Sensory Board

Lincoln has successfully broken in everything in his nursery.

He's smeared poop on his freshly painted accent wall.
Spit up on the new rug...and chair...and dresser...and sheets.
Thrown his head into the door moulding.
Oh, and broken in this new mama's heart too, but I know he isn't done with that mission.

I think I'm most happy that he is truly enjoying his sensory board. We worked hard on it before he was born and as I was 9 months pregnant painting tiny touch ups along the edges, I often thought to myself, "I hope he actually gives a shit about this."

Photo by Patchwork Photography

He does.
But I would have been OK if he didn't.

Part of our morning ritual is peek-a-boo in the top mirrors and then he gets to touch the LEGOs. Until he pulls one off and eats it. Then my morning ritual will be crying and feeling like a bad mom for a few months and writing in my therapy journal during his nap.

I've listed out the items that we used to make the sensory board at the bottom.

We were originally going to use fake grass for the bottom center square, but the grass pieces pulled off too easily. Instead we went with a shower mat wrapped around a square of plywood painted green.

We used the Behr sample size paints from Home Depot and had plenty. They are only a few dollars each.

Anthony made a cleat set up to mount it to the wall.

A large cleat at the top and a smaller one at the bottom.

The lamp at the top was spliced with a cord to plug into the wall and connected to the light switch in the green square. We bought a green bulb for the light because color conservation wasn't part of the plan.

Products used:

Plywood sheet - 1/2" thick
Behr paint samples
Mirrors: Ikea LOTS mirrors - 2 packs
Ikea KVINTETT wall light
Green light bulb
LEGO Blue base plates - blue has been discontinued, but the green plates are the same size
Yellow steering wheel
Abacus - Ikea has one that would work just as well and is cheaper
Red light switch - from Home Depot
Clear bath mat

THEN:

NOW:

 

He slaps and spins those abacus beads like its his job.

 



Patty Melt

July in Arizona is the best time to do outdoor construction projects.  I'm serious.  You sweat off extra water weight -- your vitamin D levels shoot through the roof -- your life flashes in those fantastic moments when you go blind on the ladder with your drill bit half crammed into the main beam because the sweat pouring down your forehead just dumped a load of 150 proof sunblock into your eyes.  It is so magical.

I speak from experience, because we spent July 2011 building a new back patio covering.

I don't have a 'before' picture with the old rotting covering because I ripped it down in a tornado of terror back in 2007.  You will have to settle for this bare covering snap from one of our luxurious backyard BBQs. This must have been when I ran inside quick to grab another bottle of Cristal and more foie grais.

There is still a small scar on my right arm from that tornado of terror incident when I was assaulted by a beam of rusty nails.

I blame Anthony.

He should know that when I said "Our patio covering is starting to fall apart on its own.  Can we just tear it down and start planning a new one?" that I really meant "Listen. I'm home today and I really want to tear this bitch down. We've got ladders, various sizes of hammers and multiple tools that you can plug in to make sharp things spin. Mama wants to tear shit up."

90% was down by the time he got home from work, including the beam that tried to drag my with it on its death plummet.  And yes, my tetanus shot was up to date.

That's right.  Anthony said that I could start using his first name in the blog.  But, let's be real, you already knew his name was Anthony.  Because what other name would fit the person that texts you about how he is going to shit in a coworkers garbage can?  

Sean? No way.

Brandon? Nope.

Keith? Well, Keith might. But, it wouldn't be because all the stalls were full.

Did you do the math on this timeline? Patio covering came down in 2007 and the new one went up in 2011. Here's what you missed in between:

2007: Heidi fills out the building permit forms, puts on a V-neck shirt and a short skirt and heads downtown Phoenix to the city building.  Her droopies, pasty legs and cellulite have never sealed a deal before, but she is convinced that this time will be the first.  She returns home with a 'denied' stamp and shattered dreams.

2008-2009: Anthony works feverishly on Google Sketch Up to plan out all the patio details down to the very size of screw to use.

2010: Anthony and Heidi head back to City Hall with new and improved forms for a building permit.  Heidi wears her black Columbia fuzzy jacket and black work out pants without showering that morning.  During the process the city employee dismisses himself to go speak with "the chief engineer in back" three times.  Heidi and Anthony assume that there is a throne in the other room for said engineer with at least five maidens rubbing his feet and lifting the Dr. Pepper bottle with a straw to his lips.  They know they are right. Plans approved.  Oh, and the maidens bring him a bucket to poop in so he doesn't have to leave the throne.

