Progress Report: Living Room, Guest Room, Office

Since we closed on the hizzy a week and a half ago, we've been in a near constant state of schlepping, organizing and improving upon. I have today off, and I spent a good portion of my morning ROY-G-BIV'ing my dresses and Matt's shirts, if that gives you any indication of the nesting bug that has gripped my very soul. 

We're nowhere near completion, but the masses have cried out for photographic evidence of our housedom, and to them I say: I hear you clucking, big chickens.

Let us start in the living room, which until Saturday doubled as our sleeping quarters with the help of an outrageously comfortable air mattress on loan from Matt's parentals. We still have quite a way go to here, but we've painted it in the soothing tones of April Mist (and by we I mean I taped everything and MIL came over while we were at work and did the rest) and purchased a cute little lamp from Target. 

Here's the before picture, from the previous owners:

And here's what it looks like now:

Living Room To-Dos:

• Buy a couch
• Buy armchairs
• Buy an area rug
• Mount the TV above the fireplace
• Make a painting/picture mural above the couch
• Make curtains

*****

On Saturday we got a moving van and picked up our furniture from the apartment, and thus we were able to sleep in an honest-to-goodness bed once more. The previous owners had two little girls, the older of whom was named Sofia and had a purple princess room with a princess princess princess pink chandelier. We decided this would be our guest room, and since the queen box spring won't make it around the tight corners to the master suite upstairs, our bed is parked here for now. We definitely need to leave the chandy up because it's awesome, but the purple's got to go. Depending one the color scheme we go for, I might want to refinish the furniture and paint it a different color. 

Before :

This is how I know her name is Sofia, BTW; it's not because I'm a master creeper. The paint color in that picture is closer to real life to mine:

 Guest Room To-Dos:

• Re-paint
• Get new bedding
• Get lamp for night table
• Hang map canvases so guests can pin where they're from
• Make curtains
• Refinish/paint furniture

*****

I spent a good chunk of the weekend building things with my bare hands. The Ikea bookcases we bought were snap and a half, but this desk. My god, this desk. It nearly killed me. I'm spectacularly bad at all things that involve hand-eye coordination, and you should probably put hammering at the top of that list. I'm pretty durn lucky not to be writing this from the hospital.

Anyhow. This room had been used as a nursery, but we'll be using it as a home office. Depending on how ambitious we get, we'll probably be doing away with the pale pink walls and the frou frou switch plates, but I continue to find them charming.

Here's a before (again, their fancy real estate photography does a better job picking up the true paint color):

And here is the evil Ikea furniture that I'm going to have to not look at for awhile because we're in a fight:

Office To-Dos:

• Paint
• Buy a chair for the desk
• Buy an area rug
• Buy a lamp for the desk
• Get some binders full of women so it looks real profesh

*****

Sometime this week I'll show you my incredibly organized kitchen cupboards and the book explosion that happened in the basement. Maybe I'll even give you a peek at the ROY-G-BIV'ed closets. If you're good.

On learning to compromise

I was having lunch with Anna, telling her about my Woes of the Week.

"He wants a sectional," I said. "A big, fatty, leather sectional. It will totally overwhelm the space. And I stick to leather in the summer. If there's one thing I know, it's that I didn't buy a house just to stick to the gigantic leather couch in the summer."

This wasn't the only design disagreement we'd been having. I pinned long and hard to come up with a color scheme I was totally in love with for what I'm calling Salon Neenuh. It involves light blue-green walls, neutral fabric furniture and blue and coral accents. He would prefer dark colors, like gray and brown and navy.

This really shouldn't surprise me any more, after nearly six years of being together. I first learned of our taste gulf when we were registering for wedding presents, and I was head over heels for a teal china pattern with BIRDS on it, and he wanted white with a single silver circle. I wanted the bold apple green mixer and he was adamant that we stick to the classic red or white. I wanted bright-bright-bright linens and he wanted brown. I married a monster.

