and some color

We have a blue piano.

 I've wanted to paint a piano forever. Well, a piano or an antique sewing machine table. The piano landed here first, and in desperate need of some kind of rehabbing, so a piano it was. We wanted something bright and shiny and colorful for the room, something that reminded us of the beautiful blue door on the Georgian row house we lived in in Ireland. So now we have a blue piano (The color, naturally, is called Blue Suede Shoes).

Before any musically inclined readers out there freak out, I should say that this piano is the kind of piano you can paint. It's neither fancy or rare. It was a lower end piano even when it was made and was listed free on Craigslist partly, I think, because someone, at some point, tried to refinish it. Or that's my guess given the difference between the inside finish and the outside finish. I suppose that could have been age, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. (Like the weird green streaks? What were those?). If this had been a precious, vintage, fancy-schmancy piano, I would have gone with the sewing cabinet. But it's not. It a plunk away while you learn to play kind of piano. It has pieces of wood that have fallen off and a few lost key tops. But it keeps its tune and provides endless fascination with it's music holder front that magically pops out when you flip open the key covering (clearly I have a great deal of knowledge on piano parts. Key flippy uppy thing? Slam down on your finger thing? What is that called?) And now it's blue, and it think it loves it! I'm going to have to give it a name so I can stop calling it, it.

Luckily for me, this piano came apart in ways that made it fairly easy to paint. And the only part that would have been tricky, right up around the keys (foldy backy thing? Seriously, I need to figure out what that's called), was the only part that had a decent finish on it as well as the brand lettering. So I left that alone and painted the rest.

Although this project wasn't necessarily hard, it was time consuming. Mostly because for the first time in my life I actually followed the rules and sanded down the surfaces between every single coat (and there were several) To help keep the dust out of the piano, I used a wet sandpaper with a fine grit (220).

After the first round of sanding the old finish, I painted the entire thing with an oil based tinted primer. At the end of that coat I freaked out just a wee bit on the color. I had originally intended to go with something a little darker, but Will talked me into the bright (which I'm glad of now) the primer, though tinted, was much lighter than the final coat so if you attempt this, keep that in mind.

So, sand, prime, sand, prime a little more, sand and then the paint, which was a water based oil paint (I'm not really clear how that's possible, but whatever, I trust my paint guys at this point) Three coats, sanding between each, plus touch up. Like I said, it was time consuming. But oh so worth it. When it was dry (more waiting, I hate waiting) we moved it back into the living room and Will added a "C" below middle C for me with a porcelain pen.

Evelyn, who is our pianist in residence, loves it. We're waiting for a space to pop up with a local piano teacher but in the meantime she's been composing her own songs and tinkering with a  five finger book piano book I ordered for her a few weeks ago. Music music all the time.

Color, nice and bright and fun. But help me out here - should I leave the bench black or paint it blue to match (it was too stained with something red to refinish the wood)? I can't decide.

plywood floors - a temporary fix (and tutorial)

We knew, right from the start, that the carpets all over the house would have to be replaced. Once upon a time they were good quality, Berber wool carpets. But for the past few years, while the house was on the market, it was rented, to people with pets who didn't take good care of them. So we knew. But honestly, I thought we could hold out for a while. Especially downstairs where there were no major stains. We rented a steam cleaner before moving in an decided that the floors would be a good "next summer" project.

But then we painted the walls, which necessitated getting down on our knees to paint near the trim, and being that close to the carpet convinced us that it couldn't wait. So, in the living room, up it came. (This week we will do the same with the upstairs rooms)

Shortly after we ripped up the carpet, we discovered that our backup heat source will need to be replaced before next winter (oh the joys of home ownership!) and we'd really like to replace it with radiant flooring, but right now, after, you know, buying a house, is not the time. So. We needed a temporary fix. Like living with what we had.

It took me a little while to convince Will that painting our subflooring was not THAT crazy. Thank goodness for Pinterest, examples always help. But before I get into the how, I should say something about the glaringly obvious craziness here.

Yep, it's white.