2011: Details worked out with the lumber yard for supply order.  Anthony wants to delay one week because there is a high chance for monsoon rain and he doesn't want the wood damaged.  Heidi bursts into tears slobbering something about this one week is going to turn into another four years without a finished patio covering.  She continues her irrational breakdown for somewhere between ten minutes and an hour.  It is ugly.  

Wood arrives two weeks later.  Heidi apologizes again.

Catch up complete.  I may have left out of few Heidi meltdowns from 2009-2010 just for the sake of brevity.

Anthony printed off and attached the labels. Again, you already knew that.  Like emergency trash can dumpers, the name Anthony is also synonymous with meticulous wood organization.

I applied Thompson's Water Seal to every piece of wood. Every side.

Gluing and clamping started just days later.

"Maybe you should stop and remeasure that again so that we can make sure it is perfect" is something that I never said during the building process.

You can watch it construct itself in the video below.  It is from the vantage point of the lawn chair that I sat in the whole time while I watched.

Don't give me that.  It is midweek right now.  How else were you going to spend that 1 minute and 41 seconds?

Phew.  Now the door is open for me to start sharing about the weed growth in the backyard.  Thank God I don't need to consult 'the chief engineer in back' about those.

Brain Constipation

My brain is bloated and encumbered.

Sometimes it is just what happens when I have a few projects up in the air and I lose the ability to focus on the one that I am working on right at that moment. Everything on the list tries to cram in and ends up clogging my synapses.

Individually, my head computer should be processing:

~ the final art project for Viji's
~ my first ever bridesmaids dress alteration
~ Jen's baby quilt, baby shower and custom dinosaur room adornments
~ the vines a craft fair acquaintance is having me paint on her decorative plates
~ the NKOTB Donnie Wahlberg stand request I got on Etsy

This morning, it was all swirling into a jumbled mess.  My eyes glazed over as I envisioned a beautiful vine wedding arch framing the lovebirds Viji and Donnie. The silky fuchsia fabric was running through my fingertips reminding me that I needed to design and sew a bridesmaids dress in time for the ceremony. Then I heard the sound of helium filling a balloon, only to turn and see that Donnie was suddenly 11 months preggers with Jen's baby dinosaur.

I've got issues.

In a past job I had a giant whiteboard that I would write all my ongoing projects on with their little sub tasks. After completing a task I could glance up, see the other priority items and then choose the next task.

What should I use now? I've tried some online to do lists and project management things, tried Evernote, and still use my thick notebook for notes and planning, but it isn't the same. Maybe I just need to get a giant whiteboard for home. Maybe it is just the way I operate best. Like I take normal dumps on the toilet, I need to take brain dumps on the white board.

Before I got to the point where Donnie was ready to deliver this morning, Roldy brought me back to the present. He needed to take care of business too, and there was a heavy patio door standing in his way.

As I watched him take care of his number one and number two priorities, it became clear to me that Viji art, Ivy plates and Donnie stand were my priorities. And in that order.

I am back in business.

But I still want any tips you have. And eventually a giant white board.

Wicked Amount of Sequins

We've already established that I love red, houseguests, sequins and cupcakes. 

Add to that list Wicked: The Musical.

So, when I said the other day that there was a 'Witch Conference' last Saturday, what I meant was that three of my best bwitches came over and we hung out before driving to ASU for one of the best shows on Earth.

The original plan was for us to nosh quick and go to the show together. Plans changed after I sent Jill a text before boarding her flight on Friday night asking, "People are coming here to eat b4 the show. How do you feel about throwing together a quick Oz/Wicked party when you get here?"

She said, "Yes!" And Saturday morning she began delicately putting double stick tape around my white candles then rolling them in black glitter to make them witch tight striped.

Wait, let me back track.  Jill started that glitter candle process after I woke her up with the humm-hummmmida of my sewing machine. When you stay at my house, know that once 9:00 AM hits, I stop caring about your sleep needs and start to get stitchy. Our Wicked Witch of the East legs weren't going to sew themselves.

