Crafts & Cookies

Sunday evening Nash came to me and asked, "Mom, are you sick?" I replied that I wasn't. He continued, "Do you have a headache?" I answered, "No, Nash. What do you want?" He then says, "Well, Sunday is almost over and we haven't had any dessert." You don't have to ask me twice. I will happily hop to it if dessert is involved. I made our usual Sunday treat, chocolate chip cookies, and then we decided to work on some Halloween crafts-mostly ideas borrowed from Pinterest. I love crafting with my kids. Even though it is inevitably a huge mess, watching their little hands and minds work is pretty awesome.



We made SPOOKY skeleton shirts!

 (Can you tell it was a little bit chilly when we took this picture?)

Egg Carton Bats!

Q-tip skeletons-who somehow morphed into Ninjago Villains.  The boys also made spider webs by creating designs on wax paper with glitter glue and then letting it dry.  The spider webs have managed to disappear. 

Cox Farms

My children believe that a farm is a place where thousands of people pay to go slide on giant slides, meander their way out of corn mazes, play with goats, take hay rides through haunted forests, and eat kettle corn. This sad fact is partly due to the amazing fall festivals around Northern Virginia.  There are several in existence but this year we went to Cox Farms.  It is certainly the biggest but it also has the most people and the greatest opportunity to lose a kid or two.  Harley's favorite part was, not surprisingly the animals especially the goats. Nash liked the rope swing and Atley could ride on one of the 12 slides for forever.  It was an exhausting afternoon, but well worth it when Harley Belle fell asleep at 6PM and slept until 7:30 the next morning.

 

 

 

and now for the sink

But before we begin, I have to note that Airing the Chapel's comment on my last post made me laugh out loud.  For whatever reason, in a blog atmosphere in which TMI is the order of the day, it did not occur to me to clarify what kind of stool I was talking about...ouch.

So anyway.  I have taken your comments on the stoolS to heart and I may have come to a conclusion there (yet to be executed, so I'll fill you in when it's definite).  I am looking forward to posting pictures of my table, but it's not QUITE finished yet.  (Yes, I am under the impression that this has become a DIY blog.  What?)  Meanwhile, I am occupying myself planning for a project a little further down on the list - the kitchen sink.

I have been energetically searching for a vintage sink with a drainboard.  (Specifically, I need just one drainboard, on the left side, and it's taking a while to track down just the right thing.)  I was hoping to end up with a look like this:

Or maybe this:

Ooh, also good:

(all, houzz)

And I kind of love this (yes, I know, it's a laundry sink.  So?):

(houzz again)

And I hoped you noticed that s-t-u-n-n-i-n-g vintage Chambers range in the background there.

So ideally, I am looking for a sink 25" deep.  For those who have not remodeled a kitchen themselves, that's because standard base-cabinet depth is 24", and countertops typically overhang the lower cabinets by about an inch.  Therefore, if I get a 25" deep sink (deep in the back-to-front sense, not the how-deep-is-the-basin sense), it would neatly meet the countertops on either side, as in the pictures above.  This is important, because I'm not hiring a company to make my countertops.  I'm cutting the butcher block countertop myself (which I've already bought), and I just heard from a company that will cut a wee scrap of soapstone to size for me for the countertop on the other side - straight cuts only.

People who are buying their countertops from a pro can be more flexible in their sink choices.  If they get a sink less than 25" deep, the pros can do this:

(obviously...houzz.  Suck it, pinterest!  There, I said it)

I'm pretty sure that kind of cut requires a laser.  To my great sadness, I do not have a laser.  Somehow, I manage.  Anyway, this week, I ran across the very first sink that appears to fulfill my major criteria:

But it's only 20" deep.  While I have told myself that I could make 24" work, maybe even 23", 20" is DRAMATICALLY smaller than the neighboring countertops, and I just can't leave that big a gap.  I pondered and schemed.  There's also the tricky bit about installing a wall-mount faucet...since the sink will be against an exterior wall.  What if I built out the wall behind the sink about 5"?  That would contain room for the plumbing, and move the sink flush with the counters.  Hmm...

Ultimately, I decided that plan had more bad points than good ones. The sink will sit right under a window, so building out the window sill to extra-deep and making it a shelf would be no problem.  But building the plumbing into the recess and then doing the tiling sounded like a real nightmare.  Plus, a bump-out would leave a very funny corner in the wall next to the sink.  I was afraid it would look like a kludge.  The last thing I want is a prospective buyer to walk through someday and utter the word "remuddled."