And, I told Anna, he's desperate for a dog. I ticked off the reasons I don't want one:

• The vet bills. Dogs inevitably get ring worm and then cancer and then you have to pay for dog chemo and we just bought a house and how could we possibly afford that.
• The poop. Once you buy a dog you are then responsible for every piece of poop that comes out of its body.
• The shedding. I just spent an entire evening vacuum up the little white hairs the previous owners' best friend left EVERYWHERE-- like, they were even in the bathtub. 
• The noise. What if Pup decides my brother smells weird and it yaps its head off every time he comes over? Sam is related by blood (at least that's what we've been told); I can't just ban him from our house.
• The jealousy. What if we have a baby and then the dog gets jealous because we're not giving it enough attention and then it climbs into baby's crib and sits on baby's face AND KILLS OUR BABY?
• The poop. What if it's a fraidy-dog and I drop something because dropsy and it makes a loud noise and then the dog poops itself on our huge leather sectional?

Anna patiently refuted all my points and told me that I would love being a pet mama and that it would be great practice for being a real mama and that she would be our dog-sitter forever and always amen. And then she had a stroke of genius. I care about the furniture. Matt cares about the dog. I should use dog ownership as a bargaining chip to get him to cede decision-making capabilities.

Reader, that's what I did. And it totally worked. I look forward to inviting you to our humble abode this summer, where the yard will be poop-filled and the couches will be stick-free.

Home Wish List

Must have:
-Three bedrooms
-Two bathrooms
-Medium back yard
-Garage
-Finished basement
-New windows

Would like to have:
-Turrets
-Stained glass windows in every room
-Secret passages
-Treehouse
-Absurd amount of cupboard space in the kitchen (like enough to store several small children in (for hide and seek purposes))
-Window seats
-Treasures from times gone by hidden away in the attic
-Claw-foot bathtub

Must not have:*
-Vagrant men who pee in the backyard
-Ripped-out crown molding
-Haunted basement/attic
-A pervasive odor of cat pee
-Cast iron boiler circa 1903
-A store called "Liquor Barrel" around the corner

*All things present in houses we looked at today

Things people will no longer say to me

Das Boot: 8/14/12-9/12/12

• What'd you do?
• You should be more careful!
• Bet you won't be dancing for awhile!
• Were you dancing too much?
• You should stop kicking your husband so hard!
• (Stare)
• Nice boot!
• Your shoes don't match!
• Look at your peg leg! 
• (Stare)
• You broke it in Paris? I bet there's a good story behind that!
• At least it happened on the last day of your trip and not the first day!
• At least it didn't happen in winter!
• (Stare)
• (Laugh)
• (Stare)
• Does it hurt?
• Are you on drugs?
• Can you drive?
• (Stare)
• I broke my foot once. It was way worse.
• I broke my arm once.
• You're going to get arthritis!

I'd like to thank the people of Paris, Icelandair Flights 543 and 657, Louisville and, most of all, Saint Paul for the all their concern during the past month. You can stop staring at me now.

Ways I wish I'd broken my foot

I broke my foot in Paris.

That line, which I've repeated ad naseum all week in response to the countless queries of "Wha hoppon?", would lead you to believe there's a really good story behind it. There isn't. There's basically no reason for me to have broken my foot. I was stepping off a sidewalk and my foot slipped. C'est tout.

Here's what I wish I could say:

• I was chasing pigeons
• I slipped in dog merde. Damn French people who don't clean up after their dogs...
• I was helping an old blind man cross the street à la Amélie and a speeding moped ran me over
• I was attacked near Pigalle and stomped on my aggressor's steel-booted instep like I learned in self-defense
• I was so inspired by the American Women's Gymastics Team's success that I decided to cartwheel down the Champs de Mars
• I was running to catch a train in the métro and the door closed on my hoof
• I was taking one of my signature jumping-in-front-of-monument pictures

Le sigh. 

You'll come for the Troglodytes but you'll stay for the geese

French websites seldom disappoint. On the English translations of even classy hotel sites, you'll often find delightful turns of phrase like:

For a little break between all those sights seeing, why not relaxing with a wellness stay ?... To that we propose you a stay for two, including a double room in the Manor with breakfasts and a massage package (for 2 hours) at the Jardin de Valentine at the Jardin de Valentine, beauty center in the heart of Amboise (15 min. walk).

Why not relaxing, I demand you? Propose me all you got. I'll takes it.

A wonderful gem I found yesterday was the site for the Troglodyte village outside of Saumur. On the photos and videos page, there were several short videos that one would think would take one on a tour of the cave dwellers' lair. But mostly, there is this. And this. And then there's this one, which started off so promising...

