Advice, please.

Hola, friends.

What should I do about the concrete-ish foundation-y part of my house?

This week I am having some burly men come tear up the concrete slab that currently serves as a patio. Then I am going to stack field stones to make a planting bed thing all along the back of the house, but I was thinking, even when I plant stuff, you're still going to be able to see that grey concrete. I think in the past someone recommended I paint it, but really?

Help, please.

Following that, crushed gravel will go in. That might not be the final solution, I may do some hardscaping in a few years, but for now it will beat my ghetto chipped, broken, uneven concrete patio that takes up half my yard. And please don't remind me that the gravel will get tracked into the house, etc etc. I know, I know. So many of you have been kind enough to warn me already, but I have already made up my mind, you bossy freaks! (I kid, I kid...)

UPDATE: Some suggested creeping fig. Click HERE to read more about it.

Lording over me.

Before we fixed up the kitchen, we had this weird, unused little area near the back of the house. We used to keep Rickey's dog bed and his food there. Well, even with the kitchen mostly done we still have that weird unused area. Until I decide what exactly to do with this area, I've parked my Craigslist-find chair there for now so we have a place to sit. Rickey seems to think that this means his bed has just been upgraded. Here he is lording over me as I begin to cook dinner. Look at his lazy ass! He's now begging for food from a blue throne. Fucker.

Anyway, about this area. Thoughts? I am thinking built-in bench with extra storage. The man of the house wants it to be more like a booth with two little built-in benches on either side and a little table in between. He wants to read the paper and drink his coffee near the window.

Ideas?


The wall color is actually The Right White from Restoration Hardware. It just looks yellow-ish because I can't seem to take a decent photo these days.

With the kitchen nearly done, the upstairs bathroom is next.

Guess which bathroom is mine?


We closed the door to it 4 years ago when we bought the house and have barely opened it since. We had so many other horrifying rooms in our house, that this was an easy one to just ignore for a long while. But, now that we are emboldened by our kitchen progress, this room is next, in addition to finally tearing out the carpet upstairs, getting the icky popcorn stuff off of the ceilings, and redoing the bedrooms. Remember the magical BINDER? I just started one for the bathroom project. Yay.

I have to brace myself, though. We're going to find a lot of expensive problems as soon as we start this. We need to replace most of the pumbling in the house.

The upstairs toilet is lounging in our tub for a reason. A bad reason. About a year ago, I noticed that the ceiling above our downstairs toilet was kind of bowing. I didn't want to think the unthinkable, which was that not only was the horrifying bathroom upstairs a cosmetic mess, it had actually problems. Plumbing problems. Scary leaky problems. Tear up walls & ceilings problems. Sure enough. After Big Jim the plumber removed the toilet to inspect things and confirm our suspicions, we all just decided to leave the toilet in the tub and close the door and only think about it again when we were ready to fix the entire problem.

That time is upon us. I am excited and terrified. And ready to sign my paychecks over to Big Jim and a new contractor.

God help me.

Almost.

Yeah, we lived with that disaster yellow kitchen for 4 years. If you are late to the party, you can read more about the horrible old kitchen and my paint-peeling party HERE in my love/hate letter to home ownership.

It's not a super deluxe remodel or anything. We didn't move any walls. We didn't reconfigure the space. It's just cosmetic, but we sure as hell needed it.




(Update: A few Seattle people have emailed to ask about the cabinets. I got them from BUILDER'S SHOWROOM. The cabinets are manufactured by a local company, CANYON CREEK.)

Day Two: "Can we do that?"

Contractor Gary called early this am.

"Did you want a disposal?"

"Yes."

"Well, it's not in my bid."

"Um, ok. I know we want one."

So we spoke about that and I learned that in order to re-plumb the area to get the disposal to connect to my sink, it will add an extra $250 to the job. Plus the cost of the disposal. Oy.

I've never had a disposal. I have always lived my adult life in vintage apartment buildings, and in this older home. So I am not sure I understand the magic of it. But I asked my friend at work, and she cried out, "You don't have one?! You HAVE to have one!" Ok. I get that it grinds up the little bits of food from dinner, but I am not sure what the magic is. My better half and I decided that it seems like something a "modern home" has - - like soft-close drawers and, say, an electrical outlet in the bathroom (the only outlet we have in ours I can't reach. Go figure.) - - so we decided to get a disposal. I mean, if Karine is right, we need it.

