| Office |
After a year of living here, we finally got our act together and furnished our main floor office. It's directly off the main entrance of our house and the perfect place where I can meet and greet with photography clients. And people, I am so totally digging it because my previous workspace? Yeah, totally a rumply unmade king-sized bed perpetually covered in dog fur. I'm pretty sure asking people to join me in bed to discuss finances would have a been a tad awkward, no?
  Labels: From House to Home, Photography |
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| 90 lb lunatic |
Samson is as equally smart as he is crazy. It’s a strange phenomena really to have to explain to people who ring my doorbell that the batshit crazy dog whose collar I am struggling to hold onto because he is lunging like a 90 lb lunatic at the prospect of seeing another human is actually a good dog.
The thing is, there are two types of Labs out there. There are the good family oriented English Labs, and then there are the of epic dynamos of endless energy called American Labs. Which basically means we picked the wrong kind. If you have ever read Marley and Me, or saw the movie let me just say that Samson is totally Marley’s long lost American Lab brother. There is just no other explanation for their uncanny and humiliating similarities.
So, Samson is am American Lab and he is three and a half going on three months. He has the potent youthful vitality of a puppy and the majority of his brain is made of rocks with one small part reserved for intelligence. But let’s not confuse dog smarts with wisdom because I’m pretty sure if I asked Samson for advice, every answer would be to eat cheese.
Samson can do the basic dog things like sit, lay down, stand and stay. Except you can't actually speak a command to him because he only obeys sign language. True story. He’s a great running partner who heels right beside you. He can even ring a potty bell to let you know he wants back inside. All this sounds fine and good but then he went and figured out something that makes him too smart for his own good.
People, my dog has gone and figured out how to open a door. Yes that is right, Samson opens doors. Unless it has a door knob because that requires an opposable thumb and I'm still waiting for him to ask for that plastic surgery operation. But yes, he can open doors. All the main floor doors in our house have push levers, so even though he knows how to ring his potty bell to be let in from outside, he does one of two things; he either lets himself in and leaves the door open behind him, or, if the door is locked he gets up on his hind legs and pounds and scratches on the door with his front paws. And when he does that, it sends me fleeing into a fit of rage yelling “NO! Samson NO!” And you see where I’m going with this right? Who has who trained because I’m pretty sure Samson wins on that front for me locking him out in the first place.
One time we tried to teach Samson a trick called “go get me a beer Samson” which was the dumbest thing we could do really because we made it as far as getting him to tug on a towel to open the fridge but then he would head straight for the cheese and that was a very short lived attempt at teaching an old dog new tricks if we wanted to actually use our refrigerator as a place to store food.
Anyway, a few days after we moved in, Mark and I were across the street visiting the neighbours. Mark was outside talking to some people and I was inside sitting at their kitchen table while their preteen made me a pair of earrings and all of a sudden a flash of yellow fur came barreling through their front door. It took me a good five seconds to register the fact that it was Samson! My dog had just decided to let himself out of OUR house, accost and crotch poke the neighbour who lives beside us (we’ve since learned) AND THEN come bolting at the speed of light straight into the house of people whom we’d only known for like half an hour.
I was so mortified and do you think he would let me grab his collar to drag him home? Nope. I had to chase him outside, which made him think we were all having a good old game of chase the dog, so there Mark and I were, the new people in the neighbourhood trying to make a good first impression and all we managed to do was ultimately become a neighbourhood spectable while we chased our dog down the street.
At least Samson has managed to keep one consistent friend in his life.
 Labels: From House to Home, Samson |
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| Alphabet Art |
Mark and I are continuing to settle in, but not by unpacking boxes. No we were out of the mountainous pile of boxes what feels like eons ago. Now we’re at the fun part where we get to paint and decorate and ask each other for a divorce everyday over our inability to paint together in perfect domestic harmony. Over the years I have developed a very simple solution to our constant bickering and that is to let Mark do all the work while I take on the very fatiguing task of lifting my exhausted fingers to wipe the sweat off his brow.
