Snippets of Stuff

Caulk and Mud
Last week, I had the pleasure of scraping off the remnants of a bad caulking job with a razor blade.  

Took me about 2 hours of pure, unadulterated fun. 

 

 
Since I was working on the kitchen window which overlooks the front yard, I was able to boot the boys outside to play.

Sure enough, they made a mud hole.

And proceeded to paint their bodies.

You might be thinking, "Oh, wow.  She's such a chilled mom to let her kids get so dirty."  Not so.  I am trying to be more of a chilled, spontaneous, "let's-go-out-and-get-MUDDY" type of mom.

But this was an act of occupation desperation.  I needed their hands and hearts to be doing something (anything!) while I scraped the caulk.

And as long as their chosen activity didn't involve guns, knives, illegal drugs, or motor vehicles, I was good with it.

Guilt

I am often racked with guilt that our pet rabbit, Mr. Sniffer, has to live his life in a (luxury) hutch on our back porch. 

So (every now and then) I let him inside.  He stays in the kitchen and rips up the newspaper.  The kids feed him expensive organic produce and I feel better about the state of our animal affairs.

Love
The day that my children stop putting on their shirts, shorts, and underwear backwards will be a sad one for me.

And Finally...My Pantry
Surely you remember the "before" shot:

Ahhhhh.   Now it's white and there's SPACE between the items.  Magazine beautiful?  No.   But very practical and ultra user-friendly. 

I'm going back in there to stare at it now.

A Really Yucky Recipe (and the Kitchen Isn't Quite Done Yet)

I finally cooked something in my pretty, new, partially-finished kitchen.  

But it wasn't great.

Which is really disappointing. 

Because I so badly wanted to successfully post a recipe tonight.  

I miss cooking and sharing my stuff with you.

This evening I made Chicken with Sweet Raisins and Apricot Sauce over Parsley-ed Orzo with Toasted Almonds.  (An adapted Rachel Ray recipe.)

During dinner, Chris and I said (approximately 9 thousand times) to the kids:  "Put a bite in your mouth, Timothy."  "Come on, take a bite Matthew."  "Finish up!"  "Come on!"  "Chew it up, boys!"   

(Almost every mealtime I feel like Napoleon Dynamite saying to the family's pet llama, "EAT YOUR  FOOD, TINA!!!!!")  

In a sweet, loving, motherly way, of course.

But tonight, my Timothy was really trying his best to obey.  I knew he was hungry.  

After staring at his plate for a while, he finally scrunched up his little nose, exhaled loudly, and said in all sincerity and without the slightest hint of disrespect, "Mommy.  This chicken is super yucky!" 

How can I possibly respond to that?  I was laughing so hard, hiding behind the counter so he wouldn't see me cracking. 

"Oh, go on, boys.  Go wash your hands and play."

I will not post this recipe, and not just because my kid didn't like it.  As fellow food photographers will understand, the sauce (plus the raisins and apricots) turned the chicken a funky color and I cannot even describe to you how awful it looked once plated.  

Well...here...tell me really.  What does that chicken+sauce look like to you? 

Retch!  Retch!

We all have mess-ups in the kitchen.  Only the brave (or stupid) admit it.

The kitchen's getting close to being done.  I had to order some cabinet hardware...it hasn't arrived yet, so I just can't take a photo until it's finished.

I'm done with the pantry, though!  I'm excited.  I'll show that to you soon.

Thanks for reading my posts even when they're not pretty,
Ginny

53 Hours

Since last Thursday night, I have been caulking, sanding, scraping and painting for a total of 53 hours.

Remember what the inside of my pantry used to look like?

Bye-bye, ugly 70s paneling.

Hello, lovely white.

 

What do you think?

The problem with fixing up one thing in an old house is that it inadvertently lengthens your to-do list.  Juxtaposed to my new, pristine white subway tile backsplash, my "Heavy Cream" colored cabinets looked ugly and dingy.

