End of an era

Source: housebeautiful.com via Charity on Pinterest

It would seem after four long years we've nearly come to the end of an era. Every single room in our fixer upper has been renovated, redone, refreshed and revitalized! It finally feels like home. Almost.

Our master bath, which is deep in the throes of renovation, is the last major project. Our faithful tile setter arrived today and began to work his magic on our wonky walls and strange early 90s architecture when apparently it was cool to build every room with weird angles.

The bath is a hybrid design I call Zen-Glam. All the lines will be clean and spare but I will add in a few glamorous touches to make it sparkle.

The room is smallish by modern ensuite standards and a bit awkward so we stole some space from our master bedroom, which is very spacious. Honestly, the ensuite felt like an afterthought in the strange way it was laid out. But we're experts at working with what we have by now. Plus, I never wanted palatial, just pretty.

The walls are painted a pale shimmering grey the colour of an expensive French silk nightie, fittingly called Silver Satin. All the trim will be white and the crisp white vanity is topped with gorgeous Carrera marble. We have a stunning oversized beveled mirror to top it off and a fancy classic hotel stye sconce to illuminate the space.  A curvaceous freestanding tub with dead sexy hardware will sit under the window quite nicely and the shower will be frameless glass with a shiny rain shower fixture. I really can't say much about the toilet except that it has the dual flush feature and is not beige, so yay for that.

I can't adequately express how excited I am about having a master bath again. It's been so long! It hasn't been a complete hardship sharing with the kids, but let's face it, it isn't ideal. Can't wait to soak in a tub where nobody else has showered, to spend a girly moment applying makeup which fits neatly back in its own drawer organizer or to simply pee in peace. Oh, the luxury!

Of course, I still need to buy fresh, new fluffy spa towels, a bath mat, pretty glass vessels for our cotton balls and q-tips, but might as well wait until the dust has settled. No bathroom of mine would be complete without an orchid (pink, I think), a luxe candle and a buddha, so those are on the list as well. There is nothing worthy of photographing just yet, but stay tuned.

Everything is gonna be okay... maybe

I am not okay. I am not okay right now, but I will be. Hopefully soon because in an hour I have to go pick up my kids.

I am having some sort of a mental breakdown today.You see, more than once I have resolved to be a writer. Or, more precisely, to be a writer who actually writes, since I can't not be a writer. I just am. Just like I am female, caucasian, heterosexual and blond. Well, maybe not the blond part, but the point I'm trying to make is that I am inherently a writer. It's part of my genetic code, in my dna kind of a thing. And for the record, I am a natural blond. Tow-headed as a child, then deepening into a soft flaxen colour and finally a honey shade by early adulthood. But I've been *chemically enhancing* it for some time now, so who knows the truth? And who cares? Very few adults stay a pale blond throughout life. Can we move on now?

Okay, clearly I used that hair rant as a distraction from what is truly bothering me. Killing me, really. Breaking my heart. As I mentioned, I need to be a writer who writes and you know, gets published and stuff. I have managed to procrastinate since the turn of the century when I worked at a local newspaper and hated it, got totally stressed out and sick and then ran away. From that job, I mean. I am a procrastinator and I naturally seek out distractions from things I find overwhelming or scary or insurmountable. I'm not sure why this is so scary for me. I think it's because it's my truth.

 Facing the truth can be terrifying.

I've managed to kill a lot of time raising my children. They are my world. But then when they stopped being so little and moved into 'taxi mode'  (this is when Mom spends most of her time driving them around, instead of that in-depth, hands-on care that toddlers and babies require) I noticed an empty feeling. The parts of my heart dedicated to my family and marriage were full, overflowing really, while the part that was just for me felt empty. I knew this was a bad thing, because everyone knows one must care for oneself before we can take care of others properly. Just like when the oxygen masks drop down on an airplane. We are instructed to put our own masks on first, then assist those who may need help. But trust me, motherhood is the ultimate distraction from caring for oneself because there's this little thing called Mommy Guilt. It's included for free once you become a parent. Some people are strong enough to overcome this condition and are able to somehow care for their own hearts as well as their precious offsprings. I'm not that tough. I've been a mother for a decade now and even though I've filled countless journals and notebooks with writing, never once have I been able to muster up the dedication to myself to make something of it. That's right. I've procrastinated for more than ten years. What the hell is up with that?

I have, without much success, been working on saying no to things. It's hard for me to say no when my kids ask me to do something with them. Luckily, they're not particularly manipulative so I can't really blame the entire thing on them. But in terms of family obligations? I'm pretty much screwed. I do whatever it takes. Cooking, cleaning, driving, counseling, tutoring, spiritual advising, lego building whatever.

Oh, I also neglected to mention that guy. My husband, The one I am happily married to still. I believe our dedication to growing together instead of apart is one reason why we can still be in love. So, instead of spending my evenings writing, I spend them with him. Plus, I'm actually pretty pooped by evening and not feeling particularly creative. (Creativity usually pops up when I'm laying in the dark trying to sleep. Creativity and Insomnia are, like, total BFFs in my world.) Anyway, snuggle time on the sofa is more appealing than staring at a blank screen or empty notebook page while engaging in extreme self loathing for not following my dream. However, and this is a big one, I am a bit worried that eventually all of this will catch up to us and I will begin to resent him. That would be really shitty since never once has he said, "Woman, stop following your passions and sit on this couch next to me while I watch home renovation programs!" Nope. Never happened.

The fact is, it's me who has to do this. I am the one who has to force, physically force herself to sit down and write. I already know I can do it. I have to find the strength to make and take the time. No one else can follow my dream for me. It sure would be nice if someone could do some of the legwork though.