For the most part, I like the colours the previous home owners have painted, but some of it is a bit too yellow-y for my taste, and a bit too purple-y for a boys room and a bit too holy hooker red with matching yellow and orange stripped circus curtains for me to feel all Zen eating a fancy pants slice of frozen pizza in the dining room, you know?
That said, it’s been so nice to finally, FINALLY, do things to make this place feel like home because we never did that in the old house. We pretty much moved in expecting to move in a few years anyway and then Ava died and that just hastened our need to start over even more and now, here we are. Starting over. I thought these four pieces of art by Jennifer Blakeley of AlphabetPhotography.com were a good fit for us. We hung them in the hallway leading into the kitchen and the family room, a gentle daily reminder of what this family is all about.
 “A Family is like fudge, mostly sweet with a few nuts” – unknown
 “We don’t laugh because we are happy. We are happy because we laugh” – William James
 “Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept trying when there seemed to be no hope at all” – Dale Carnegie
 “Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence” – Helen KellerLabels: All in the Family, From House to Home |
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| All I actually intended to buy was coffee |
See what happens when you go shopping half asleep?
Lesson number one: Heed ye this warning people. Aside from the jaw-dropping final bill, schlepping through the empty early morning aisles at Wal-Mart before caffeinating one's body may cause your inner bitch to ROAR when a staff member yells at you for opening a box to see if you actually like the colour and quality of the new dinner set you intend to buy. And when you question her demands by saying there are no signs stating you're making her life hell by the possibility of maybe, just maybe, invoking the intolerable task of causing her to close a fucking box, which, god, I’m not a moron, I can close a box myself and also? Also? I religiously spend a couple hundred dollars at Wal-Mart every month, you know, on Pull Ups and shampoo all that crap for my family, so are you telling me that after all these years of spending stupid amounts of money here, oh and let’s not forget I have a cart full of like $400 bucks worth of crap, that if I just go ahead and buy this dinnerware set and take it home and totally dismantle the goddam box and decided I hate it and return it, that instead of repacking one plate (which, again, I can slip back in the box thankyouverymuch I AM HUMAN observe this prowess I like call hands), that repackaging all 16 pieces at a later date is a better option? I’m sorry but I need to see what I’m fucking paying for.
Lesson number two: Never, EVER leave the house uncaffeinated. It's like PMS on speed with a crotchety hangover.Labels: From House to Home, Soapbox |
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| Possession date: July 14 |
It’s been two weeks since we officially became owners of a new house. Two weeks that have flown by so quickly I barely even remember blinking. Between dealing and negotiating interest rates with banks, trying to dig up all the documents our Lawyer needs (I didn’t even know we were supposed to have the transfer of land/deed to our house,) contacting and making arrangements for home insurance and then dealing with a life insurance agent that didn’t want to talk to me because it was Mark’s policy I was increasing, which, as far as I'm concerned doesn't really matter because Mark is the one that has to pee in the cup anyway, but fine. The thing is, Mark just does not have the time or luxury during the day to deal with the annoying replacement of our old Broker who a) doesn’t return phones calls and b) after scanning and sending the first few pages of his current policy from Equitable Life, the new insurance broker was all, hmm, this looks like a Royal Bank policy, are you sure you scanned the right document? And then because the whole process of just trying to get him to arrange the paramedical before Mark turns 90 had already been going on for two weeks I not so delicately sent an email to point out that in the first five pages Mark's current policy (which he received) says EQUITABLE LIFE no less than 22 times. A paramedical nurse called a few hours later and Mark gets to pee in a cup next week.
Whoever said once you finally sold and bought means you can finally relax is clearly delusional. I’ll take going through strangers homes and snooping in their closets over calling customer service after customer service agent to switch over our services any day.
