Common Sense Trumps Hubris

Wanna know a secret? I suffer from an overdeveloped sense of determination when it comes to home improvement projects. If there's a job to be done, I will go to great lengths to handle it myself rather than ask someone else to do it. Allow me to illustrate.

This is possible:

because I installed all of this:

 

True, it took two days, three trips to the plumbing supply store, and four pages of step-by-step illustrated instructions from the This Old House web site to make it happen. But the important thing to remember is that it did--finally, after much effort--happen. Why, you might ask, am I telling you all of this? So you'll understand the significance of the following image:

Tile. In my kitchen. Lovely, isn't it? Sadly, I didn't install it. I know what you're thinking: "Why didn't you lay your own tile? You said you were going to. It's not that difficult." Right? Ordinarily, I'd agree with you. But as those of you who have been to my home know, this wonderfully quaint, century-old farmhouse has, um,  . . . quirks that require creative problem-solving skills (and experience) to achieve results like those you see above. Skills (and experience) which I lack. And so, I swallowed my pride (who am I kidding: I was happy to let someone else take over!) and called in the professionals.

By the way, here's another reason I didn't do the tile:

Relax, it's Cameron's leg, not mine (long story, involving evil footwear and a lapse in parental judgment). For those of you keeping track, this brings the Carling broken limb tally to three this year (four, if you're counting individual bones). I didn't completely bail on the tile project, though; I'll be doing the grout. Watch for updates. When everything's finished, I'll post before and after pictures of the kitchen--and the leg.

Parker was ordained an Elder by his Grandpa Carling last Sunday. He'll be filling out his mission papers soon. He's applied for a passport; that way, if he gets called to a foreign mission, he won't have to wait as long. He served as a camp assistant at our stake Aaronic Priesthood Encampment; it was a great opportunity for him to sharpen his leadership skills.

Hayden attended the above mentioned camp, too. Between the whitewater rafting, fly tying, fishing, creek floating, and other activities, he really had a good time.

Cameron and Jacob got to hang out with Chloe (and Brandi and Tyler) while I was in Cedar City. The only thing they broke was a light fixture. Cameron was thoughtful enough to wait 'til I got home to break his leg.

July 25-29th marked the Third Annual Darla and DeLynn Shakespeare Pilgrimage, but this year we had company: Mom and Dad, Danette and Jim (our sister and brother-in-law), and Chelsey (Darla's daughter-in-law) came for the plays on Monday. They all went home on Tuesday (party poopers), but our sister-in-law Sherry and her mother stayed until Thursday and saw all the plays--all of which were wonderful, by the way--with us. 

Every year I look forward to this trip, for many reasons. Each time, I either see someone I know from home (Hi, Mindy!), or meet someone who knows someone I know (Debra, we met your neighbors, the Marlers, and their niece, who lives in Rexburg). I always come home feeling invigorated: mentally, emotionally, yes, even spiritually.  Probably the 6 1/2 hour therapy sessions on the drive to and from Cedar City have something to do with it. (Thanks, Darla!) But I also firmly believe I need art and beauty in my life to make me a whole, balanced being. And speaking of beauty, on our way home, we stopped at what can best be described as decorating and organizing Nirvana. I LOVE YOU, IKEA! If I promise to visit you often, will you please move to Rexburg? Or at least Idaho Falls?   :o)

FYI:

hu·bris  \ˈhyü-brəs\ n [Gk hybris] (1884) :  exaggerated pride or self-confidence

Um . . . hello? [crickets chirping] Is anybody out there?

Hi. Remember me? I used to be the girl who wrote a mildly entertaining blog you'd check every week or so for updates. I don't know where that girl has gone. Yes I do. I think she was accidentally hauled off with the contents of my kitchen. Because remodeling the living room and dining room wasn't disruptive enough, I've moved on to the kitchen. I know, you're asking yourself, "Has she completely lost her mind?!" Maybe, but when you hear the back story, I think you'll agree that it was the right thing to do.

A few weeks ago, the boys and I went to Utah to help my parents get ready to move from their home (they sold it). On Saturday morning I ran the few miles from my parents' house to Lynn's (Paul's brother), where I woke them up to beg a drink of water--sorry guys. While I was there, Lynn told me his neighbor--a cabinet maker--was selling his showroom display cabinets for cheap. Having seen my lovely (not!) 50s-era metal cabinets, Lynn wondered if I'd be interested in new ones. I said if I had time later, I'd take a look at them.