I'm a Wild Horse Running Free

Wild white horses of the Camargue gallop joyously through the water.

For as long as I can remember my sister and I have said we want to be wild horses running free. We didn't plan it and I can't even recollect how or when we started it, but we both know its depth of meaning.

It can mean feeling overwhelmed with pure joy, as in "I'm a wild horse running free!" Anyone who has ever observed the majestic, yet exuberant frolicking of wild horses running free will know what I'm talking about.

Or sometimes when we feel stuck, afraid or weighed down by life's obstacles, we say "I just want to be a wild horse running free!" It's our battle call to rise up and just go for it, whatever it may be. Be in the present and embrace a joyful moment. Don't look back.

I'm happy to report that these days I'm feeling much more pure joy. You see, there's a few things simmering away and all of them involve being 100% authentic.

For a time now I allowed the overwhelming busy-ness of my life to cast me adrift on a rocky sea of responsibilities, obligations, chores and on and on and on. Intellectually I understood I needed to be the one to take control of my life. But as a sensitive, emotional, creative type, I let my heart run the show. Things got messy.

Everything else came first. My kids, marriage, job, renovation, chores.... everything else came first. All this stuff is important to me, especially the marriage and kids, but I finally got it. I can't keep putting all this ahead of my own personal happiness. If I can't live my own truth, how can I truly be any good to them? I would be a miserable woman to be married to and not the mother I wanted to be to my kids. Children deserve a role model in their parents. The best role model is someone who is brave enough to be themselves. I needed my brain to step in and intervene on behalf of my heart.

My brain came up with a plan and my heart agreed. Find a way to carve out time to write and daydream and be creative. Find a space and hold it for creative pursuits and spiritual solace. In other words: Mommy needs alone time and I don't mean zoning out while vacuuming and crying. (Every maxed-out mom has done this, admit it!)

So I've created a new writing space within my home. It is quiet and removed from the household hubbub. The opposite of what I thought I wanted. This way I am tucked away in a spot filled with beauty and inspiration and much less likely to be struck by the urge to organize tupperware or sanitize the kitchen drawer pulls. These things need to be done, but not at the cost of breaking my inner wild horse.

PS: If you, like me, cannot get enough of the dreamy images of the fantastic French wild horses captured by the amazing Irene Suchoki of Eye Poetry, visit her Etsy shop here: http://www.eyepoetryshop.com/collections/wild-horses

I have her print entitled 'Embrace' above the fireplace in our master bedroom. Positively romantic.

Shaking things up

I did something outrageous this weekend. Well, outrageous for me, anyway. After ten years of marriage and years of my husband begging, I had boudoir photographs taken as a Valentine's gift. I'm a little shy, so it took a bit of courage and more than one flute of pink champagne, but it happened and I must admit, it was so much fun.

I don't know what took me so long. I have nothing against boudoir photography, in fact, I love the sensual images of beautiful women who are not afraid to be powerful, sexy, feminine beings. In two hours time I went from a nervous wreck to a blissed-out glamour girl. Champagne helps, but also being pampered by a professional hair and make up artist, (thank you, Kelsey) and then romping around a luxurious hotel suite in mind bogglingly high heels, stockings, ruffles and lace while a fun and creative photographer (thank you, Angela  http://pinterest.com/photosbyblush/blush-boudoir-photography/) gives endless pointers as to how to appear waaaaay sexier than one actually is... well, it was just fabulous.

I find that sometimes, as a mother, it's hard to remember who I am outside of that role. My kids are the most important thing in the world to me, just like any other mom out there. But it was so revitalizing to step outside of it for an afternoon and just forget about the endless responsibilities and obligations. For those few hours it really was all about me. I have to say, quite honestly, I enjoyed My Self.  And it wasn't like I was remembering who I used to be, not in a mid-life crisis-y kind of way. It more of an awakening to the possibilities of who I could become. Not just a sex kitten, but anything at all. Just like that, I was empowered. It was a magical moment.

Who knew running around in one's skivvies could do such a thing?

Source: Uploaded by user via Charity on Pinterest

Back in July:

After many months of neglecting this blog, since I now have a Tumblr account and a severe Pinterest addiction, I came across this entry written last summer. My heart was too raw to post it at the time, but I'm ready now. In the spirit of putting it out there, here goes:

This is me in a 100% authentic moment of pure joy.
Apparently you can't take the country out of the girl.

I've found myself in a strange place. I've just returned home to suburban Vancouver after spending more than a week in my homeland, The Prairies. Now something just doesn't feel right. I am feeling crowded and claustrophobic. More than once the open sky of Saskatchewan caused me to weep. They don't call it the Land of Living Skies for nothing, you know? Not to mention the restless breeze rippling over the fields and the endless sunshiny horizon dotted with little farmhouses and barns. Those damn roots run deep.

My farmhouse (too heartbreakingly run down for a close-up)

We drove out to the farmhouse I grew up in. Even though it was dreadfully run down, happy memories of my childhood swept over me like the ocean waves I've grown accustomed to here on the West Coast. Standing in the disheveled barnyard where my sister and I once played for countless hours, I tried to quiet my heart, but I couldn't. It was too late. The floodgates had already been flung open. I tried to maintain some sort of composure for my kids, but it wasn't easy. Luckily the horseflies who swarmed us provided a welcome, yet terrifying distraction from the still undefinable emotions I was feeling and have felt ever since.

Country road, take me home, To the place I belong

My husband left the safety of our car and braved the evil horseflies once more to retrieve a piece of beautifully weathered barnboard from my family home. Tucking our unlikely souvenier safely in the back, he put his hand on my knee and said, "Should we check out the church?" I nodded, unable to speak. The Church is a tiny, century-old country church called St. John's Lutheran Church. It is perhaps the sweetest little white church in the entire vast landscape of where I grew up. And it was visible from my bedroom window, a constant beacon of hope and peace.

