Seriously. Some insulation would be nice.

Oh. Did you come here for some December prettiness or a farmlike update of how I tackled the trio of ancient apple trees just before it was too late to prune or did you perhaps want to hear all about how 17-month-old Salvador will enunciate "up," "truck," "ball" perfectly clearly for his dad but never pour moi?

Check back later maybe.

Today my inspiration is this: I'm getting real.

Does anyone see the toilet up there? It's supposed to be out of the frame, to the right, where the new Suite upstairs bath will live. And straight ahead? That's the library.

Imagination helps. So would a little insulation.

We are still having fun even if we have to wear outerwear, well, indoors. It's been Western Oregon cold here, in the low 20s at night and high 30s all day. Crispy clear with a side of Jack Frost on the shady side of the house and barn. I have been ever so grateful that our new barn has automatic waterers and heat tape on the supply lines. This morning the big girls ventured to the end of the horse pasture, where we have a boggy little pond that Mr. Suite is excited to return to wetlands. Lo and behold the pond was frozen!

This never happens here. So the girls decided to ice skate in their boots and of course you know what happened next. Luckily it's all of a few inches deep at the edges.

So, in slightly warmer news, the new library will be about 12x12. One wonderful feature of this new old house is its decent room size, by "old house" standards. The master bedroom is 14x13 and boasts a 9x9 (!) walk-in closet. Of course to continue with the "getting real" theme of the day I have to tell you it is currently doubling as Salvador's bedroom. Each of the other two bedrooms houses two girls currently and while a new dormer bedroom is planned for Salvador, it's out there in construction phase eighteen or so. After a lot of discussion we decided turning the current attic space into a library is priority number two, right after finishing safety issues including the open staircase.

My "dining room" is a pass-through that houses what used to be my kitchen table... because my dining table doesn't fit. My "office" is an unheated back porch that used to be a laundry room. My laundry room is also a bathroom in the shop. My "family room" and "formal living" are one and the same.

The creek runs crystal clear under deep cover of fir, cedar and maple trees. A spring high on the hill feeds it. The apple trees and cherry trees are neglected but charmingly gnarled. The girls' rooms are paneled in 1970s paneling that they lovingly and happily painted Martha blue and sea glass green. Because new drywall in the bedrooms? That would be phase twenty-nine of the remodel.

And it's my dream. That's getting real.

My $2.99 family room makeover ... the tease edition

Those are the mix-and-match fabrics I grabbed from my stash for a much-needed sofa slipcover.

Needed? Nah. (I am so mortified to post that picture. It's almost as bad as the kitchen before of yore after which Lexi exposed evidence, hotly debated by me, of a tequila/margarita "habit." Exposed stuffing... almost as bad as suspicion of drinking on the blog.)

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We've actually had a SureFit slipcover on this sofa for the past few years or so. I think the brand name SureFit is ingenious in the same way a small car becomes "comfortable" in the advertisements. Of necessity there's no mention that you can't get your knees to fit between the steering wheel and seat. In this manner, the SureFit slipcover, while cute, needs constant adjustment, tucking, cursing, and so it's time to make a fitted cover for the body and new upholstery for the seats to hold it all together.

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I wanted a new sofa even though this one is unbelievably comfortable. Well-made in that annoying heirloom furniture way. (Ugly but too good to throw out.) It's just, um, not my color scheme and it's HUGE. It takes up the entire den. So I wanted a new sofa even before some mysterious strange phenomenon (can you say "my children never jump on the furniture"?) started pulling the upholstery and underlying thin layer of down and feathers to bits.

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However: I shopped for MONTHS for a new sofa before deciding to tackle this project in the face of my shopping failure. (Hardly a first. Shopping and me, we're like t --- h --- i ---s.) I have slipcovered before, friends, and it's not a job for a girl in her third trimester with accompanying asthma, pre-term labor, a family to feed, etc.

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Nevertheless. I'm sewing. And I'll keep you posted.

Today I Was Not Nice

I have found through my extensive research that niceties are nice, and niceness is nice, and pretty is as pretty does, and that a whole bunch of nice gets me exactly nowhere sometimes.