I know. I KNOW! White? Really? Two kids? Pets? Snow and Mud? Crazy.

But here's how we came to it. We have, over the course of our marriage, refinished several floors and a few wooden decks and what we've learned, contrary to what seems would be true, is that light floors are easier to clean than dark ones. I had dreams of painting it a beautiful dark grey, but it would have been constantly dusty and dirty. So after looking at A LOT of painted floors, we found that we came back, time and again, to white. It's a good blank canvas. Especially if we want to do something like stencil on a rug - which I do (notice the I, Will isn't super excited about the work involved there).

Having lived with it for a good week now I am pretty happy with the result. Yes, it gets dirty, but strangely, not much. Even hauling in wood and dealing with muddy paws has been pretty easy. In fact, the thing that's made it the dirtiest was moving the piano back in.

And yes, it's a lot of white, but don't worry, there will be color. We've picked out wallpaper for the window wall and have plans to tone down the wide variety of wood we have and add more bright colors - I'm on the hunt for a colorful stripy rug for the livingroom- and we've just finished a nice bright addition to the room that I'll show off tomorrow. I wasn't sure how it would work out, but I love it, which is good because there was no going back on this one.

So, the hows.

When we ripped up the carpet, it was pretty obvious that the subfloor, and hence the living room, was built in stages. Everything beyond the last beam was done later and the plywood was less distressed. And also not painted the same color. We're pretty sure that the previous owners lived with painted plywood themselves as they built the house, most of the living room was dark grey (which helped prove how dirty it would get)

 But it was all pretty rough. So we spent a few days hammering in all the nails and then a few more taking it to the chicken-pox-covered-with-calamine-lotion stage with wood patch.

Holes and seams filled, we rented a sander and spent an evening sanding all those patches smooth. It's not perfect, the plywood is a good 20 years old so the grain shows, but it's much improved from the starting point.

For paint, we used porch and floor paint which is thin and glossy and took three coats before it looked right. We didn't go with oil paint, on the recommendation of the excellent paint guys at the local hardwood store, this was a latex from Benjamin Moore. It took four or five days to really cure before we could move back in. I think that was the hardest part, looking at it but not being able to walk on it. Thankfully we had enough room in the sun room to set up all of our furniture there, but it was hard not to be impatient.

So, there we are. Painted plywood. In white. Crazy but good. More color to come. Now we have to decide what we should do upstairs.

new routines

 

We are finding a new rhythm to our day, the dog and I. For the first time ever, it's just us here. The house is quiet, outside I can hear the creek tumbling along down the hill, even with all the windows closed. Of course, that's when the music is off, which it almost never is. I'm used to noise, after all.

For ten years I've been at home with someone. Someone small. First just Briton, then both, then just Evie. Last year it was just Briton again and, while I've loved it, loved being a stay at home mom, loved the chaos and the mess and the pounding feet as they race through the house, I was ready for this too. A chance to work on writing. All day. To do something for me.

So I sit down at the desk after the kids have climbed on the bus and Will has driven away in the car. I have my list of things that need to get done before the bus comes by again, I work, I drink tea (lots of tea, because otherwise it would be lots of coffee and then I'm too jittery to get anything done.) I'm learning to stay put, to not be distracted by dishes or laundry or projects that need doing. Or at least to fit them into my time without letting them take over.

Somewhere around lunch, the dog starts staring at me. Nudging closer until her chin is on my lap. Before that she generally disappears upstairs for her post-good-night's-sleep nap. And after she'll have a before-the-kids-come-home snooze. But at lunchtime she wants to run.

We walk, along the road or down the hill. Yesterday we found a mushroom that looked like a brain clinging to the side of a tree. When I remember - which isn't very often yet, I'm still getting used to this routine - I bring a bag and collect sticks and bark for the kindling box. I walk, she runs, I pick my way over the rocks, she swims. And then we climb the hill again to our afternoons. Me to work, her to sleep. (Rough life, being our dog) Until it's time for the bus, for running feet and homework and snacks and mom time once again.

growing up

Last week's boy/girl dance drama has been, I'm happy to say, slightly reduced in the Briton stress department. As it turns out, he doesn't have to ask a girl to the dance, he has to ask girls to dance at the dance. Which is still unnerving in his book, but less so. For me... I'm still a little wobbly about the whole thing.