That afternoon, Lynn came to my parents' house with an update: his neighbor had a house full of brand new cabinets that he was repossessing from a spec home; and I could have them, installed, for half the regular price. Long story short, I now have beautiful knotty alder cabinets. Wait, it gets better. I didn't have a sample of the wood when I choose the counter top and tile for the floor, only a few photos that Jeff, the cabinet guy, had e-mailed me. When he brought the cabinets into the house, I grabbed a piece of the granite I'd chosen for the counter, and a floor tile to see how they'd look together. Guess what? They matched perfectly! Same thing with the knobs and handles I bought. What's more, Jeff said he's never, ever had cabinets that were specifically built for one house fit so perfectly into another. Everything fit like they were made for our home. He called it a crazy coincidence, but I don't believe in coincidence. I have no doubt Heavenly Father knew I needed a new, affordable kitchen, and he orchestrated events to allow it to happen. It might seem insignificant in the eternal scheme of things, but to me, it's a testimony of God's love for his children. He truly is aware of our needs, whether large or small, temporal or spiritual.

I promise, I will post pictures. Soon. Before September. But now, I've gotta get to bed. Tomorrow is my first day of class: Tile Laying 101. Wish me luck!

It Has Begun

Serial nonproductivity, laced with bouts of chronic laziness. Summer vacation. Pray for us (me). Actually, I'm (kind of) kidding. After the flurry of projects and activities that inevitably accompany the end of a typical school year, it's nice to have a break. The secret is figuring out how to spend the remaining weeks that follow the initial "honeymoon" period of relative peace and contentment. I'm open to suggestions. This year, we got a bonus week of summer: in an effort to save money, the local school district ended the year a week earlier than usual, leaving the boys to entertain themselves while I finished my final week of classes--until September--on campus. Tomorrow is my last day of Math. Ever. [Cue Handel's Hallelujah Chorus or Beethoven's Ode to Joy. Either would be an appropriate representation of how I feel about that.]

Parker's seminary graduation was a week ago Sunday. I didn't realize until I looked at this picture that Hayden is probably taller than me! When did that happen?!?


















Last Thursday, Parker graduated with honors from Madison High School. Didn't I just go to his Kindergarten graduation? (Don't ask him: he'll say I never went to anything when he was in elementary school. But I've got pictures that prove otherwise.)



















The remodeling project is, um . . . not finished yet. We've (meaning I've) been kind of busy lately, but now that school's out, we (again, I) should be able to wrap things up. Soon. Before fall semester begins. For sure. (I hope.) I'm waiting for my computer desk--which I've ordered four separate times now--to arrive. (It's a long story; call me if you're dying to hear it. :o) The ottoman should be here next week sometime. I've contacted an interior designer to help with hanging pictures (thanks, Darla). If it'll ever warm up and quit raining, I'll get the living room cupboard doors painted and rehung. When that's finished, all that's left is hanging the dining room curtains (they've been shipped), and one last, tiny project: cutting, routing, painting, and hanging new cupboard doors in the dining room. No problem. I've got power tools, and I'm not afraid to use them.

Toss a Pebble in a Pond . . .

What happens? Ripples. Lots and lots of ripples. I had intended to paint the living room and dining room during the two week break between semesters. It didn't happen. Why? Who knows. Maybe I was just enjoying the sensation of laziness which comes with the absence of a schedule. Instead, I waited until I was back in school to tackle the project. Crazy, I know. After choosing paint colors, I realized it would be morally wrong to apply a fresh coat of paint to walls that border shamefully ugly carpet.

If you'll humor a slight tangent off the main topic, I'd like to take this opportunity to share my opinion on the appropriateness of carpet in a dining room: NEVER. Not ever. Unless, of course, you never, ever allow anyone to actually eat in the dining room. It's a bad--no, make that terrible--idea, ranking second only behind carpet in a bathroom, on the list of interior decorating disasters waiting to happen (particularly if you've got boys). You get the idea, right? Good, let's move on.