I had the most awesome tackle planned for today. Let me tell you. I was even going to venture out into pictures of the before and after, because I have become emboldened by the pictures of the office of my new crap-stashing soul sister Barb (you are such an inspiring writer, Barb, and I hope you're not creeped out by me saying, I saw your boxes and recognized them).

I am over the humiliation (time heals all wounds) of a couple weeks' ago, when an inadvertently placed "daffodil vase" in a "before" picture of my kitchen made blog headlines on blogs other than my own. It only took a few margaritas to feel better, really. (Now I feel the need to reiterate that I only drink Diet Coke, but I know this will bring down the hellish hilarity of some farmchicky friends, so I'm restraining myself.) I was moving on to a new tackle. Kitchen, done. Mortification, noted and worth it. Laundry room, N-E-X-T.

Anywhat, as usual, my plans for my tackle are sidetracked by life in general. How do you think my laundry room came to look like this?

Please don't dissect that photo and find any liquor bottles. If they're hiding in there, I just don't want to know. Life in general is just nuts. That laundry room is certifiable. And it looks like this within minutes of finishing digging it out. I am in true confession mode now, because I want you to believe me when I say:

Today I Was Not Nice.

Right before I got down to tackling that horrific disorganization pit we like to call our laundry room and alternately Mt. Washmore (I was gonna make a system! I was gonna make a difference! I was gonna make my husband so happy!), the home office line rang. It rung. It was ringing. I am so discombobulated by what ensued that my grammar has left me.

On the line was the EGE, and in his hand was a certified letter. I don't think they send certified letters for your birthday. Certified in letters, as in the case of insanity, is not good. Not good at all. The EGE calmly (he is the King of Calm) read such letter to me. It had terrible ramifications. It asserted points that if proven would have us likely out of business before June 2. This was bad, and let me say again, not good.

Oh, how I wish I could dish! A woman who must have VERY BAD life problems had messed with us in a VERY BAD way which involved LYING and COVERING HER DERRIERE and then some more LYING and then it all resulted in the letter that sidetracked my important but not urgent laundry room excavation. I hope y'all can forgive me (I know you're the forgiving sort).

Now of course the EGE had important and urgent things he had to be doing which are not related to this little letter bomb. And of course the letter had to be dealt with today. I quickly (remember my wardrobe tackle? and how well that turned out?) threw on a skirt and knit blouse. I had the presence of mind to wear pumps instead of maryjanes. It is important when kicking business butt to look the part, methinks.

Then I loaded Grace and Sarah into the Suburban with snacks in a bag (sometimes I can be organized) and went to town, figuratively and literally. With a baby on one hip, my bra securely inside my blouse, and Grace on an extra computer playing puzzles, I worked the phones like there was no tomorrow. I spoke calmly and politely BUT NOT NICELY with the devil herself. I stood my ground and it was the high ground. Said phone conversation partner weaseled and smoke screened and in general showed her lovely character. I then waited on hold while she doubtless poisoned the pot with her boss.

The boss came on the phone. He was prepared for me to be a shrew. But I had something better than shrewishness, and it was, pardon me, balls. I channeled my dad, who is Mr. Business. I had all my documentation in front of me and I. did. not. back. down. Very politely (but without an ounce of nice) I let him know that the letter writer and hatchet thrower was full of [other-than-the-scent-of-new-mown-grass] and that her actions had serious consequences that we would be happy to pursue in court if he did not rescind the action notified to us in the letter of the year. Right now.

I even used my super-low mommy voice. You know the one.

You also know I was sweating big time. You know it was a good thing we were on the phone and not across a conference table because I 'bout wet my pants with the stress of being simply assertive. I was shaking so much when I hung up that I think it qualified as a workout. But I won! I didn't use honey, but I wasn't out to catch flies. I was swimming with the sharks, and I'm no Gidget (shaddup).

I think I'll have that Diet Coke now. I have conquered business. The laundry room will have to wait another day. That'll be nice. (See what I did there? With the nice?)

Not As Hardcore as KL

Before... I didn't even have to do anything to stage the awesomeness of this before pic.

After... I so hesitated to post these because I don't think my after is that impressive. But take a moment to compare it to the before. Please.