Nate absolutely loved the whole process of buying a new home. Every morning he would wake up and the first thing out of his mouth would be, “I wanna buy a new house mom.” Wait, correction. The first thing out of this mouth every morning, without fail is, “I wanna watch a toon, I wan’t milk, I peed in my diaper.” Exactly like that, all in one sentence. AND THEN he would tell me that he wanted to buy a new house.
Whenever we were out looking at homes he would instantly turn into a riotous toddler on a mission to explore his new surroundings and start running through halls and corridors telling me that he wanted to buy THIS house. It really didn’t matter WHAT house, just that he wanted to buy THIS house with the money he has saved in his piggy bank.
And finally, twenty days of after closing the deal on our house, we found a place that we plan to call home for a very VERY long time so help me god if I get to itch to move again please direct my attention immediately to a padded room in an insane asylum.
The second I saw this house, it felt like home. It’s in a community with traffic calming roundabouts and located on a child-safe crescent. My Father-in-Law called it the “gingerbread house” and at first I was all huh? My house looks tasty? But then I got what he meant. It’s a quaint red brick suburban home with tall gingerbread-like roof peaks and a cute wraparound porch leading to a lipstick-red double door entrance.
The entry opens to a foyer with a 20 foot ceiling and spiral oak staircase. Immediately to the left is an office which, someday, I hope to turn into a photography studio.
Immediately at the top of the stairs are double doors that lead into the master bedroom, which has yet another double door entrance to an en-suite large enough for BOTH Mark and me to brush our teeth at the same time without bumping elbows. The best part though, ok, besides the giant tub, is that the en-suite has a separate room for the toilet, which is totally brilliant because what woman doesn’t want to wake up in the morning and send her husband to the water closet so she can do her makeup in adequately ventilated air.
Oh, and I absolutely adore the architectural details of Nate’s future bedroom, which he calls the “castle” room. It has a Cathedral ceiling, a rounded wall and tall peaked church-like windows. The other two bedrooms, will, er, stay empty. For now.
There are even newly planted fruit trees outside. Which may or may not be a good thing depending on whether or not Samson decides if he likes pears.
When I asked Nate what his favourite part of the new house was, he said the kitty door. I didn't have the heart to tell him that one of our cats is probably too fat to fit through it.
And now that we bought a house, Nate's all upset and wants to buy ANOTHER one. Either I have a budding real estate mongrel on my hands or we need to work on the concept of the value of a penny.
###
A few pictures of the new house:
 Entrance.
 Staircase.
 Open Foyer to above, clearly in need of a pimped out chandelier.
 Main floor office/Future Studio?
 Now we're cooking with gas.
 Eat-in Kitchen.
 Entrance to master en-suite.
 Nate's future "castle" bedroom.
 Curved castle-y wall.
There are a few more photos from the MLS listing on flickr, too.Labels: From House to Home |
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| The Unofficial Guide to Selling Your House |
Week 1:
Change sheets every day to get rid of dog fur and leave an enticing freshly-washed scent. Carefully place fluffed pillows for maximum feeling of pillowy comfort.
Precisely line up and arrange all of the three billion books on your child's bookshelf according to height and book style.
Actually fold the toilet paper into nice little corners like they do at fancy hotels.
Carefully windex every picture frame, vase, lamp and every glass surface to clean away dog snot and sticky finger prints from an unnamed source that resemble yesterday's meal of chicken fingers and BBQ sauce.
Meticulously fold and strategically arrange clothes in the closet to give the illusion of a professional couple who cares about how they look.
Edit and remove unnecessary items from the linen closet, delicately hide fragrant Bounce sheets between perfectly folded linen and towels and line up all the shampoo and conditioner and personal hygiene stuff anal-retentive style.
Feel genuinely worried about random bird shit on your nicely landscaped sedum and shrub-lined walkway with freshly blooming tulips and crocuses.
Because your dog is shy and only shits in the backyard, do poop patrol every single day to ensure no one steps in a deal-breaking pile of shit.
Diligently file and put away all mail and bills in their respective folders in the filing cabinet.