So I repainted them all.  Inside and out. 

 

See the "Heavy Cream" cabinet door on the right in the photo below?  It doesn't look like a big difference, but believe me:  it was grungy and dismal compared to the bright white of the tile.

And I just can't LIVE with that for the REST of my LIFE!

(I'm still painting the cabinets, so that "after" pic will be posted later.)

Did y'all see my new solid-surface counters?

Just kidding.  

The top is Formica.  I painted the edge to match.

It took lots of phone counseling and encouragement from my friends, including Nashville designer and professional faux painter (and my friend since the 6th grade!) Heather Spriggs Thompson.  (And Anjie, I could not have done it without you, either.  My best sections occurred while talking with you on my "AnjieTooth.")

I think the counters turned out pretty good! 

Let me state for the record:  I am NOT a crafty gal.  I dislike crafty things because I lack skills of craft.  But I did this!  So that's a big deal for me.  By going this route, we saved lots of dough which can go into something fun like my wish fund for my dream stove (no hard feelings, Gladys, old girl).  

Here's how I did it....

I took a sample of the Formica to Lowe's and walked around matching paint chips to it while my kids screamed and fought over who would be the "driver" in the blue race car shopping cart with two steering wheels.  It was super relaxing and lots of fun.

I bought a small $3 sample of each color.  Then, I bought one $10 sea sponge (available in the now-aren't-you-crafty section of the paint aisle) and cut it into thirds.   

 

I started out with a base layer of the mid-tone color 

(thanks, Heather dear, that was the kicker).

And then I went to town with the sponges and lots of dabbing and blotting, working on about a 12-inch section at a time.

  

(I even used an old toothbrush loaded with watered-down paint and "spattered" with the brown color.  That was fun.)

While I still need to add a coat of polyurethane (which will probably cost about $10 for a quart), I'm liking the $29 price tag for this whole faux shebang.  (The Formica was a special order item and cost about $300...I don't know how much we spent on the plywood base...need to ask my hubby). 

But I'm liking the new look of my little kitchen! 

Maybe by this weekend we'll have it all put back together and we can actually eat something besides frozen pizza and PB&J.

Just curious here:  have you ever "fauxed" anything?  Are you happy with how it turned out?

While I'm At It-- A Pantry Redo

Someone please make me a t-shirt that reads:

The person wearing this shirt

is a 

PANTRY HYPOCRITE.

Remember this post I did last year on pantry organization?

I even showed a picture of someone's messy pantry and wrote, "Not that there is anything wrong with this [picture], but it doesn't really lend itself to smooth and peaceful meal preparation."

Oh, brother.

My own pantry is shove-it, cram-it unorganized mess.  In fact, since my kitchen trash can lives in the pantry, I make my friends sign an "I-promise-not-to-break-up-with-you-after-I-open-these-doors" agreement before I allow them to throw something away.

I've shown you this picture.

And now I feel so, so....exposed, like I am being forced to Zumba in front of a large crowd while wearing only an ill-fitting bikini and tennis shoes.

(Remember this?  I don't Zumba so well.) 

Odd shelf buddies, these two. 

I had to clear out the pantry in order to prep it for painting.

Four laundry-basket loads of stuff later:

I caulked every nook, cranny, groove and crack.

Caulking is not at all physically hard.  Digging a 10-foot long drainage ditch with a pick-axe in the rocky Arkansas ground when it's 97 degrees with 97% humidity:  now that's hard.

During moments of intense physical labor, I enjoy reflecting on how many famous people have never done such a thing.  A few summers ago, while we were working so hard on our back yard and I was digging that blankety-blank 10-foot-long drainage ditch, I tried to imagine Marie Antoinette wielding the pick-axe, her powder wig and corsets soaked with sweat.  And then I tried to envision Paris Hilton using a pitchfork to turn the soil in my vegetable garden (amid the snakes and ticks).  