He is ten. Ten is the age that I was when I moved away from Idaho, where I had spent all of the years that I could remember of my childhood up to that point (it was really only 6 out of ten, but before 4 my memories are pretty hazy). Ten is the age that, in my mind, I stopped being a kid and started being..something else. They didn't say tween then, but that's about right. After we moved I kept my dollhouse hidden in my closet and started taping posters of Christian Slater to my wall. It's when I started worrying about boys and my hair and thought I would absolutely DIE if I did not get a Dooney and Bourke purse (I didn't. Get one or die).

Now to be fair, I was almost eleven when this all started, not just barely ten. So (I keep telling myself) we are not quite there. And he's a boy, boys mature at a slower rate, or so I'm told. But the truth is that this whole dance incident has brought out some of the fears and worries I've been fumbling around with for the past few months. How fast should he grow up? How fast do we want him to grow up?

My son, much like I was, is, well, some people would say immature, some would say innocent. Both, really. He still believes in magic, and Santa. And he still totes around a stuffed animal at bedtime. He likes to pretend and play with his sister and have stories read to him. And I love that. I LOVE that. I want him to stay like that. I want that innocence. He doesn't need to think about girls and haircuts and clothes and what is "cool". Not until he's ready for it.

But.

The thing is, he isn't growing up in a bubble. There are other kids around. Other kids who are more..mature? I guess. Other kids with older siblings or cooler parents or more hormones or, I'm not sure, but they aren't still checking to see if the fairies have moved their furniture around down in the woods. They are thinking about boys or girls and hair and cool. Not just here, everywhere. It's the tipping point, fifth and sixth, kid and teen. And I remember what it was like to be that kid who was a little behind on those things. It's not easy.

So at what point to we, his parents, say "It's time to stop that." Or do we? Do we try to ease him into the ways of "cool" so that he has a softer entry into teenage-hood? Do we let him do his own thing, anticipating the pangs and the embarrassment and the just plain hardness of growing up? I know he'll encounter them anyway, but whether or not it's our job to help make it easier by explaining how things "are" or whether we just encourage him to be himself, I don't really know. I always thought I'd be the parent that goes encourages independence and self expression. I want to be that parent. But I also don't want him to fell...excluded. At least any more than he has to.

It's all new, these worries over his tweens, his teens. I feel like I'm just barely getting used to having elementary school aged kids as opposed to little kids- sometimes I still catch myself finding toddler activities and thinking "I should try that!" for a moment before I remember that my kids are way beyond that. My head can't quite keep up, or maybe it's my heart. 

blue

Some days the sky is so blue, it almost hurts my eyes. Beautiful. Although the motor boats made it not quite as peaceful as it could have been. Note to self, check to see if lakes are motor free before heading out for a canoe day! At least we didn't tip (almost, but not quite).

and then my heart jumped into my throat

Yesterday was the first day of school around here. And while the first day of a school year is always exciting, this year was a banner one for us. New school, new town, new bus, and the first chance my two have had to go to the same school. Evelyn has been waiting to get on that bus with her brother since he started Kindergarten and finally, FINALLY, she did. All smiles and waves as they drove away.

At the end of their day I was up at the end of the road, waiting for the bus, waiting for them to tell me about their day. Bus pick up time is my favorite. In the mornings I'm usually groggy- clutching my coffee and pulling my sweater tight against the morning air, sometimes still in my PJ's, almost always rushed. A quick kiss and they're off. But in the afternoon I have (hopefully) gotten done what needed to get done, am (again, I hope) fully dressed, caffeinated and awake and I've had a whole day to miss them. I really do miss them. too.  I know that there will be the homework battle (Briton) and the dinner battle (Evie) and the bedtime battle (Briton again) but for those moments, from the door of the bus to the door of the house, everything is rosy. We talk about their day, we hug, we smile. Like I said, it's my favorite time of day.