Vacuum everyday, including both flights of stairs and under the sofa cushions.
Bake a batch of muffins before every showing to give an enticingly fresh smell of banana-infused yumminess.
Ensure all dishes are clean and washed and emptied from the dishwasher.
Buy easy to prepare meals that are healthy and smell-free.
Week 2:
Attempt to just sort of brush off as much yellow dog fur as possible from your black sheets. Throw pillows on bed.
Make sure all the books that your child likes to empty off his bookshelf and onto the floor are actually on the bookshelf.
Decide no one notices your attempt at making toilet paper look fancy.
Windex AROUND every picture frame, vase and lamp.
Leave laundry baskets of carefully folded clothing in a corner of the closet.
Fail to care about re-ordering the shampoo bottles after needing a new bottle for your shower and dump half-assed folded towels on their respective shelf.
Attempt to ignore the bird shit on your walkway because LOOK! Pretty purple crocuses! And almost ready to bloom tulips!
Consider how long 90 lbs worth of dog body can survive without food so he stops shitting like a cow.
Shove random papers and bills under the futon in the office.
Vacuum every other day, spot clean as needed.
Bake just ONE muffin before every showing.
Ensure all dishes are clean and washed but fail to empty the dishwasher.
Survive on frozen pizzas because you are too exhausted to cook after spending all your time cleaning so people could wander through your house all evening.
Week 3:
Leave dog fur on the bed and feel a sense of accomplishment for just making the goddam bed YET AGAIN. Most people like dogs anyway, right?
Haphazardly toss books back onto bookshelf and cease to care whether they are upright or upside down or right side up because at least the floor in your child's room is tidy, right?
Glance to make sure there is actually toilet paper on the roll.
Windex only stinky-fingered smudges and dog snot that the naked eye could only see from a mile away.
Leave laundry basket of dirty clothes in a corner of the closet.
Dude, it's a linen closet. And the effort to fold a fitted sheet into perfection is just, well, not worth the aggravation. That task should be left to the Martha Stewart's of the world. Proudly put your rolled up balls of black sheets on the shelf.
Birds shit. And sometimes on a walkway. It happens. Meh, whatev.
Skip a day of picking up dog shit from the backyward and hope it rains enough to wash the shit away.
Watch in dumbfounded amazement the rapid growth of unfiled papers continuing to hide under the office futon.
Vacuum? What is that? Also? Hide random things under the sofa and between the cushions.
Skip the muffins. Spray Febreeze instead.
Leave dirty dishes in the dishwasher and wait for a full load, you know, to save the planet.
Order take-out pizza because you are too exhausted to even shop for frozen pizza, let alone pre-heat the oven and then cringe at all the calories you consumed when you realize all you have to recycle later that week is a tower of pizza boxes.
Week 4:
Lose your mind and take up drinking as a viable coping strategy.Labels: From House to Home |
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| The cat who is fat |
The cat who is fat, who also does not give two shits about me or my family or pretty much anything else unless it involves the glutinous consumption of food.*
*This side note totally has nothing to do with the above caption, but I'm pretty sure a random asterisk to mention the fact that I AM GOING ABSOLUTELY CRAZY trying to sell this house makes up for the haphazard attempt to publish a post in the 4.2 seconds I have before random strangers pee in my toilet and leave the toilet seat up! Again!
Um, RANDOM DUDES? GROSS!
Also? I know it's totally my choice to sell this house, I totally do, but I just have to say it. It's an absolute nightmare trying to live in perfection EVERY! SINGLE! DAY! when all I want to do is leave that massive pile of laundry on the floor for one more week and stop windexing the perpetual dog snot off of ever single surface in the whole entire house, including nose prints on a window so high that would require the skills only a dog enrolled in the doggy Olympics could possess. Um, Hello? Why did they not cast my crazy dog Samson for the movie Marley & Me? DOOD! He's his twin long lost bad ass brother! I swear!
