it’s the right decision. It’s something I can gauge with my gut, my trusty woman’s instinct, and the fact that Roger feels it too? That’s called confirmation.

After researching the removal of popcorn ceilings and then meeting with a host of general contractors, asbestos abatement companies, home builders and remodelers, we’ve decided to buy the house.

When I think about it, my stomach flutters and my mind races with a list of changes we want to make so that the house is exactly how we want it to be. I think to myself: I can’t believe we’re this fortunate, that we get to own a home in this particular neighborhood. I would sleep in a cardboard box if it meant I got to live here, I love it so much. And I can’t believe we got it for such a low price – even considering all the updates needed – or that we lucked into locking in an interest rate not long after it dropped, and just minutes before it started rising again.

Yes, there are reasons the purchase price is low: the popcorn ceiling needs to be scraped, the kitchen appliances are the original mustard color from the 1970s. But even with the changes we're planning, we’ll still come out ahead. We’re confident about that.

When meeting with the asbestos abatement companies, several different contractors independently told us we could do the job ourselves. Of course, they’d be happy to do the work and take our $10,000 for scraping 2,000 square feet of ceilings, but if we were on a budget, we could do it ourselves. It was something to consider, they said.

One of the contractors told us, point-blank: “If you were my brother, I’d tell you: This is a great house - buy it! I don't want to minimize the seriousness of removing the popcorn asbestos carefully, and you certainly can hire us to do the job, but the issue of removing the popcorn shouldn't be a deal breaker for you." He explained exactly how to prep the house, how to remove the ceiling, how to protect ourselves from the dust and how to get the same results his company would get for us. Then he told us he'd rent his air scrubber to us for only $200/week. He said, "If you were my brother, I’d even offer to come help…but, you know. You’re not my brother.”

[Note: An air scrubber is a massive fan that churns through the air and literally “scrubs” it clean. The machine is fitted with a triple-HEPA filter (the same HEPA filter masks that we’ll be wearing), which catches microscopic dust particles with 99% accuracy. The machine we are borrowing is capable of cleaning 2,000 square feet of air in one hour, so we figure if we leave it on for seven days straight, it’ll do the job. But we’re not stopping there! After we’re entirely finished with the project, we’re hiring an air quality hygienist to come take samples of the air in and around our home, just as an extra precaution. Obviously, we’re serious about clean air. And pretty ceilings.]

We plan on following the abatement contractor’s instructions explicitly, and I will create a how-to post when we remove the popcorn so that you, too, can benefit from his expertise.

All that is to say that we’re buying the house, and I couldn’t be more thrilled! (Well that, and I’m also already planning our massages. I figure we'll need them once we finish scraping the ceilings until they’re as smooth as a Southern drawl. We are in Texas, after all.)

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Number of months we've been looking for a home: 5

Number of houses we've seen online: 650+

Number of houses we've seen in person: 300+

Number of houses we've bid on: 4

Number of houses we've been under contract on: 2

Number of houses we currently have under contract: 1

Number of inspections we've paid for: 3

Total we've paid for those inspections: $1100

The last time this house was remodeled: 1978

The number of square feet that have popcorn ceilings: 2050

The number of popcorned square feet that we want to scrape: 2050

Typical asbestos findings in popcorn ceilings: 0-3%

Asbestos findings in the house we currently have under contract: 15%

Number of times I've cried over this: 0

Number of times I've thought about crying over this: 8 11 17

Since the house we have under contract has seen nary a hammer since 1978 (hey, to be honest, THAT is why it's in our price range), we plan to do a significant amount of remodeling. Remodeling involves moving walls and installing lighting fixtures and scraping ceilings and well, disturbing the popcorn ceiling - the asbestos popcorn ceiling - in all possible manners of disturbance. (To be fair, this is not the ULTRA dangerous type of asbestos. It's just the MOSTLY dangerous type. But still! Dangerous! Asbestos! Dangerous!)

In case you don't know what asbestos is, let me say this: it is a fibrous product that, once disturbed, becomes dusty (and, therefore, airborne). When someone inhales that dust, it can scar that person's lungs. Kind of like smoking. Except worse. (And if one paired inhaling asbestos with smoking cigarettes? Hello, cancer.)

Asbestos scars lungs deep down, whereas smoking scars the middle-lower section. Down the lung, I mean. Whatever. My point is that we have two options: completely remove the asbestos or NEVER disturb the asbestos and live in a 1970s-styled house.

Option Two is not actually an option, because our list of remodeling plans is quite lengthy, and frankly, 70s decor just scares me. Living in this house and not remodeling is not an option. In case I haven't been clear on that.

