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.

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 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. 

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Ready for Barefoot Bluejean Nights

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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.

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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.

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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.

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How does your garden grow?

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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!