We plugged the glitter candles into the old Target candelabra that I spray painted green last Christmas. I might even leave it out for good now because I am obsessed with Jill's stripey precision.

Next we shoved the legs into place near the front door. 

The leg idea came from photos at the Crafty Lady blog. I loosely followed her tutorial, but with more red sequin...of course. 

Jill chalked in the yellow brick road. Yep, crawling along on her hands and knees outside my house to draw out the perfect bricks. She thought that when I brought out a damp cloth that it was for her--to cool herself from the heat of the day and wipe the sweat from her brow.  Nope. It was to wipe up that crazy yellow chalk brick that was doing its own thing and start over.

When she finished with that I made her put the embellishments on our wooden 'brick road' sign.

No. This is not the story of Cinderella? Why would you ask that?

By this point guests were set to arrive in about ten minutes. We still hadn't even showered. A quick face wash and hair slick weren't going to cut it. I was about 12 hours overdue for a deodorant touch up and was pretty sure that the workload and my pungent stench were going to keep Jill from ever wanting to visit again.

I threw together the green punch components in my trifle bowl -- lime sherbet, 7-Up and limeade concentrate. It was a hot mess. Knowing that I didn't have time to stir it and make it look pretty, I shoved the little foam witch hat we had made down onto the iceberg of sherbet that was sticking out of the top. Melting witch is supposed to be a hot mess, right? I became OK with it.

Five minutes left.

Crap. We still hadn't made those cute little witch leg cupcakes we saw on Pinterest. I made a two minute version. Stop judging me.

After I bolted out of the shower, greased my hair back, and was zipping up my dress, I heard Mr. Schatze entertaining our guests. Martha would throw up at my poor time management and lack of pulled togetherness. Oh well.

I threw a bow tie on Roldy quick and hoped that Jill had switched out the appetizers and stirred the meatballs.

She had.

Sigh of relief. The party was started. We could all drink and be merry. Merry, except for Jill who continually worked hard to make sure that the appetizers were hot and delicious.

Before the show I snuck off to my bedroom to put together the witch gift bags for my girls. They each got a CD of Wicked: The Musical, a sparkler wand and gifts from the wizard.

Do you get it? The wizard gifts?

Heart: A glittery heart notepad

Courage: A small bottle of liquid courage

Brains: A magazine. Hey, in my book, if you read it, then it counts as learnin.
 

Now it is over --a week later-- and I am left with only the lyrics of Defying Gravity on repeat in my head, witch legs sticking out from under the buffet, and an empty guest room. If I was a Saddy Sadderton, I think that I would lay on the couch and drown my sorrows in a giant glass of green punch with vodka. Since I'm not, I will be grateful today that I know you -- because I truly do believe that I have been changed for the better.

Oh, and then I'll take a minute to be grateful that Jill worked so hard to get this Wicked party thrown together. Just one though.

Be My Guest

I love having house guests.  Friends, family, friends of family friends---love it.

I lay in bed restlessly the night before a guest's arrival wondering if her favorite soda is still Squirt, if she will notice the spritz of lavender oil that I put on the bed sheets, wondering what we should have for breakfast the first day, hoping that Roldy won't pee on any of her baggage.

Excited to the point of delirium.

Comfort is important, so I do all of the standard pleasantries that you read about for hosting:

~ Magazines by the bed, to include a local guide, and a candle that won't fight with a lavender spritz here or there.

~ A bottle of water with an Ann Taintor coaster.

~ Photos of fun times in the past accented with a bowl of chocolates.

These are normal preparations.

I should just stop there.

But, I don't. Didn't:

~ The pile on the fluffy bathroom rugs welcomes hand brushed messages. Why not? I put a heart on the one by the toilet.

~ Thanks to Pinterest, I have been introduced to toilet paper origami. While it was more time on the toilet than I like to spend in a day, the pleated tuck is much more welcoming than a folded point. Worth it. I might just force Jill into drinking a jug of water the second she gets off the plane.

~ And I couldn't resist positioning the fake, rotating video camera with the blinky red light behind the guest bedroom curtains.  Best $4.99 at Harbor Freight I've ever spent.  It's not creepy, right?

Now I just have to wait for her to get here. 