Then I toyed with the notion of cutting out the countertop myself.  Obviously, I cannot cut stone.  The adjacent counters will be butcher block (on one side) and soapstone (on the other).  Butcher block would be easiest to cut.  Like so:

(you guessed it - more houzz)

But I don't want wood right next to the sink basin.  I can't put marine varnish on just the part of the wood near the sink and not varnish the rest (it would be two different colors).  And I want the butcher block for cutting on; you can't cut on it if it's been varnished.  So that was out.  Soapstone is waterproof, but it would be much harder to cut (it actually can be cut with woodworking tools, but it's much denser than wood), and a piece that big would be a lot more expensive (soapstone isn't cheap).

At a loss, I ran through my houzz file looking for more vintage sink pictures.  How had other people installed them?  What could I do?  And I found this butlery picture:

That is the spitting image of the sink I found for sale, right?  Most importantly, it shares that super-deep front face.  And that is just the perfect way to work with that shape of sink!  Suddenly I wanted another piece of marble.  Of course, I don't have the tools to get a hole in it for the plumbing.  I actually contemplated the likelihood that I could find a piece of marble at a salvage yard that just happened to be 25" x 45" with a big hole in the right side. I probably could, if I waited the rest of my life.  But even by my shopping standards, that's a long time.

As it happened, I had been searching for marble thresholds to replace the one in my bathroom (which was custom-made and expensive - and, in my opinion, was custom-made to the wrong dimensions).  And suddenly a lightbulb went off.  Finding a marble slab in just the right dimensions would be difficult.  Finding one in the right dimensions with a hole in the right place would be darn near impossible.  And even if I could find it, it might well be expensive.  But assembling pre-cut marble thresholds or large-format marble tiles into the right dimensions, leaving an open space for plumbing to go through?  Not hard at all.  And not expensive, either.

I figured that with 8 x 12 marble tiles - like so

- I could frame out a 24" x 44" C-shaped border for the sink to sit on.  I can attach them to a board (I'll have to use construction adhesive rather than thin-set, so there's no visible line from the side), and I can easily cut a hole in the middle of the board (where there will be no tile on top) for the pipes to pass through.  If I make the tile joints as narrow as possible and match the grout really well, it won't be too obvious that the base is marble tiles, rather than a marble slab.  (And only just a small border of it will show anyway.)  Marble tiles would also cost less than a slab, unless I found a truly phenomenal deal (like I did for my tabletop!).

Ingenious?  Insane?  Who can say.

It may not matter anyway, because the sink is priced higher than my budget will allow, if I also have to buy a bunch of marble and extra stuff to make it work.  (And then there's the part about busting a hole in an exterior wall to hook up a wall-mounted faucet.)

Maybe the price will come down.  And my wall will magically bend.  To be continued...

Rolled Felt Fall Wreath Tutorial

Our Beautiful City

I miss the west every day. I miss the mountains. I miss the desert. I miss wide open spaces.  But, I also love this beautiful city.  The architecture, the trees, the river.  We went to the top of the Old Post Office, yes it was windy, but we got a couple of amazing pictures of the Capitol City.

adventures in baking and barrenness

First of all, I appreciate your comments on my stool dilemma.  The discomfort-factor was also my DH's objection to the 24" stepladders (I am still miffed), and I am mulling the matter over.  I am not concerned about the stools being especially comfortable, given that I am not considering stools with backs (they wouldn't fit all the way under the table, which is one of my goals) or any cushions (wouldn't go with the industrial style). 

Since I have a tiny kitchen, I am really fitting it to be useful for cooking; hanging out is a secondary-to-nonexistent consideration.  (People already sit in there even if there are no seats, so I hardly need to entice them to stay.  Better yet, they should go sit on the couch.)  For cooking, even an uncomfortable stool would be a nice occasional alternative to standing. 

I am now entering on an entirely new dilemma (still related to the table, which is further from done than it was last week), and I may seek your advice on that matter too.  If I were able to convey the possible color combinations in an intelligible way. 

Meanwhile, I share a small* story of adventure in the American Southwest. 