But seriously. What is the magic? Please tell me.


Unrelated to the disposal business we had an interesting discovery yesterday, which I am still thinking through today:

Underneath the weird, gross, 12" x 12" plastic-y "tile" that the previous homeowner applied to the kitchen floor, Contractor Gary revealed.... hardwoods.

"So, are they.... good?" I asked him.

"Yeah. I mean. You'd need to refinish them."

"Can we do that?"

"Anything is possible. It'll just cost you more."

Which pretty much sounds like the unwritten rule of all matters related to home improvement.

So I know when discussing the floor everyone was hot on hardwoods. So maybe I will do that. I only have until tomorrow to decide. I better get a good night's sleep.


*UPDATE* Oh! And I forgot to add:
When he called me today, he had a question about the sink I ordered. And I told him, "Actually, if you look over on such and such, you will see a BINDER I have with everything related to the project so far... your bid, all my receipts, installation instructions for the sink, specs for the microwave, etc." I think he liked this.

When I returned home tonight, I noticed he left it open. He made notes in it. I love that part. He's actually using it.

Organization pays. (I can't believe my unorganized ass just typed that.)


Photo above? Not Contractor Gary.

Day One: The point of no return.

This morning, I had a sink. A crappy one, but still.

My favorite part today was just a few minutes ago when I was surveying the damage and chatting with the contractor about progress, to-dos, etc. He was telling me about work he will need to add. I just said, fine, can you tell me along the way what we are adding to the bill? He said, "Oh sure, but I will need to have [my fiance] sign for it since he's the homeowner.

Argh.

We both own it and the remodel is being funded with money I have been saving. Needless to say, the little lady of this house FELT STABBY. I let him know the situation and told him that he can just have me sign for everything, thank you.

Which reminds me, we had dinner with some people a few weeks ago and when they realized we'd been in the house 4 years, they asked, "What have you been doing this whole time?" Again, STABBY. Well, we've been saving for renovations, among other things. No loan, no interest, no funny money, no line of credit. Just cash. We lived nearly all that time with a faucet that shot water in your face if you moved it too far to the right because we just figured we'd make all the repairs at once... and once we could really afford it. Maybe that's old fashioned, but oh well.

Nevertheless, that all sounds so negative, but the truth is, I like our contractor. He's efficient, a little bossy when he needs to be, he's clear about letting me know when decision time is coming to an end for certain parts of the job that I am still deciding on (materials, etc.). So we are thrilled that work is beginning. We're glad the day has come, you know?

Plus, for the next 6 - 8 weeks, I have a perfectly good excuse for not cooking dinner and to have it delivered instead. What's not to love about that? Pagliacci is on speed dial.

Signs of spring.

The gardenias, lilac trees, and azaleas are all showing small buds. I can't tell you how happy I was to see signs of life out there. The hydrangeas look like death. Not only did I not deadhead the old blooms (shame on me), but they sat under piles of wildly uncharacteristic snow for days and days and now look emaciated and dead. I am worried they won't come back, but I think I know better.



The hostas. Where are they? Seriously, they are gone. Just a little brown, spindly shoot sticking out of the ground in places where the leafy bastards were once showing off. Will they come back? Was the snow too much for them?

The huge potted climbing hydrangea has suffered thanks to my poor placement. They weren't kidding when they said it was a climber. It's not a climber like, say, jasmine, with its delicate tendrils racing to grow all the way to the sun. This climbing hydrangea has greedy, woody, fat branches that grow aggressive hairy-looking "feet" that want to cling to the brick side of our house. The problem is that I left the pot several feet away from the wall thinking it would be happy to grow up some bamboo supports. I was wrong. The top of the thing is leaning over to the wall, like a kid with his arms out, screaming for momma. Now he's crooked. Damn.

The rosemary and the lavender are like the two receptionists who've worked at the same electrical supply company for 20 years. Just smacking their gum and filing their nails. They've seen it all before. The didn't break during the big storm. They're like, "Whatever, this is nothing." And they go on doing what they do competently and quietly, although probably snickering at the the other employees, like the hostas, and laughing at the boss who was dumb enough to forget to deadhead the flowers.

I'm excited for spring. In the northwest, with this lack of light and permanent state of near-depression of its citizenry, we take any sign of life around here and cling to it. Just like that damn climbing hydrangea.