St. John's, my beautiful beacon surround by fields of gold.

So with the gravel crunching beneath the tires (one of the most comforting sounds to let you know you're in the country now) we made our way down the road which meanders quite lackadaisically through picturesque fields and around sloughs. When we pulled into the churchyard, it was empty, but not abandoned. Such a peaceful spot to walk around and just be. The bugs somehow relented and we were able to  wander through the gentle energy of the churchyard, looking at the gravestones, pointing out to the kids where their great, great, great grandparents had been laid to rest.

My son, the newly discovered farm boy, loved every second of country life.

We left for home the next day. I cried on and off all the way to Alberta. Somehow I have become homesick for a place that only exists in my memories, since nothing much is the same. It's not as though I want to uproot my family and move back there. I love my life here. I'm not sure what's missing, but you can be damn sure I won't rest until I find it.

Damsel if I Don't

Source: favim.com via Charity on Pinterest

It's a damn good thing I believe in happy endings and spend much of my time gazing through rose colored glasses, because when it comes to technology, I am pretty much a damsel in distress. I seem to lack that aptitude for technology, learning at a snail's pace, and retaining the knowledge begrudgingly. Technology seems to be the nasty fire-breathing dragon in my tale.

Why, just yesterday evening my own mother showed me what she had learned on her mini-me Mac and now this morning, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping and I can't remember anything she said. And by the way, in what crazy universe does a gal's mom have more computer skills than her daughter?? Well, truth be told, my mother really is quite amazing. She can also whip up a prom dress in less than 48 hours. True story. Long story, but true.

I guess when you're a romantic, you long to stay in that magical world where we can lock ourselves away in our towers and write in gilt-edged journals with Pilot pens and there is always a happy endings and the princess is always swept away by her prince. But what if we need to be rescued from ourselves?? If I am to be a writer in this modern-day kingdom, I must embrace technology. We must blog. Such a disgusting sounding word, blog is. The way I see it, blogging and blogging well are laying the groundwork for other writerly projects. It's the new way of "putting it out there," as they say. I have had this little blog for quite a while, but it could be so much more. I don't know more what, but I look at other people's blogs who are crappy writers and because they clearly know how to manipulate the blogosphere, they still look amazing.

So rescue myself I must. I don't think there's a computer-savvy prince about to burst through my door, armed with a shiny new Mac laptop, proclaiming he will set up my tumblr account and lay out my blog entries in a graphically interesting way, and monetize my blogger account, and entice me to Tweet, and teach me how to write captions on photos in that Pinterest-y way. Nope. This damsel must seek out experts who will teach me in a way I can understand so I can rescue myself from my own technological dragon of demise.

I guess I will be adding dragon slayer to my list of skills.

Writing Desk Dilemma

Source: citified.blogspot.com via Charity on Pinterest

I had a realization today. I can't sit at my desk to write. Or, at least I don't. Ever.

 I have a pretty white desk in the window of my living room. It's exactly where I wanted it. We changed the drawer pull from boring metal to sparkly cut glass. Didn't work. So I got a beautiful crystal lamp and put that on top. Nope. A headily scented Lollia candle, a Buddha statue and a potted orchid? Still no.

 I write on the sofa curled up in the left corner, or in my big, white bed late at night, or outside on the deck if the weather is favorable.

But the pretty desk is fantastically functional as a surface for my writerly vignettes. I arrange fresh flowers and framed photographs, or pile up beautiful books and then stack a china teacup on top, then I sip my tea whilst gazing out the window at my lilies, lavender and roses and daydreaming, but not writing. The desk seems to be some sort of symbolic furniture icon reminding me that I am, indeed, a writer. I can't not have a desk. Believe me, I considered this. That coveted spot under the window is also the perfect place for a vintage settee.

What I actually want is an even prettier desk to not write at. Perhaps some sexy contemporary desk, all glossy white lacquer with chrome details like a fashion editor might sit at, or maybe a romantic antique French desk with gilded edges and secret drawers that open with an intricately forged key which I would keep safely strung on a pale blue satin ribbon and one drawer would have a false bottom where I would stash secret letters from my lover. (Yes, I admit to imaginary furniture fantasies.)

Every writer needs a desk to write or not write at. Even if mine is more of multi-dimensional inspiration board, than an actual piece of office furniture, it has its purpose. So be it.

My name is Charity and I am a Pinaholic.

Last week, before summer arrived:

It's Sunday morning and I am coming down from a major Pinning bender. That's what happens when you are left home all weekend during a relentless torrential downpour while your husband works graveyards after just having restocked the wine fridge. Anyway, I digress.

It's no secret that I am an avid 'pinner' as we Pinterest junkies like to call ourselves. Pinterest provides the most awesome opportunity to escape from the sometimes mundane life of suburban mommyhood. In fact, Pinterest actually makes me feel excited about all the beautiful little details that make up the mundane. You can get truly excited over pantry labels (Thanks, Jen) and Lego storage, for example. Maybe one day I might actually drag myself away from my laptop and glasses of crisp white and actually execute one of those Pinterest-inspired plans.

Even better, if you need an escape from your escape you can pin all about your fantasies. For me, just a few of these fantasies include having a fabulous beach cottage, a farmhouse with a barn, being a yoga goddess, living in Paris or being able to shop for clothes without spiraling into some sort of a crazy hysterical fit about questioning one's self worth (but that's another whole blog post altogether) so I just pin the gorgeous outfits instead of shopping for them. Much less stressful and I get to stay home in my jammie pants. I hope my husband appreciates how much money I have saved him by not shopping for Christian Louboutins, couture clothing and French chandeliers, acquiring multiple luxury real estate investments, or by abandoning him and the kids to go become a yogini at some stunningly beautiful retreat in Indonesia.