I just conquered the Loire

I'm going back to Franceland in but four short weeks, and it wasn't until yesterday that my maniacal planning tendencies kicked in. I tend toward exhaustive, pages-long itineraries that cover every option and ticket price for anything you might find interesting in a specific city, complete with a to-the-minute train timetable. 

The plan for next month is that take the train from Paris to Digoin immediately after I arrive, and the next day I'll enjoy the delights of the Escargot Festival. Amanda gets in two days later, and we will go wine-tasting and gourmet dinner-eating to our hearts' delight. After four days and five nights of glorious Diggy, we will make our way to the Loire Valley region and all its pretty pretty princess chateaux, then Monet's gardens in Giverny, then Paris, then home. 

That's where I got stuck. There was not a good way to see everything sans voiture, and I was at my wits' end on how to squeeze in a trip to see troglodyte awesomeness in Saumur. I spent hours on the SNCF website testing the viability of various routes and home bases. This afternoon I finally settled upon the Most Perfect Itinerary. Feast your eyes, francophiles:

WEDNESDAY: DIGOIN-->AMBOISE-->CHENONCEAUX

Chateau Royal d'Amboise

Chateau de Clos Luce (final home of Leonardo da Vinci)

Chateau de Chenonceau

WEDNESDAY: AMBOISE-->SAUMUR

Chateau de Saumur

Musée du Champignon

Troglodyte home

FRIDAY: AMBOISE-->BLOIS-->CHAMBORD-->CHEVERNY-->VERNON

Chambord

Cheverny

SATURDAY: VERNON-->GIVERNY-->PARIS

Giverny

Giverny

Everything delicious in my life comes from Pinterest

There are a few technological advances in this world that I can say have legitimately changed my life. One is digital cameras. Another is Netflix streaming. The latest, and greatest, is Pinterest.

Lots of people I follow use it to plan their weddings or babies' birthdays or what their next home decor project should be. I mostly use it to plan what goes into my mouth.

Exhibits A and B are the two dishes I assembled at a raucous barbecue chez Parsley last night: Fig Gorgonzola Honey Tartines and Grilled Peach Salad with Mozzarella and Arugula. Nom factor: through the roof. Here's some Instagrammed photographic evidence:

 

 

In no particular order, here are some other delicious dishes that have graced my table recently:


Springtime Honey Garlic Roast Chicken Skillet:

With this guy you roast entire heads of garlic and then mush it up with honey for a Flavor Paste of the Gods to schmear on your chicken and veggies. Plus, the ingredients only came to around $20, and we ate it for at least six meals. Score. 


The Loaded Bowl: 

Dude and I are still trying valiantly to battle the Marriage Fifteen, and this dish is a nice low-cal but filling option. Just don't eat it for lunch on a day where you have important meetings, if you know what I mean...

Spicy Roasted Broccolini Quinoia Salad:

My coworkers are crazy about the quinoia these days, and this dish was my first foray into that trendy grain. The lemony roasted and slightly spicy broccolini are what really make this sing. I'm drooling a little bit right now. So grood.

Rosemary Olive Oil Cake:

I made this for a Downton Abbey viewing party and it was just perfection on a plate. The rosemary provides an unusual but pleasant element, and the pinch of salt goes a long way in making this an almost-savory delight. Perfect for tea parties, brunches, and viewings of House-In-A-Teacup-type shows.

Please share with the class, Francey Pantsers: what are your favorite new delicacies, pinned or otherwise?

Winner of the Sweater Giveaway Limerick Contest: Danny D!

According to the venerable Pa Perlman, the winning limerick came from Danielle of PDX! Congrats, Danny! Here are her champion verses:

My dearest fetus begs me to tell thee
"Aunt Nina thou art so beautiful and witty"
Oh please give to my fetus
Who has yet to meet us
Thy sweater that shall make her so pretty!

Pa felt it triumphed "for its adherence to form, wit, expectancy and joie de spirit."

To my other contestants: don't have the sads! Remember I am always available should you choose to commission a knitted item, so long as you purchase the yarn and kick in a few extra clams for labor. Everybody wins! 

V. Presh Sweater Giveaway

I had an extremely productive weekend, during which I managed to increase the amount of time I have between necessity laundry loads by a week thanks to a VS sale, cut short my macaron retirement with a batch of perfect pistachio, made a number of Hunger Games-related puns after viewing said film, and MADE THE CUTEST LITTLE BABY SWEATER YOU EVER DID SEE.