And then pretty please notice that I struggle with an affliction called "open shelving," otherwise known as the stupidest kitchen design known to womankind. It gives clutter a new place to exhibit itself in all glory. It also is a good incentive to not have any junk food in the house, because it'd be in plain view all the time and thus more likely to be scarfed by me. There's no temptation in a glass canister of dry black beans, no siree.

Anywhat, I am posting for the sake of Lexi and KL, both of whom are way awesome at this challenge thing. Maybe a little bit because Lexi said I'd be a whiny baby if I didn't do it. My husband the EGE thanks you ever so much. Did anyone notice that Lexi posted only "after" photos... and at this moment, KL only posted "before" photos?

Now. That. Is. Hardcore.

Sidetracked Tackle

I "see" your "kitchen" challenge, Lexi, and I up the ante to a "FIX SOMETHING MECHANICAL."

Now, if we were playing poker, you might call my bluff. But I have proof. Just ask my neighbors who run a b&b -- I fixed the electric fence charger, and my horses are not now nor were they ever eating anyone's lavender hedge. I promise. Because I am such a farmchick that I can fix fencing and electrical thingamajigs when my EGE is at work even.

Today I was all about finishing up my laundry room. An L-shaped room with five doors to our downstairs bathroom, the kitchen, the outside, the water heater closet, and the stairs, it is impossible to place anything in our laundry room. And yet we have "placed" plenty in there: an antique icebox used as pantry storage with laundry supplies on top; a stacked front-load high-capacity washer and dryer set; my treadmill; four hampers for lights, darks, bleachy needs, and delicates; and finally, a dresser for linens because my ancient church of a house has no storage whatsoever. I started the laundry room tackle last week, and my local farmchicky friends can attest that I have been digging it out with gusto. I WILL walk on that treadmill. Especially since now the weather is finally nice. Hunh. I WILL NOT have 10 loads to wash in my spare weekend time over Mother's Day. We WILL walk straight to the bathroom instead of detouring around hamper overflow.

But I digress. Backing up to the horse fencing: If you could have seen me in December, 9-plus months pregnant, losing rubber boots in the thigh-high mud, resetting posts in my last pair of maternity pants that fitted well enough to wear to the doctor's office, well, it was not a pretty picture. It was likely amusing, but not pretty. I didn't "glow," I glowered. Anyhoo, I have been fixing the fence since December. At least I'm not pregnant anymore, because it's really ugly to see a pregnant woman shocked with low voltage when the charger comes back on inexplicably.

We had a brief respite from fence fixing when my father-in-law (the nicest man on the planet, really) took pity on my pregnant patheticness and gave us a "bull killer." Now, do not call PETA on us. This is merely a rancher/farmer description for a fence charger that will shock through something thicker than dandelion puffs. They should call it "weed burner." No, that would be bad for Smokey the Bear. Anyhoo, it is a charger strong enough to remind the livestock they need to stay put. Even when it is turned off, they remember for a really long time the last time they were reminded. It works for me.

Until this morning. Yes, this fateful morning the EGE mentioned casually on his way out the door that the charger might need new fuses... he'd pick some up on his way home... the fence is off.

OH DRAT... double, triple, lousy stinky asterisk and exclamation point. If the charger is not working, I have to watch the horses like a horse hawk. I cannot leave my kitchen window unless it is to chase them back in the paddocks. Two Spot will not challenge the fence, nor will Seven. But yesterday we brought the naughty pony home from leased pasture and she is a Horsey Houdini. Dolly is her name. (I can think of a horror movie about a Dolly, too.) She will break out of her paddock at the first possible opportunity and head straight for the horse-hating b&b property next door and immediately commence munching on their flowerbeds.

All plans of polishing off the laundry room project were abandoned. I determined to FINALLY FIX THE FENCE. I'll fix that fence, my pretties!

It involved a lot of lying on the ground (remember me fixing the washer? I do rock the fix-it scene, huh?) and then on the floor of the barn with wires wrapped dangerously around my head. It involved my brother (don't tell the EGE I had help, cuz I plan on milking this one) arriving from town with fuses. It involved me stringing new extension cords and testing currents. I tell you, it was both technical and mechanical. It was astounding. No, I was astounding.

The horses were amazed at my ability. They had counted on a day of escape and chase but were foiled by little old housewifely me. A farmchick at last.

And that, my friends, is why I didn't finish my tackle today.