Not surprisingly, my daughter has taken a shining to Pinterest as well, having inherited the daydreaming gene from me. Luckily, she did not get the curse of the procrastination gene, so while she's still high from her latest pinning extravaganza, she starts begging me to take her to places like Michael's and Dollarama so she can actually attempt a Pinteresting idea. It's exhausting being around a creative and motivated child sometimes. She gets that from her father. Clearly.

I should post some inspiring photos here, but like I said, I am exhausted. Instead, why don't you check out Pinterest for yourself... if you dare.

*P.S. Sometimes I also enjoy a glass of rich red wine while pinning, or I sip coffee or tea, but never, ever soft drinks. Thought I should clear that up.

White: Always Right

I have always been married to white. But I have sexy little love affairs with color. White is who I come home to; but color is who I sneak out with when white is out of town on business. White is who I bring to weddings and family barbeques; color is who I call up to go dancing with while wearing my highest heels and most risque dress. It's like wearing a lacy red bra and undies under a simple black dress or pale pink on your fingernails, but merlot on your toes. It doesn't take much, but you know it's there!

When it comes to renovating and decorating a home, color can become something of a self-inflicted psychological analysis. For example, I have a strict no-beige rule at our house, yet I recently read that pale grey, which I adore, is the new beige. Great, so now I am right on trend with the new boring? This makes me feel like doing something drastic like moving in with color, but I can't because white and I really are so happy together. Plus, I know perfectly well color only wants a good time. As soon as the party is over, color will be gone.

We do need pops of color to keep us alive, I think. Even whiteaholics like me. This can easily be accomplished with a few of my favorite things: books, flowers, art and obviously, toss cushions, aptly named so that when you tire of burnt orange or dusky rose, you can simply toss those past-their-prime pillows into storage. Not so easy to do with, say, a fire engine red sofa.

White and I will be together forever. White calms me down, refreshes me and understands when I need quiet time, while color demands so much attention, it can be exhausting.

I love you, white.

Source: houseofturquoise.com via Charity on Pinterest

The Wardrobe Experiment

I cannot lament having too many clothes. I am not a shopaholic or even a very good sport shopper. But I have enough to irritate me when I can't find what I'm looking for as I dig through piles of unworn stuff. I tend to wear favorites to death and then even a bit longer. I also gravitate toward things that are classically chic and then jazz them up with less-expensive trendy pieces. I think it is the formerly of-the-moment items and perhaps those unsuccessful 'maybe I should give this a try' pieces that are the culprits. Those are the ones that pile up and get in the way, remaining largely unworn, yet taking up valuable real estate in the closet.

Speaking of closets, I am currently living without an actual closet at the moment. I know, I know, I can hear you gasping in horror from across the cyber-universe. Let me explain. For some time now we have lived in our children's playroom while the master suite is slowly, almost painfully renovated. Don't get me wrong, the playroom is not such a bad place to be. It's 400 square feet, which is about the same size as many a city girl's apartment. It has a closet, but it is also the familial linen cupboard, as well as storage room to art supplies, games, legos, photo albums and other things you might expect to find in a playroom.

So in the midst of all that other stuff, our clothes are jammed in there too. It's an undignified jumble of paintbrushes, sweaters, boardgames and cameras. Sometimes I lay in bed and fantasize about having the perfect French antique armoire of my very own. Everything would fit and each morning I would throw open its doors and the perfect, effortlessly chic fashion combination would immediately present itself. This is how I came up with my idea for The Wardrobe Experiment. I am going to lug empty Rubbermaid totes upstairs to the playroom and ruthlessly pare down my clothing.  Anything unworn in the last year will be stored, sealed and dated in the totes. If I miss an item I have the freedom to go and dig it out, but if it remains forgotten, all will be donated by the time the New Dressing Room is unveiled.

Source: pinterest.com via Charity on Pinterest

 I have rarely regretted giving away clothing. I am kind of an out with the old and in with the new kind of gal. To a fault, really. I know which pieces are part of my fashion uniform. Jeans are a practical year-round choice for our climate. I do like crisp and white or cute and cropped in the summer though. I wear cardigans and pashminas all year round, flowy boho blouses in summer, cozy chunky sweaters in winter. There's a few sparkly pieces for going out and my work clothes which are, thankfully, classic black suiting. Throw in some yoga gear and that is pretty much me.

After this, all I will have left to do is sit back, relax and wait for our new closet to take shape. While it won't be Carrie and Big's Heaven on Fifth walk-in, it will be my own take on classic and glamorous with just a hint of boho and country girl to keep it authentic.

Carrie and Big's Heaven on Fifth walk-in. 

Source: organizingla.com via Jill on Pinterest

Ready for Barefoot Bluejean Nights

Source: bare-foot-blue-jean-princess.tumblr.com via Charity on Pinterest

As I have mentioned, I grew up in the country. I've known for a while that I would be 'going home' for a family reunion this July. At first I was a bit miffed at this forced holiday. We could have gone, you know, anywhere else for our summer vacation. But now, as the time draws near, I am getting more and more excited to show my children where I grew up. That would be a picturesque white farmhouse with green shutters on a rolling hill, a big red barn and, of course a treehouse. It was the real deal. We've just returned from an epic Californian theme park and Palm Springs adventure with our kids, so perhaps some grounding is in order.