Maybe I will start planning out the bed and breakfast that I want to have some day.  Oh goodness, no. I couldn't have it be your run of the mill B&B.  You see, what I'm going to do is wait for the reservation to come in. Then, start stalking them.  Dig up some old photos from their home town high school yearbooks to display in the room. Find their grandmom's coffee cake recipe from the old church recipe book, and serve it that first morning. Perhaps even learn some family history on ancestry.com and leave a list of people they didn't know they were related to on a notepad beside the bed.

I can see it now.

Dear Bruce & Debby, 

Just wanted to let you know that all those years that Bruce thought his dad was out of town for conferences, he was really in Phoenix starting a second family.  You have a brother, two sisters and ten nieces and nephews...and they live just down the street! 

Breakfast (Debby's grandma's bacon egg bake) will be served promptly at 8:30. I have taken the liberty of switching it to turkey bacon because of Bruce's drastically high cholesterol levels at his last physical.  Are you feeding him lard for a bedtime snack, Debby? Shiza. 

Thank you again for staying at Heidi's In Your Business B&B. 

You're welcome.
Heidi 

P.S. Bruce's new-to-him brother, Eddie, will be at breakfast along with his two teenage daughters, one of whom needs a new kidney. You might as well go ahead and donate one Bruce since you are about one flight of stairs away from a triple bypass anyway. What's the worst that could happen? You die and then stop holding Debby back from her dreams? She has been wanting to start that bakery for 15 years now, and if you can't be supportive, then maybe your life insurance check will be.  

P.P.S. I know it is hard to see, but your toilet paper origami is in the shape of a defibrillator. 

DIViji: Paint your railings? Nah, buy a new House.

There is sort of a loose format I use when sharing project content with you. 

1. Start something

2. Learn lessons along the way

3. Finish something

4. Share it with you

I'm going to switch it up today and share with you mid-project because I am on the verge of slamming my head into Viji's railings.  These railings:

When Viji went with the dark brown wall color, I really wanted her to paint the railings too.  Bad.  Quotes from the painters were over $800.  The few cans of Annie Sloan paint and wax we would need were closer to $100.  Viji wasn't sold on the idea so I made her a pinterest board to show her how great it can look.

I may have begged a little.

Mr. Schatze voiced his concern when I broke down my project timeline and gave the task of painting Viji's railings one day.  Go ahead.  Get it out of your system. Keep laughing. As a matter of fact some days I DO drink too much and believe that I have super powers.

The point that I am trying to make is that I dove head first into this railing painting quicksand all on my own.

I was so happy when we started. Last year.

But, became slightly nervous when I realized that one coat of white still looked pretty crappy.

I found it in myself to laugh when I talked to Viji about how drinking and painting before bed might not be the best choice for her.

When the second coat of white started going on (the two left spindles) I found a renewed hope and enthusiasm.  I could do this.

But then, evenings at home turned into a broken record.

Mr Schatze:  What did you do today at Viji's?
Me:  Painted the railings.
Me:  Painted the railings.
Me:  Thought about throwing myself over the balcony as I painted the railings.

Mr Schatze:  How many spindles do you have left?
Me:  I don't know. I refuse to count them until it is over because it might make me cry.
Mr Schatze:  So how did you make a timeline on how long this was going to take?
Me:  I just wanted to paint the railings! Don't act like this surprises you!
Mr Schatze:  <with a slow head shake> Oh, Heidi.
5 second pause
Mr Schatze:  So what are you going to do tomorrow at Viji's?
Me:  Too soon, my love. Too soon.

In the beginning I looked forward to the peace and tranquility of painting. It was meditative. Closer to Christmas I found myself needing background noise to drown out the delirious paint-hater voices in my head while I swung my brush.  I got to catch up on a little Day of Our Lives that way. Things were moving up again.

On a side note, Patti Stanger lost all credibility with me as a matchmaker when she told Nicole that she could trust EJ and that he would make a great husband and father...two seconds after EJ got done sleeping with Sami. Bad call, Patti.

Then things went downhill again when I forgot to tell Viji that the masking tape was there to tape off the top of the white before we started on the brown. No biggie. Easy fix.  <insert three deep breaths into my paper bag> Like the backsplash, it was something that I was overly obsessive about. Viji clearly didn't have the face sweat / dry heave a little reaction to the brown ferociously violating the white spindles like I did.