My DH decided to surprise his only sister (who lives in Phoenix) with a visit.  (Her husband was, of course, in on the plotting.)  She also has six kids, whom (of course) we didn't tell either.  The second part of the surprise was that he got tickets to the Cardinals-Bills game (he roots for the Bills, and the kids, of course, root for the Cardinals).  We had a lovely weekend - the kids are very sweet and are always delighted to have family visiting, and we hung out and visited the park and chatted with their parents and generally had a low-key weekend. 

It was eventually worked out that the two eldest kids would be up for a long day of tailgating and football-watching in the heat, and the youngest four would stay home.  Since I have a clear policy in this regard (I Do Not Watch Football), I volunteered to stay home with the kids.  My brother-in-law was highly skeptical about the likelihood of my survival, and almost made the oldest stay home with me to help.  (The third-oldest was offered a ticket, but elected to stay home with me.  Mwahahahaha.) 

I am pleased to report that I survived just fine.  We carved four pumpkins (I consulted with the baby on the design of the fourth one.  I didn't realize he didn't need his own when I bought them, but if I had, I might have bought one for myself anyway.  I love carving pumpkins).  With their mother's permission, I gave everyone but the ten-month-old a knife (even the three-year-old - not kidding), and no one drew a drop of blood.  We did get pumpkin guts all over the patio, of course.  We went through the costume closet and sorted out who would wear what for Hallowe'en.  They made decorations to hang in the front window.  We made seven dozen chocolate chip cookies (milk chocolate for the kids and semi-sweet for the adults, of course).  They swam while I fed the baby.  Then I set them up with a Hallowe'en-related show, and was able to clean the pumpkin mess, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, put the baby through three bottles, two diaper changes, and a two-hour nap, and make dinner (chicken nuggets for the kids, roast beef and roasted vegetables for the adults, and homemade French fries for everyone).  The roast was half-done when the football-watching folks arrived home, so I ran out of time to make an apple pie from scratch - the only item I missed. 

My SIL seems to think this feat was somehow extraordinary.  I think the trick is (1) they are not my children and (2) I got nine hours of sleep the night before. 

I also realized something very clearly which has only slowly been permeating my consciousness. 

When I was in college, a friend who was discerning a vocation to the priesthood (I was at his ordination this summer) had a conversation with a visiting mendicant friar.  The friar had spent the day with some students, the Catholic chaplain, and the (non-ordained) chaplain's little girls.  He was a huge hit.  My friend asked him at the end of the day whether spending time with someone else's family made him regret not having a family of his own.  His response?  "Three words: confirmation of vocation." 

And now, I think I know what he meant. 

I love my nieces and nephews.  They're good kids.  And my SIL and BIL do a wonderful job with them.  But spending several days even at the periphery of the large-family dynamic, I came to realize that I probably only thought that's what I wanted.  The image I can never get out of my head is of a stampede of excited small children (all in red pyjamas, obviously) running down the stairs on Christmas morning.  That's ten minutes a year - ten minutes I keenly miss, but which, I must remember, are gone in the blink of an eye.  Judging by the behavior of six good kids over several days, I think at least 300,000 of the other 459,890 minutes are spent complaining. 

I have a keen sense of justice, and the idea of restoring order for a living obviously contributed in some way to my selection of a career.  But the continual airing of grievances - in that special childhood grievance-airing tone - might be enough to get me to have my tubes tied, if they weren't already blocked.  I appreciate having conversations with people who are (at least occasionally) listening instead of talking.  Who ask you questions out of regard, and rarely motivated by a spirit of skeptical interrogation.  Who have never whined in my hearing.  Who have witty, insightful things to say; things that are of potential relevance to humans who do not live in their bedrooms.  Who would be only too happy to lend a skirt or a headband, and wait their turn for the TV and the computer without ever raising their voices. 

I also enjoy the fact that if I want to have a cookie, I can have a cookie, without making a declaration on the implications of cookie-distribution justice for others.  If I am at the grocery store and I am worn out, I can promise myself a KitKat at the checkout line, and no treaty need be negotiated as a result.  I don't have popsicles in the freezer or goldfish in the pantry (though that is because I will eat any available unit of goldfish in one sitting), but I do have the fixings for chai (with whipped cream) on hand at all times.  If I want to go and grab a cup of coffee (or, in my case, non-coffee beverage that will support whipped cream) with a girlfriend, I can just go. 

These are the luxuries of the working childless adult, I know.  And, given that I will be a working childless adult for the rest of my life, I am pleased to say that I really appreciate them.  I am aware that many of them are materialistic - some are, quite simply, selfish. 