Source: citified.blogspot.com via Charity on Pinterest

My heart is bursting at the thought of spending time with my beloved grandparents, catching up and eating lots of good old-fashioned prairie suppers with aunts, uncles, cousins and brand new baby second cousins, but more than anything, I am looking forward to the stunningly beautiful landscape. Vivid blue skies streaked with pure white clouds and enormous blazing summer sun and best of all, the big, fat moon overhead after a sunset so breathtaking it could be set to a symphony. I can't wait to sip wine with my best friend and laugh until we cry while our husbands get to know each other and our kids play together. I am excited to get my shiny new city car full of country dust driving down dirt roads, singing country songs at the top of our lungs.

Source: nowandthan.tumblr.com via Charity on Pinterest

Maybe I have romanticized my farmgirl upbringing, but I don't give a damn. Isn't it a bit like focusing on the positive? I can retrace every good memory of my childhood down to the last detail. I climbed trees and picked wildflowers as a little girl, then spent summer Saturday nights at tailgate parties basking in the glow of a blazing bonfire, trying to stay out of trouble, but not doing a very good job. 

It was a good way to grow up. I may be a West Coast girl now, but those Prairie roots run deep and they will always be a part of me. Mostly the part that likes cowboy boots and sundresses; men who can fix anything; driving around, but going nowhere and most of all wide, open spaces and hearts.

Source: wallpaperweb.org via Charity on Pinterest

How does your garden grow?

Source: mymindcravesnectar.tumblr.com via Charity on Pinterest

I can't call myself a gardener. Not really. Yet I find myself digging in the dirt, pulling weeds, puzzling over plantings and anticipating what is next to bloom. I suppose I am gardening, actually. But the difference between myself and the real gardeners is that I don't know what the hell I am doing most of the time. I just know I like it it. I pop in my earbuds (to drown out the sounds of my neighbors mowers, blowers and pressure washers) and put on my gardening gloves and drop to my knees. Suddenly two hours have gone by and I am strangely relaxed despite the backbreaking work I may have just done. I may not be a gardener yet, but I am so on to their dirty little secret. Gardening connects us to the Earth, which is a primal experience, giving us a bit of much needed balance. And that is something worth wrecking your manicure for. Pure bliss.

A Small Revelation

Oh, how long it's been! I cannot offer any excuses. Once I realized how much time had gone by since I last attended to my dusty little blog, I realized that may have been just how long it has been since I have attended to my soul. I confess to being overwhelmed by other obligations.

Life has become busy. I considered myself fairly warned. More experienced mothers and wives have explained this to me: Your children grow up and become more independent, but you become much busier. The activities begin. It's the beginning of the mom-taxi years. Picking up and dropping off. Laundering soccer uniforms and slicing oranges. Lunch boxes and spelling tests at the kitchen island. Oh, and don't forget to fit three to four days of work in there somewhere, a few make-ahead dinners, the epic home renovation project and quality time with that guy. My husband.

Seems part time pursuits of passion, like writing, reading and hopelessly daydreaming while staring out a window overlooking my rose garden have fallen right off the roster. But that doesn't mean that she's not in there. My inner daydreamer, writer and creative genius is always there, just below the surface, aching to get out. To be paid attention to in a most lavish fashion.

This morning is a regular morning. I am at home with my children, husband is at work and the first day of October has greeted us with gray skies. We're in our jammies and I am nestled into my writing nook (ceiling leak and drywall repair be damned) tapping away at these keys.

I had a revelation today. I may never have a luxurious grand sweep of time to attend to my creative longings. Maybe for now this is it. Me in my jammies with a steaming mug of fresh coffee surrounded by the tiny bits of inspiration that make up my crazy, wonderful life. And it is enough. With these few thoughtful lines I have appeased her and pacified the cries for attention. Perhaps some of the greatest creative works in the world have come to be in this very fashion. Here's to chipping away!

Now to hit the scary "Post" button before I convince myself this piece is not polished enough, exciting enough, glamorous enough or ANYTHING enough....

Happy Anniversary!

Here we one year later and what a year it has been. We've been through dust and debris, fires and floods, chaos and destruction... and that was just the kitchen!

It's our First Year Renovation Anniversary!

It is the middle of December and our self-imposed deadline of having the main floor finished by Christmas looms heavily like snow upon the wintery horizon. But at least my days of feeling like a renovation refugee are over. I no longer have to dig through boxes and rubble to find the baking soda or muffin tins. The new stainless steel gas range is always in the same place, unlike the old electric stove which could be found drifting about the room depending on where the most work was taking place. That hefty goal of Entire Main Floor may be reduced to as much of it as possible. But I have beautiful new granite counters which take the edge off of my renovation restlessness. It's those high impact (and sometimes pricey) changes that really satisfy.

Somehow I have managed to remain happily married throughout this. Sure, there have been bad days and scary moments for us as a couple with home and marriage undergoing renovation, but we always end up banding together and shaking our fists at The House, shouting "you will not tear us apart!" Maybe that's why things can go on and on and on the way they do and we just get through it. I also know, no matter how long it takes, it will be worth it. This project is something we have always wanted to try and while we may not be renovation addicts who will flip the house the moment the paint on the trim dries, we're also not quite at the point of saying "never again." I always say never is a really, really long time.

I was feeling a bit panicked about entertaining with the house in it's constantly evolving state. But then as I gathered unwrapped toys, cash and food to donate to those whose lives have been torn apart by violence, poverty and plain old bad luck, I remembered what Christmas is really about. Who cares about a half-painted living room when friends and family come to visit? I am blessed to have wonderful friends and family and a safe, warm home in which to spend Christmas. This time of year can spin out of control so quickly with rampant consumerism. Yes, it's nice to give and get fabulous presents, but for me Christmas eventually becomes a time of quiet reflection and a time to count the simple blessings.