Last night as I was caulking the pantry, I couldn't help but think of Kim Kardashian performing the task, her gorgeous long black hair tangled with the thick, pasty, sticky caulk.  In my daydream she threw down the caulk gun and dramatically walked away.  (I also wanted to stomp off, Kim, so don't feel bad).

I have high hopes for an organized and visually soothing pantry, so I am going to try and resist the urge to put everything back exactly as it was before.

We'll see how that turns out...

I'm going old school and using oil-based paint for the shelf surfaces...for better wearability (is that a word?). 

But it's SUCH A PAIN IN THE HIND END.

And the fumes make me forget how to focus my camera.  

Since I'm turning into that annoying person who bores you with all 432 photos of their vacation, I will stop now.

Just point me to the exit so I can get a breath of fresh air.

The Little Dream That Could (An Update...)

 

NOT that anyone is hanging on the edge of their seat to see our little kitchen redo...

But some of you sweeties have asked me about it...

So I thought I might just post a few pictures.

I still have to completely repaint my cabinets and the inside of my pantry (somebody hold me).  Chris has to install our ceiling light, and did I mention I have to paint?  With oil-based messiness?

We hosted a few dear folks for a 6 PM Easter dinner.  At 4:55 PM, Gladys (my 1971 Kenmore stove) was still pulled out to the middle of the dining room because Chris was still grouting the back-splash.  Mercy.  It's a good thing we work well under pressure. He and I got it all put back together and the house looked great with 30 whole seconds to spare.

We've had some great helpers.

 

 Chris has been working so hard. 

He installed some "up lighting" on the top of my cabinets.  I like it.

 (The crazy-ugly 1970s ceiling will have to be tackled 

in the next phase of the remodel process.)

Anyway, I'll show more kitchen pics next week.

In the meantime, have I told you how much I respect and admire Abraham Lincoln?

We named our Matthew after him (Matthew Lincoln).

My grandmother had a portrait of young Mr. Lincoln (painted in 1845) hanging in her home for over 20 years.  After she passed away, my aunt so sweetly gave it to me to hang on the walls of my own home.

I remembered this quote by Mr. Lincoln, and couldn't resist joining the two. 

How true it is.

Thanks for reading this randomness.  Hope your week has gone well. 

The Little Dream That Could.

It's just a dream...right?

 

This is the post I was sure I'd never write.

Or at least I was certain I'd never include photos.

But blogging should not be about duping people into thinking you live in a perfect world with perfect counters, perfect floors, perfect kids, perfect mothering skills, perfect relationships, and perfect faith.

I've learned a lot of lessons about myself in the past few months, the biggest of which is how great my desire has been to hide the ugly parts of my life from the world.

And I've come to realize this:

"An ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure." 

-Keith Moore

So here goes!

We live in a very modest home.

It's a 1971 ranch-style house that was built with absolutely zero creative inspiration.  

But the price was right 11 years ago when Chris and I were newlyweds and had stars in our eyes at the prospect of owning our own home. 

 

The sheer volume of work to be done overwhelmed me.  I couldn't see past the ugliness and the deep, dark, dense, and depressing forest that surrounded the house.

But I married a visionary. 

So while I saw this view from our deck, 

my man saw this.

 And this.

Across the street from our home, 

the woods used to tell the same dark, depressing story.

Until Chris turned it into a park.

 

The park has become a neighborhood play area...exactly as we had hoped it would.  On many afternoons, I can look out of my kitchen window and spot anywhere from 20% to 100% of the neighborhood kids out there riding bikes, playing soccer, and building forts.  It's a dream come true for me.  

I've shown you all of these photos to say this:  until last year when we built a little addition, we had mostly focused our resources on the land surrounding our home.

And not on the interior of the house.

Have you ever noticed how zoomed-in my food photos are?

Look closely in all of those pics and you'll see my counters. 

That gold-flecked "marble" formica masterpiece is UGLY, and I've wanted to hide it from you like Mr. Rochester hid his crazy wife.

My kitchen could have been part of the "That 70s Show" set.