Although I will proclaim this virtue for selfishness: it's nice to be an adult and realize that there is no categorical imperative for snacks.  If my husband is hungry, and finishes the last of the ice cream, he always offers me some; but if I'm not in the room at the time and the ice cream is gone, he will get ice cream and I won't.  If I'm hungry and I fix myself a snack, I might offer to make him one, but then again I might not.  There will not be an argument.  No whining.  No screaming.  No tears.  Neither of us will feel ourselves the victim of an injustice, however minor.  No recriminations will be conveyed; no reparations demanded or paid.  Nobody complains about the food I'm eating, not because adults (sans children) are selfish, but because the perceptions of children are defective in such matters, and there are no such defectively-minded people living in my house to complain that I had 51% of the potato chips. 

If I had been fertile, I would have gotten pregnant with my first child during the first year of our marriage (2005-2006).  I wanted a big family, but in the interest of being able to take care of one, I probably would have made some effort to space births; I might have tried to have a child only every other year.  By that math, I would now have four children.  I am only thirty.  Probably I would have gone on to have seven or eight total children. 

Never, in that process, would I have had an opportunity to undertake the reflections I am making now.  I would have adjusted to a world in which (even assuming no financial hardship) I would have had to forego almost all the small indulgences I would otherwise enjoy to avoid provoking a nuclear holocaust.  I would do an ungodly amount of laundry, and it would never all be clean and folded at once.  I would sweep my kitchen floor and pick up my living room and dining room every day, and yet they would never be clean.  I would do all my cooking for people who complain about any meal other than pizza and fish sticks, and would never hear expressions of delight over my brilliant cooking; indeed, I wouldn't do any brilliant cooking.  I would have a life that regularly included ketchup and broken crayons, two of the things I hate most in the world, and I would accept it.  I would have concluded that I was blessed, because I would have made all these sacrifices on behalf of people I would have been called to love and care for; and many of the sacrifices would have chafed not at all, because I would accept them as universal, and not even realize that anyone else lived any other way. 

But that's not how it happened. 

I don't subscribe to the belief that God wills infertility any more than I believe He wills cancer or car accidents or bear attacks or sin.  But I do believe that He has in mind a possibility (or so) for each of our lives that includes the pursuit of holiness, and the contribution of something precious to the human community.  (In my head, I believe this.  But infertility has challenged a lot of my unthinking convictions of the benevolence of God.  Believing it in my heart may be the work of a lifetime.)  And I believe that His plan for us - one that we can follow or not follow, according to our free will - takes account of all the circumstances we'll encounter, even the ones He didn't specifically will, because He does not will evil or disorder; but He is aware of them. 

In other words, God's plan for me accounts for the fact that I can't have children.  He didn't envision for me one single path for sanctity, reliant on me not having endometriosis.  Whatever contributions I can make, they don't demand virtues I would have built only through motherhood.  Whatever earthly joy I will have, will be a product of spiritual joys, and the more material blessings around me - blessings of family and friends, career, adult conversation.  Chai.  KitKats.  No children. 

I don't believe He willed that I would fail to appreciate intelligent conversation, quiet evenings, floors that stay clean (well, minus the Bailey fur), quality time with my husband, and adult food.  I don't believe that He willed that I would spend every day of the rest of my life insensible of every blessing I have, eager - no, desperate - to change them all in an instant for a horde of whining, jelly-stained small people (with all their attendant virtues). 

If the depo clears up my endo, and my DH gets on some supplements that improve things on that end, I will consider resuming HCG shots in 2013 (until I go back to being in pain every day, at which point I will go right back on the depo).  I understand that for now, there's a possibility I will have children (although in not too long, that door will go from basically closed to slammed shut, locked, and bricked over).  I promised to "accept them lovingly from God," and I will keep that promise. 

But I can't say I don't like my life. 


*By which, of course, I mean interminable. 

Rock the Vote...

for Harley's Halloween costume.  This year we are not buying or making ANY costumes. We have too many dress up clothes that never get used to do that.  But, I have a dilemma.  The boys know what they want to wear but Harley is a little confused. I think her favorite is the flamingo costume. What do think? You are going to have to use your imagination on a few costumes. Imagine tights, shirts, shoes, a basket with Toto in it, etc.

 

The boys had to get involved. They tried on a few costumes but mostly they just played policeman attacks the fireman. Nash ripped the butt out of his tiny pants in the process.