So even though my husband has the next two weeks off to try to wrap up a few of the projects we are so close to completing, it's okay if it doesn't quite happen. We have comfort and joy and really, that's enough, isn't it?

Taking Stock

Here we are about nine months later and I am amazed (and green with envy) that friends have had entire homes built from the ground up in the same time period. Of course, that was with the help of a homebuilder or general contractor, along with all their resources and subcontractors. Here at the Casa Galasso we inch along our renovation all by ourselves, learning as we go. The work happens on days off, mostly my hubby's, who does it all himself with our two kids in his care while I go to off to work. Anyone who has has small children can attest that this is a small miracle in itself.

Sometimes we have what we refer to as peak days, where we marvel at how far we've come, how much we have learned, and what a brilliant decision we made in buying this home with it's enviable square footage, fab layout and perfectly sized backyard and amazing back deck. We toast ourselves over dinner and rejoice in how clever we were and how wonderful this will all be when it is over. We still cling to that dream like a life raft sometimes.

Then there's the valley days, which are dark and miserable and leave us questioning our decisions, our motives, our bank balance and many times, our sanity. But, as a team, we are pretty balanced in keeping each other going, offering praise, encouragement and libations where necessary. We always remember to laugh through these thing because with a large renovation, sometimes it is the only thing one can do.

This morning I sipped coffee in my half-finished kitchen with the sun trying to stream through the somewhat foggy glass of our in-dire-need-of-replacement windows. It illuminated the kitchen cabinets which I painstakingly refinished mostly myself with some help from my mom and sister. I tried not to hate my backsplashless wall, old beige stove and wonky, recycled, but temporary countertops. But then there was the lovely new floors beneath my feet and the shiny stainless dishwasher and fridge sparkling in the morning light.

We really have come a long, long way. Considering the fact that inevitably, something always comes up as the multiple projects go along. The running list that comes to mind would include: our daughter's room from top to toe; gutting the ceiling of the kitchen and family room, replacing it and adding new lighting, the complete refurbishing of our kitchen cabinets from stripping, sanding, priming and painting as well as replacing the hardware and re-installing them. Oh, there was the small task of raising our backyard up eight inches (we were once the neighborhood retention pond) adding new drainage and painstakingly growing new lawn from seed front and back. We have also replaced 75% of the flooring on the mainfloor, repainted our family room and kitchen. We have replaced appliances, fixtures, and endlessly dealt with ever-clogging toilets. In our skimpy one month of summerish weather we have replaced half our fence and repaired the rest, ripped out mangy bushes and replaced them with lush baby cedars, built up flower beds and planted new blooms, half stripped our deck, repainted the exterior trim and are about to re-paint the front door, replace the door hardware and get new address numbers for the house. We have pressure-washed until our gumboots overflowed and hypothermia set in. Still, I'm sure I am forgetting many things.

Oh, what about the romantic November weekend spent re-insulating our attic together? How about ripping down four rodent-infested sheds? Gutting the kids bathroom? I repainted the laundry room while my daughter had a playdate and my son's room while they bunked together for a few nights. My husband can drop an entire ceiling and demo a pantry while I am at work and I am proud to say I can whip up a healthy, hearty supper under almost any circumstances just as long as my old stove is plugged in.

We have done all that and somehow stayed married, in love and surprisingly in good humour most of the time. Our kids seem to have adjusted well to "life under renovation" despite the experts warning against living in the home while the work takes place. Where pray-tell, are we supposed to live? Surely there are people who can afford a full-scale renovation, a mortgage and a rental property to retreat to, but they mostly seem to exist in the pages of the glossy design mags I so enjoy.

We are doing it though. Never said it was going to be easy every day; never said it would be over night. But we have a goal in mind. As much as I don't want summer to end, fall signifies the time to bring our attention back inside where we hope to have a main floor worthy of a wonderful housewarming/ holiday open house. This means several more months of very hard work and then a rest to enjoy our home over Christmas. How different it will look this year!

Mama Mia (Here I Go Again)

As we all know I am in the process of renovating our entire house. It's crazy, but true.

I don't usually question my love affair with white. White and I are soul mates. It makes me happy and satisfied every time. I always say "when in doubt, paint it out." In white, that is. I fearlessly painted out all the oak cabinets in my kitchen. Pretty much nothing escapes my roller and brush and I've no regrets. Until now.

Recently I was left to wonder: Is my commitment to white a real commitment at all? Or is it that when it comes to other colours, I just can't bear to go steady? Do I have colour commitment phobia?

Case in point: My daughter's bath. Well, it is a bathroom shared by my daughter and son, but my daughter is older and much more design savvy than many women in their mid-forties, so guess who has the upper hand in the design of this little loo for two? Hint: not the one wearing dinosaur underwear and a Ferrari ball cap while squirting Spiderman bubble bath all over the place.

Anyway, after being inspired by the movie Mama Mia, Sofia (of the dreamy lavender oasis bedroom) chose a stunning Mediterranean glass accent tile for her tub surround and backsplash. I was open to this at first, then when it came time to actually order it I panicked and got the same product in the white blend. Blue, green and turquoise tiles, however sparkly and beach glassy seemed like too much. I had cold feet.

Sofia was devastated by the white tiles. You see, I crushed her vision. As I mentioned before, she has very sophisticated taste for a seven year old. She has watched Design Inc. and Sarah's House religiously since she was two. So now I have been back-pedaling trying to come up with a brilliant Mama Mia-esque design scheme worthy of a Greek Villa that exists only in the imagination of my star struck child. Great.