Removing the asbestos requires contracting an asbestos abatement company to come remove both the popcorn and the drywall (which likely contains asbestos mudding in the joints). Then we would need to hire another contractor to monitor the air quality and to inspect the work done by the abatement company, to ensure the asbestos is entirely eradicated.

In case you don't know what this looks like, let me paint the picture for you: wrapping the entire house in the industrial equivalent of saran wrap (I'm guessing) so that no asbestos fibers escape the house. And then: HAZMAT suits. I'm totally not even kidding. After everything is removed, they clean the house - walls, floors, everything - so that it's as if the asbestos never existed.

After EVERYTHING we've been through with buying a home, this was the poisonous icing on the cake. So now Roger and I are trying to decide: do we negotiate to rip out the asbestos, live in a home reminiscent of That 70s Show, or walk away from yet another house?

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For the past several months, Roger and I have been house hunting. Is hunting the right word? Because that just makes it seem like we’re looking for any old thing to shoot at and win, when really, it’s more like we’re rifling through every piece of real estate inventory within very our small parameters and coming up empty-handed. We’ve visited more than three hundred homes in person. We’ve looked at more than 500 online. And I know all of this because our Realtor’s handy online system keeps track of all of it for us. Every last bit, every rejected home. We haven’t rejected all of the homes, though. Some of them have rejected us.

The first house reminded us of a Frank Lloyd Wright home, what with its interesting footprint and architectural-grade roof and perfect foundation. But the sellers refused to sell to us! We came up on our price by $13,000 – and they came down $900. We were confused, because aren’t we in a recession? Isn’t there supposed to be some sort of negotiation? Are we such home-buying newbies that we don’t actually know how it works?

And so we moved on, lamenting the roof that could have been ours.

It’s funny, when you’re house hunting you start to have conversations that go like this: “I really love the color of this brick” and “Do you think that hardwood is uneven?” and “The texture of this tile in interesting.” And we’re so enthralled with these conversations about roof lines and loft spaces that we think maybe EVERYONE wants to know about them. I find myself excitedly discussing triple pane windows with my friends and their eyes glaze over. They start getting all shifty and finding excuses out of the conversation, and I can’t really blame them.

We put a bid in on a second house, a house with great bones, but that needed updating. It was a block from a park with biking and walking trails, and every time we visited it (three times) there were children playing in yards. The neighborhood felt very family-oriented, and though the house was the smallest on the block, the neighborhood sold it. After negotiations that increased our bid OVER market value, the sellers wanted us to pay some of their closing costs, too. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Disappointing, considering the potential in that house for having our very own media room, and it was so close to a park. Mentally, I had already started planning parties with the neighbors. We walked away.

The third house we bid on – or, almost bid on, since we shredded the bid before we had a chance to submit it – had a very obvious two-inch declining grade in the living room, plus a foundation warranty that was no longer in effect. But it was in our price range! That was something, right?

We moved farther out of the city, reasoning that a newer house in our price range would be worth the extra drive. Besides, maybe we could carpool, in the HOV lane, and that way there wouldn’t be as much time lost. And more time together! Maybe. We got into (and subsequently won) a bidding war for the foreclosed property. We paid the home inspector. He inspected. Practically everything that COULD be wrong with the house WAS wrong with the house: a leaky roof, faulty foundation, bad plumbing. Neither A/C unit worked (which, considering the Texas heat, was a deal-breaker) and the heater didn’t work. There wasn’t a functioning bathroom in the house. More renovations would be required before we could move in than the house was worth. We terminated our contract, and with it our visions of lofty ceilings and five bedrooms. All that space! Gone.

So this last weekend, we went out once more. We found an even larger foreclosed home. In better condition. And while it didn’t have five bedrooms, it had the kitchen of my dreams. The pantry of my dreams. It was the perfect home for entertaining, the perfect home for raising kids – even with a playroom! – and had a nice neighborhood. (Well, I mean a seemingly nice neighborhood. I was only there for half an hour, after all.) We arranged to put in a bid. Our Realtor called back. The house was no longer on the market. The bank simply hadn’t changed the house’s status yet. Failed. Again.

Sunday night, we were disheartened. We’ve been looking for five long months. We’re exhausted. We just want to buy something and be done with it. Our standards have been lowered, and lowered, and lowered. At first we had a list three columns long of everything we wanted in a home. Now all we want is a solid foundation and roof that hopefully won’t leak.

And then we got a call. The second house we bid on is still on the market. The sellers are frustrated with the on-going, nit-picking negotiations they’ve been through with another buyer. They want to know if we’re still interested.

We are.

Now we have another signed contract, and the home inspector is scheduled for this Friday morning. I’m anxious, and hopeful, and nervous.

And acutely aware that our apartment lease has already expired.

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