For some reason--the cost of feeding, clothing, and housing five growing boys may have factored into the equation--new carpet was never very high on the list of budgetary priorities (motorcycles and kayaks are much more fun). But, as I mentioned earlier, fresh paint practically demanded the change. So I made the trek to a local flooring store to find a suitable replacement. I fell in love with a beautiful distressed solid hickory, but sadly, I would've had to sell the house to pay for it. So I asked to see something that looked just like it, but was more reasonably priced. The salesman showed me a sample of engineered hardwood hickory. (Made in America by prisoners. Really. And the core of the flooring is made by compressing the waste wood. I'm being environmentally responsible and rehabilitating criminals, too.) It was love at first sight, no kidding! I didn't even look at anything else, this was my floor. Choosing the carpet for the living room was just as easy. Sigh . . . if only all of life were that simple.

OK. Back to the ripples. While we were moving the furniture out of the living room, I came to the realization that the couches were older than Hayden, and it would be morally wrong to put them back on brand new carpet. I could move the newer ones from the TV room to the living room, except there's a problem with that scenario: don't tell anyone, but I actually hate those couches! Fortunately, Tyler and Brandi don't. So I'm looking for a new set for the living room, moving the old, comfy, nap-friendly set into the TV room, and putting the hated set up for adoption. I call it intrafamilial recycling. Mom Carling, do you want your rust-colored couches back? Tyler and Brandi won't be needing them much longer.

The floor guys are nearly finished with the entry and dining room. They're coming back on Monday to wrap things up (and to reinstall the baseboards for me: I asked nicely. :o) I think the carpet guys will come later in the week, which is good, because I've still got some painting to finish. I'm doing the same faux finish (above the wainscoting and in the back of the bookshelves) as I did in my bedroom.

In professional news, I just completed my first paid freelance editing/proofreading job. A friend of a friend put together a history of her grandparents and hired me to help her polish it before having it printed. She plans to write two others, and said she'll call me to help with those as well.

Jacob turned 10 on Tuesday. His presents (some Transformers and a truck with interchangeable parts) were no surprise: he was with me the day I bought them. (I know, I'm a lazy gift shopper.) Because he knew in advance what he was getting, I felt no compulsion to hide them before his birthday. This proved to be too great a temptation. One day I noticed an empty Transformer package in my bedroom. Jacob confessed to pilfering his present, but I let him keep it. Perhaps it was an instinctive reaction to a latent memory of a similar incident--though with much different results--involving a couple of young girls several decades ago. Empty boxes make poor Christmas gifts, but excellent teachers, especially when accompanied by a disapproving note from Santa Claus: Snooping doesn't pay. Before pronouncing harsh judgment, you should know that the little girls did eventually get their dolls.

Vindication, Validation and Other Valuable Lessons

Sometimes, in spite of my parental failings, the Lord sees fit to bless my children anyway. Let me explain. As you may recall from a previous post, I put off (read: procrastinated) this year's Pinewood Derby project until there was no time to make a new car. Fortunately, Jacob agreed to use a pre-owned model. Here's where the vindication comes into play: Jacob won 1st place! Not only that, he won all but one of the heats he raced in. I think maybe the car got a little push from Paul. What makes it even sweeter is the fact that he chose to use a car that I (all by myself) made a few years ago. Jacob's victory is a beautiful illustration of this truth: Heavenly Father is intimately aware of the needs of each of his children, and finds ways to bless us and strengthen us when we need it most. He gave Jacob the joy of success, and his mother, a gentle reminder that things work out--even when disaster seems imminent.

As soon as I write a two-page exit report for my Career Exploration class (which is really what I should be doing now, not updating my blog!) I will officially be finished with Winter semester. *UPDATE: I'm a free woman (until April 20, when Spring semester begins).

[Deep, from the tips of my toes kind of sigh of relief]

My mathematics-based fears proved to be unfounded: I passed--and even kind of liked--the class! I only hope I have an equally successful experience next semester when I take my final required math class.

It must be spring. It's Saturday afternoon and the only sound I hear is that of the refrigerator running. I've no idea where anyone is, but somehow, I'm okay with that. I still have a pile of research papers to read, and grades to enter into the computer. I don't mind the solitude.

Whoever said that I'd miss Paul a little less as time passes lied. They ought to have said I'd learn to better cope with missing him as time passes. And even that would be debatable some days.

Paul would have been forty-seven yesterday.