I have come up with a few ideas, but am open to suggestions. The top third of the walls will be painted in brilliant Mama Mia blue (otherwise known as deep turquoise). I will search the ends of the earth for nautical striped towels to be hung on some sort of rustic Greek-ish bath hardware. I have not seen anything inspiring in the way of shower curtains or bath accessories for ages, so keeping an eye out. Finally, my little collector will love shiny glass apothecary jars filled with sea shells, beach glass and other earthly delights. Even though her tiles will be white, hopefully she will overcome her bathroom blues.

PS: I was recently redeemed as head decorator of the house when, on a recent episode of Sarah's House, Sarah herself tried to do a blue accent tile in a bathroom and ended up retreating to the safe, fresh and beautiful confines of white. Imagine me, a grown woman in her mid-thirties pointing at the flatscreen and saying "See? Sarah said white tile IS better! Ha!" while my daughter raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at me. After thinking it over for a moment she said, "Maybe white tile is better... for resale." That's my girl!

A Room of One's Own

A space to write and daydream...

For my entire life, books and writing have defined me. Every bed I've ever slept in has had a stack of books beside it; every kitchen I've ever cooked in has the collection of recipe books and every coffee table, magazines and picture books have covered the surface. Books are comfort food for my soul.

I remember being beside myself as a child after trying and quitting so many extra curricular activities and never knowing where I fit in. But I could always retreat to the comfort and safety of my very lovely childhood bedroom (thanks Mum). There I could magically escape through some wonderful form of the written word. Sometimes it was a novel or coffee table book, other times a hopelessly romantic issue of Victoria Magazine or an exciting foray into the world of fashion via the most current Vogue or Elle. No matter what it was I always have and always will seek solace in the knowingness that someone cared enough to string together a few words so engaging I could quite literally lose myself within the pages. It is why I love to write and why I continue to read as much as possible still today.

Because of this obsession with words, books, reading and writing, a space dedicated to my passion must be etched out in our new home. But where? This is our first foray into the world of detached dwelling-dom. We're not quite at the point of living in a charming beach house with sweeping ocean views from a sunny attic loft (converted into my own personal light-filled sanctuary, of course). And the kids are a long way from college, so we are doing our best here in the middle of suburbia to create a home that feels authentic.

I am fortunate to have a southern exposed front room with vaulted ceilings. I love, love, love how the sunshine pours in all day (that is, if the weather cooperates) and floods across my new dark wood floors. In another era this would have been a formal living room where company would have been received and tea served et cetera. But this is the age of multifunctional spaces and so being a seeker of light, this space, after careful consideration, will also double as my writing room.

I should mention there is an office in our home, but I foresee it becoming a man-den for my husband with masculine paint colors, framed and autographed sports memorbilia and many, many electronic devices. As happy as I am for my hubby to have his retreat, I need my own space and don't want to share. I need light, beauty, and a window on the world so a lovely glass topped desk facing the street should fit the bill. A comfortable, beautiful chair upholstered in a stunning and might I say elusive fabric, (as pretty fabrics are proving very hard to find locally) and a sparkly lamp or two. This space will be integrated into the formal living room, but lets face facts, who uses their formal living spaces with any regularity? Kind of a waste, if you ask me. This way I can still keep a finger on the pulse of our household and be surrounded by beauty and drenched by our fleeting moments of west coast sunlight.

I contemplated a writing nook in our master bedroom, which has more than ample space, but it kind of ruffles my feathers to go against my self-imposed and frankly, rather strict rules of engagement governing what bedrooms are for and that is the three Rs (rest, romance and relaxation). Plus, our north-facing room doesn't get the light I crave and my husband works two night shifts per block. I then considered our bonus room, which is vast, but primarily a playroom. Home to a variable fleet of toy trucks, cars, fire engines, my daughter's art supplies and the kid's television and DVD collection. I cannot imagine even a moment's peace let alone a burst of inspiration happening in there. The kitchen is lovely, but too busy and the family room is, well, for cozy family moments and so that leaves me here in my sunny alcove of dappled light. Happily.

Perhaps the biggest challenge in this space will be keeping organized. Fortunately, most of my inspiration comes from images of beauty so a coffee table book left open to a beautiful image will work in here. But what to do with all the magazine clippings, Post-Its and bits and bobs? I suppose an inspiration board of some sort is eminent. And a bookshelf, of course. I have an Ikea one in here now, but it has seen better days after years of multi-tasking in our busy little townhome. It would be fabulous relocated to the playroom for toys and I could graduate to something more grown up in the living/writing area. Maybe real, live built-in bookcases! Not a shelf, but an actual bookcase that is an integral part of the architecture in the room. No more faking it! A girl can dream, right?

Then there is the other furniture in the room. Since it is technically a formal space I would adore a dreamy antique sette with mushy down-filled cushions and a cashmere throw draped across it. Then Louis chair or two, maybe a chaise, and of course, a coffee table (stacked with books, of course) achored by a stunning wool rug and I am set.

In the end, this room is representative of a personal lifestyle shift. I am inching ever closer toward a more grown-up existence as my children get older. I am nearing a time where moments of solitude may actually be attainable instead of merely an internal longing. My writing room may seem like a desk and chair under a window, but for me it is a metaphorical new chapter in my life-- one I can't wait to start writing.

Reno Chic

I am sporting a new look. It's called Reno-Chic and it's all the rage on the runway over at my house. Well, it's not really a runway, but more of a footpath through boxes of building materials, tools, shop vacs and sometimes rubble. I strut through here with "Highway to Hell" or "Welcome to the Jungle" blasting in my head. The look itself may seem similar to the grunge look of the early 90s, but instead being a backlash to former extravagance (ie. the 80s), the look stems from necessity. It is necessary to dress this way while living amid a full-scale renovation.