And maybe, just maybe, it might be nice to to finally have a cat that does not eat until his belly is thisclose to exploding before he shits and stink up the entire house accordingly seconds before a home showing.
Also? And perhaps it's not really worth mentioning at this point that my perpetual attempts at hiding a bazillion trillion toys every day causes a colossal toddler meltdown, because I'm pretty sure everyone knows that's a given, but if there's any saving grace, it's that all this chaos can be easily rectified with a McDonald's French Fry. And, well, that and a secret penchant that one day my skinny two-year-old will weigh more than my cat.Labels: From House to Home, Nate |
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| Rejected |
For those of you who follow me on twitter or facebook, you know that last night, Mark and I sat on pins and needles waiting to hear the news about an offer we made to purchase a house.
Just to backtrack for a moment, our desire to move began pretty much the exact day that Ava died. How can one live in house with so many bad memories? A house where I walk the same halls I used to scream at until I fell over in a heap of crumpled grief? The desire to move has been strong, but it also has been a desire carefully weighed against finances and affordability
After careful consideration, Mark and I decided to move after Nate was born. So, armed with newborn-weary enthusiasm, we began the process of looking for a home two years ago. Oh, we must have looked at least few dozen or few thousand houses and absolutely none of them felt like home.
Frustrated, we put the idea of moving on hold for a little while, saved our pennies for a larger down payment, and just last weekend decided to head out with a real estate agent and to get an idea of what was on the market outside the realm of what the perfected pictures on MLS told me.
Mark and fell absolutely head over heels in love with the second house we saw. And I know that sounds quick, but I have pretty much been having a daily love affair with MLS for the past two years and although sometimes I swoon at homes that are like, totally only for people with seventy billion dollars in the bank, mostly, the search results come up with a gasp-worthy abundance of circa 1980 Easter egg coloured walls and never ending pink bathroom tile.
Anyhow, last Sunday we visited a home and OH! MY! I have never walked into a house that felt so much like a HOME. I can only liken the feeling to that of an old adage that a bride will just know what wedding dress is perfect for her when she tries it on.
I mean, I just knew the house was a place that I could call home for a very VERY long time. And it had nothing to do with the way it was decorated. God no! Pretty much every room had either cringe-worthy country kitsch rooster or flowery wall paper borders covering paint hues that only a 7000 year old Grandma with way too many cats could love. But, despite all the cats, man oh man I could SO envision a future of Nate running through the endless corridors and rooms, opening Christmas presents in the family room next to the heated warmth of a red-emberred fire and then spending his afternoons playing road hockey on a child safe and traffic-quieted crescent within a crescent street.
There was even a main floor library, which I would have totally turned into a room donned with two high wing back chair in front of a giant furry area rug facing a cozy fireplace where one could have heated sex with their husband behind French doors. Because who needs books when you’re classy like me?
The backyard was lined with mature mile high privacy-enhancing trees and was spacious enough for Samson to find plenty of places to shit. The master bedroom was even so big that our real estate agent made some sort of comment that you could have a party in it and Mark was all, “Isn’t that the point?”
The home was, in a word, amazing, and the following day Mark and I decided to put in an offer. Which we were so excited about it, except apparently we weren’t the only people who thought the house was perfect because we were quickly made aware of fact that multiple offers were also being arranged.
And so, we didn’t get our hopes up because we knew we were going in with the condition on the sale of our home first, but you know, it’s a buyer’s market and with the right offer, maybe, just maybe we might get lucky right? Right?
Wrong. Our offer was rejected. Right along with every other offer last night because every single one of them had the same condition about selling their current property first and the seller did not like that one bit.
When Nate woke up this morning we told him that we didn’t win the new house and his adorable little sleepy face scrunched into a frown, his bottom lip began to quiver and then full blown tears streamed down his cheeks as he asked, “No Catty’s?
And we had to tell him that no, unfortunately, some pussy is going to have a hard time selling their gargantuan house in this shit market.Labels: From House to Home |
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