We made it past.

We even made it past all the brown and all the little touch ups.

We are on the home stretch. The wax coat.

In all honesty, we...I mean I, am not on any stretch at all.  At this moment, I am sitting at my dining room table staring at the computer screen completely unmotivated to drive myself over to the spindles of my demise. To spend hours pulling the old sock back and forth on those decorative banister balls to make them all shiny with their new wax sealer. But I will...hopefully with your help.

I need you.  Whatever spiritual practice you participate in.  If you could send me prayers, energy, light, angels, reiki, love, etc., it will be welcomed with an open heart and an open can of wax.  Want to send me a text about how you are going to shit in someone's trash can? Even better.

DIViji: Girl You Look Good When You Back That Splash Up

Viji's kitchen backsplash project makes me wonder how I ever make it through the day.  How I get my pants on without falling over.  How I cook my eggs without burning down the house.  How I brush my teeth without brushing my whole face.  Just one of those tasks that makes me feel like I should have been held back longer in middle school.

It seemed fairly simple.  The white section of wall is where Viji decided to put a backsplash.  Just one wall.  No corner sections.  No curves.  Just wall.

These were the tiles that she chose.  They are peel and stick.  She wanted the pattern to alternate one row of short grain and one row of long grain.  You apply them by peeling and sticking, people.  No grout. No spacers. No brainer.

It started off smooth from the corner.  Viji had cleaned the wall well and I may have even hummed some Christmas carols while I peeled and stuck.

Once we got to the first outlet, I started taking measurements so that we could cut the tiles to meet flush with the cupboards and butt up to the outlet.

The tile instructions said that they could be cut with a razor blade or hand saw but I really wanted to use the grinder.  There may have been a tiny, little skirmish when I asked Mr. Schatze for help.

Mr: Let me try the razor blade on one.
Me: I want to use the grinder.
Mr: It's not very safe.  Let's try the razor or saw.
Me:  Can't we just try the grinder and get it done quick?
Mr.:  You're going to do whatever you want anyway, so why are you asking?
Me: <with the safety glasses on and the grinder plugged in> Why would you even say something like that?!

We tried the razor, but quickly found our way back to my buddy the grinder.

Back at Viji's, I peeled and she stuck.  She even made the effort to sand the area above the stove to make sure they would stick nicely.

Issue #1:  When we moved from right to left we didn't pencil out the grid to make sure that we stayed on track.  So, by the time we made it to the countertop on the other side of the stove we were about a quarter of an inch above it.  Viji said that she didn't mind.

I minded.  I minded a lot.

We repositioned a few of them and got it looking somewhat better.  A better that would at least allow me to sleep that night.

Issue #2.  Sleep that night was all I got.  By the next morning, most of the tiles had jumped ship, completely disgraced that we would position them in such a half-assed manner.

I set up a new grinding station in Viji's garage and got back to it.  This time, I marked out the layout so that they would end up flush on the other side of the counter as well.  Like I should have done the first time.

We bought some hardcore adhesive from Home Depot and the new process became: Peel, Squirt, Stick.

Issue #3.  Below is the outlet that just about did me in.  I reached in so I could get a good grab on the outlet, pull it out and then slide the tile piece behind.  When the current surged through me, I was sure my finger had been fried off.  I even looked for an exit point.  It was likely a fraction of a second but I still saw my life flash.

What?  I know.  When do we learn this lesson?  As toddlers.

Look, no gap.

Issue #4.  I couldn't follow the pattern.  Some have the grain going the length of the tile, some have the grain going the height.  My new process soon became:  Peel, Squirt, Stick, Pry Off.  I was paying attention, just doing the wrong thing, and kind of wanted to cry a little bit.

On the verge of an unsightly pity party, I got a little blessing from Heaven wrapped up in a text message from Mr. Schatze.  He was lamenting about the construction going on in the bathrooms at his place of work.  While the commodes get remodeled, they are left with two stalls for 100s of male employees.

I swear to God I'm going to shit in somebody's garbage can.  I can't believe this.  One guy has been in the same stall for 30 minutes.  I think he's dead...

How can you feel sorry for yourself after getting that text message?  I couldn't.  Just what I needed.