Key pieces include formerly cute, but now nearing rag status sweat pants. They must be ratty and paint spattered, preferably stretched out from pregnancy and in no way can they be flattering. Next come the layering pieces: old tank tops, stained hoodies and the piece de la resistance, the paint shirt. This is a old men's work shirt, rumpled, stiff with paint splashes and of course, a few tears and stains. In order to keep the look authentic one must cultivate their own personal spin on this style over time. One day spent spent sanding baseboards does not a reno diva make.

Oh yes! The most important element and my personal favourite: the shoes! For me an outfit cannot be considered complete with out the proper footwear. Options include ratty house slippers, worn out Uggs or very old cross trainers.

Hair, make-up and accessories must be minimal for this trend. Last night's mascara and a slick of chapstick bode well with the natural blush of one's cheeks after a morning spent sweeping, scooping and suctioning up the former walls or ceiling. A modest diamond stud earring is the perfect amount of bling with hair swept up in a messy top knot.

I have a strong suspicion that when this trend comes to an end, like all trends do, there will be yet another backlash. Luxe new handbags, sexy jeans and tops proportionate with one's body are on the horizon. Beautiful new custom closets need new clothes in order for it to really shine, no?

PS: There will be no photo for this post. Pictures just don't do it justice.

Kitchen

I suppose now that my kitchen has been gutted it is time to really nail down what it is I want. It is somewhat daunting, yet very exciting at the same time. It is a luxury designing a space around one's own needs. I was fortunate enough to purchase home with a pretty functional, albeit outdated kitchen.

The kitchen of my dreams is white, white, white. This shouldn't come as much of a surprise to anyone who knows me. I am an unapologetic white addict. I have entire volumes devoted to the decoration of homes using white. It's so bright and fresh and crisp and clean, yet also ethereal, sexy and chic all at the same time. White is timeless. I am in the process of painting out my lovely circa '89 honey oak cabinets, you guessed it, Simply White by Benjamin Moore. Soon to follow are countertops in either quartz or carerra marble, subway tile backsplash with a marble accent, stainless appliances, cafe curtains, bistro chairs and dark wood floors.

I live in my kitchen so it has to be beautiful and comfortable. I love to cook and have my people hang with me as I do so, whether it's my two kids enjoying cookies and milk or girlfriends sipping wine, a big island with comfy stools to perch upon is a necessary requirement.

Then there are the things I am still questioning. A wine fridge. Seems the more wine we have in the house, the more wine we drink. Not that this a negative thing! Perhaps a nice built-in wine rack will suffice. And then there is the thorn in my side. Spices. To have them exposed or not. I think not. Some things in the kitchen are pretty to look at, but spices just aren't one of them. But I hate digging around for rogue spice containers, so my spice quandary continues. And what about cookbooks? I love the injection of bright colour my cookbooks bring to the kitchen space. Since the microwave shelf will not be going back to it's former location the nook by my sunny kitchen window may be just the place for some open shelving and my dream beverage centre. Think of a Parisian bistro with a shiny cappuccino maker and all the cups and saucer stacked up like little soldiers.

Going themeless

Not long ago one of my nearest and dearest girlfriends called to ask me if I had chosen a theme for my son's new room. I recoiled against the question and then had to confess, I am not a very themey kind of gal. It's all too much for me. I know I am probably about to offend, well, pretty much everyone I know, since I can't think of a lad or lass out there whose room isn't themed out to the max. Maybe I am a decor commitment phobe, or perhaps I just can't fathom adhering to a themed room when kids are so filled with imagination and ever-changing interests. But as far as my kids' rooms go, we'll be going themeless.

I am in the process of compiling ideas for Matteo's space in our new house. Not sure exactly what I want to do yet, but it's going to be a departure from his last room which, of course, was his nursery. It is time to say good bye to lullabies and sweet, soft baby blue... sniff. Matteo is almost three and all boy. Rough and tumbly and into everything from Tonkas and firetrucks to tools and robots to superheros and monsters. He has saved me from the dreaded theme concept for children's rooms just by being himself. Earlier this year it was Lightning McQueen, before Christmas it was Tonkas, then Spiderman and Transformers and no sooner had I lamented that he hadn't expressed any interest in animals when all of a sudden he is intrigued with owls, bats and chipmunks.

And so, in an effort to find design inspiration I've had to abandon the regular resources and think outside the box. Even Pottery Barn proved too themey for me (beautiful furniture though). As far as I am concerned, themes are for birthday parties when kids are into an of-the-moment thing. Then I stumbled across this modern mom's magazine called Cookie. In it was an article about kids rooms and lo and behold, they were so darn stylish and blessedly theme-free. Everything from nostalgic vintage-chic to modern-fabulous. The magazine's website provided even more food for thought. Mum's from all over the world emailed photos of their kid's rooms. What a breath of fresh air! Rooms painted crisp white and the color provided by artwork, accessories and toys. With a neutral backdrop and the right combination of shelving and furniture, I think Matteo's favourite things will provide more than enough colour and visual stimulation without any help from a wallpaper border, thank you very much.

I am looking for that perfect combination of classic and modern. I like funky, old-fashioned furniture painted up in bright colors and juxtaposed against modern graphic bedding. Oh! And I mustn't forget the thing I am most excited about- a giant World Map for my pint-sized explorer. Colourful, educational, classic and fun.

Finally, in addition to my eclectic take on design for kids I can feel good about recycling old pieces instead of outfitting a room with all-new furniture. Did I mention my boy is rough and tumbly? His furniture is going to see some serious wear and tear. But this isn't about filing my kid's room with junky cast-offs. It is about making a conscious effort to be environmentally responsible, re-use and re-purpose and to find items that can withstand the test of time and still stay stylish and functional so my darling boy has a room he can grow with, not into or out of over time.