So are you ready for this?

Are you?

 The kitchen on the day we closed in September, 2001.

 (Now we did paint the cabinets and appliances in 2005.  

That helped a bit.
And we changed the outlet covers.  What were they thinking?)

But surely you can imagine my ecstatic delight when I pulled into the driveway on Sunday after being gone for four days to find this in my front yard:

 

For many reasons outside of his incredible skills as a handyman and a visionary, I love my husband.

But coming home to a gorgeous new sink and faucet and pretty new counters...

I just can't explain how it made me feel.

(Laying out the subway tile design for the backsplash.)

Now, I've shared this much with you.

I may as well show you the slave that I've kept locked in the "basement" of my blog.

She works hard in my kitchen.  And yet she's unsightly.  I keep her out of view so she won't cause me embarrassment.

But today, all things are new here at Cooking With Chopin.

It brings me great pleasure to introduce you to Gladys, my 1971 Kenmore stove.

Gladys got a makeover in 2005 when Chris spray-painted her white.  But she's been "distressed" over the last 7 years and you can see her original paint job under the dings and chips.

Three cheers for Gladys!  I love you, old girl. 

As I type this, the saws and drills are whirring away in the kitchen as Chris is making the space more user-friendly.

I can't wait to show it to you when it's done...whenever that may be!

Thanks for letting me share this with you.

HAPPY EASTER!

(And Chris, I LOVE YOU, honey.  In a million ways.)

Oven Fires and Bare Bottoms

Although I already posted part of this story on my Facebook page, I just have to tell on myself (in detail).

Mostly because everyone on the planet can use a laugh. 

This morning I was making a large batch of cinnamon rolls. 

In my usual "hurry-up-while-the-kids-are-otherwise-occupied!" mode, I crammed too rolls many in the baking dish.  

As they were baking, the rolls rose out of the dish and the superfluous amount of butter dripped down the sides of the dish--onto the oven elements.

The oven elements ignited. 

I was on the phone with my husband when I began to smell something carbon-y and saw black smoke pouring out of the oven.

"I'm going to have to call you right back, honey," I said.  

I opened the oven door, and the butter pool at the bottom of the oven was on fire.  


So was the heating element on the right side of the oven.

I shut the oven door.

"Don't freak.  Stay calm," I told myself.  

Out loud. 

 I wanted to get the cinnamon rolls out so they wouldn't be ruined. 

 But I didn't have time.

 I threw flour on the fire.

But the flour IGNITED.

"Crap!" 

 About that time, the smoke alarms started going off.

The boys were in the bathtub.

  

Timothy (5) did exactly what he was supposed to do; he grabbed Matthew (2) by the hand and proceeded to execute our "family fire plan"...which is, to meet in the middle of the park across the street.

But they were naked.  With bubbles on their bottoms.  And their bath toys in tow.

By this time, I'd given up hope of saving the cinnamon rolls and threw a huge glass of water on the fire, which was now consuming over half of the oven. 

 

I shut the oven door and yanked the unit away from the wall in order to unplug it. 

The kitchen and dining room were full of choking grey smoke.

But, thank God, the fire was out. 

I got the boys back inside and dried their precious, freezing-cold bodies off (with dishtowels).

And (somehow), the cinnamon rolls were saved.

They taste only a teensy bit like smoke and flour ash. 

And the blasted oven, which was built in 1974 and only recently received a spray-painted coat of white over it's "Harvest Gold" original self, STILL IS NOT DEAD. 

It's older than I am. 

I guess they don't make things like they used to.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

P.S. - I am married to "Mr Safety"; after I called him back and calmly revealed the details of the fire, he reminded me that I do have a fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink.  While I did remember it was there, the fire was not quite at the level yet for me to "pull the pin".  But believe me...I was glad it was there.

Do you have an extinguisher in your kitchen?  Just wondering...

P.P.S. - I have also learned that one should throw baking soda, not flour, on flames such as these.