Yesterday they both popped off the bus smiling and talking a mile a minute.

"We had MUSIC mom and I SANG and I LOVED IT!"

"There are two boys and two girls at my table and there are SIXTH graders in our class too!"

"We have recess all together and I saw Briton but I didn't play with him because I was playing with my friends but I said hi to him and he was playing with his friends out on the field and then they made grape juice from the grapes on the playground."

"The pizza at lunch was AWESOME, mom. And it was healthy, I think I should eat hot lunch everyday." (more on that later, our school has a crazy amazing lunch program. I saw them kneading the dough for homemade pizza when we went to the first day coffee hour after school started)

And then Briton stopped and let his sister run ahead, his voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"Mom, I have a problem."

I had a little moment of panic. Is he being bullied? Does he hate his teacher? Did someone hurt his feelings?"

"Next month. There's a dance. And not a mother son dance, mom. A BOY GIRL dance. And....I have to ask a girl."

And my heart jumped right up to my throat. Because...NO! I'm not ready for that!

I tired to keep my cool, to not start, you know, crying right then and there that my baby is going on, basically, a date, in a month. I smiled and said "That will be fun." or maybe "Cool Briton." Or it might have been a little blubbery and incoherent like "Mah, whaaa? Fun, yay!" I'm not really sure. But he didn't seem to notice.

"I know who I want to ask. She's really nice. The things is...she's always with her friends. How am I supposed to get her alone to ask her."

Cue the inner sobbing here.

"And, what if someone else asks her first? I don't want to ask too early, but I don't want someone else to ask her either. What should I do?"

At this point, obviously, I'm barely holding it together on the inside, but my brain has started functioning again and I'm able to brainstorm with him on the way home. Maybe you could write her a note? Or ask your friends how they are going to ask. Maybe two of you can go up together and ask her and a friend. And then when Will got home we talked more, because dad knows, he had to ask girls to dances too.

I think he has a plan. He's trying to act cool about it, although I know he's nervous. But there is a plan. He does the guy head nod/shrug and says "OK, I think I know how to do it."

How did he grow up so fast?

finished and begun

One sweater down and...two to go. But I wont think about that right now. In fact, it might just be one sweater to go. I think this year Will might be getting a twined (and therefore very warm) hat with earflaps instead of a sweater. I'm sure he'll need one by December. But who knows, maybe I'll knock two more out between now and then. 

Evelyn's sweater was inspired by this kit, which was unavailable (and not in English) so I used Elizabeth Zimmerman's Seamless Yolk Sweater recipe from Knitting Without Tears as a base and figured out the striping as I went. In the end I decided to make the sleeves short because she wears the little blue vest I knit her as a layering piece all the time, so it seemed like a good idea to repeat the shape. Also, I didn't think I'd have enough white for long sleeves. I'm still contemplating knitting some long arm warmer tubes and stitching them into the sleeves so that it looks like a two layer sweater, but for now, I'm happy with it as it is. I wish I could have her try it on but that would ruin the surprise a bit, wouldn't it?

In case you're inspired to knit something similar, my Ravelry notes can be found here. Both yarns were skeins that I spun on my wheel. The orange and pink is Falkland and the white is Kid Mohair, which was wonderful to knit with.

Briton's sweater is at the beginning stages. I'd hoped to spin yarn for it but moving got in the way and so I went with some yarn milled in Southern Vermont that our local yarn shop sells.

He really, really wanted green and gold (my little Oregon Duck!) but they had no solids in either, so I found two (just two) skeins of those colors combined and am using it for thin stripes against a backdrop of some rugged looking grey. Although the yarn isn't as soft as what I used for Evie, it isn't itchy and it feels very warm, so it should be good for my boy who likes to leave his jacket places and just wear a sweater. I'm following the notes I wrote up for last year's sweater, the only change being that I've increased the cast on number by 5% and will go from there.

Anyone else starting (or working on) their winter holiday knitting? I think I might need a new sweater myself but haven't found any that I LOVE so far. Suggestions?