Seriously. How adorbs is that? I was cooing over it like it was a fluffy baby chipmunk when I made those itty bitty sleeves and that adorable little ribbed collar. 

Due to the fact that I have a dearth of 18-month-old little ladies in my life and there are too many boo-boos in this, my first attempt at the pattern, to try to sell it, I'm GIVING IT AWAY! EVERYBODY DANCE!

I think instead of making you tweet about how much you lurve my blog or demanding that you give me a handmade item in exchange, I shall make this a limerick contest similar to the one I unleashed on my coworkers of yore for the grand prize of Curly Hair Classy.

Your mission, Francey Pantsers, is to create the most glorious limerick on the subject of Youth and leave it in the comments by 5:00 p.m. CST this Wednesday, March 28. I will again enlist the help of my Pa, a publisher of Minnesota's finest poets, to judge the bestest. 

May the odds be ever in your favor!

The fine print: Contest limited to those living close enough to yours truly for personal delivery. Exceptions will be made for those who want to kick in a few bucks for shipping.

While visions of snails danced through my head...

My mind is definitely drifting toward Europa these days. It's hard not to be awash in nostalgia when this time last year I was enjoying a perpetual spring that started in Rome in February, hopped to Paris in March, and then stretched to Amsterdam and Berlin in April.

I've been watching a lot of Euro-centric documentaries and films, most recently "The Lives of Others" and "A Woman in Berlin." Being immersed in German reminds me of the phrase I had prepared to say to the pharmacist in hopes of getting relief from seasonal allergies in Berlin last year:

"Ich habe ein Großen gesundheit für das Blume... eins, zwei, drei, veir, fünf gesundheit! Bitte, macht mein Schnoz frei?"

Who's a hyperglot and has watery eyes? This fille.

My transatlantic longing is only going to deepen now that I've purchased my plane tickets to go to France this August. My wonderful Frenchy friend Suzanne alerted me to the fact that my travels coincide with the festival that put Digoin on the map: the annual Fete de l'Escargot. According to Wikipedia, Digoin has held the record for escargots consumption since 2007, when 100,800 escargots awash with 500 kg of butter, 55 kg of parsley and 33 kg of garlic were eaten.

OMD. Can you even believe my luck??

Minnesota Opera deal: $50 tickets for Lucia di Lammermoor

Hey 'Pantsers:

The Opera sent me another ticket deal for their upcoming show, Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor. I'm not seeing it until Thursday, but since this deal expires tomorrow I wanted to get it out to you ASAP. Follow the instructions below to get $50 tickets* (regularly priced up to $200) on Sunday, March 4 and Tuesday, March 6.

From the Opera's press dude: 

In all of opera, there's only one Lucia. Don't miss this must-see thriller that turns divas into legends. After winning the hearts of Minnesota Opera audiences as Eurydice and Amore in Minnesota Opera's 2010 production of Orpheus and Eurydice, sopranos Susanna Phillips (performs March 6) and Angela Mortellaro (performs March 4) return to star as the fragile heroine of this masterpiece of melodic beauty and psychological depth.

Order your $50 tickets at mnopera.org or call the Minnesota Opera Ticket Office, M-F, 9am - 6pm, at 612-333-6669.

*Limit up to 4 seats regularly priced $65-200 for the March 4 and March 6 performances only. Online: Enter 50deal and click “Add Coupon”. You will see your savings applied. Do not complete order if coupon does not load. Service charges and other restrictions may apply. Offer ends February 29, 2012. For additional information call the Ticket Office at 612-333-6669, M-F, 9am-6pm.

In Which My Vows Are Tested

When I consider my life's accomplishments, there is one that stands above all others on a glistening porcelain pedestal: I have vomited but once in the past nine years and two months (to the day).

Longtime Francey Pantsers will recall that fateful night a year and a half ago, mere days before I hopped a plane to Franceland, when I broke my streak and subsequently sunk to the depths of despair in a worthless heap. I have since decided that my accomplishment still holds-- once in nine years is nothing to burp at.

One unfortunate side-effect of my relative inexperience in this regard, however, is that I had no idea how to help my beloved Dude when he bolted from bed at 6 a.m. yesterday morning and started emitting groans and other unfortunate sounds not fit for publication as he clutched the commode for dear life. "Should I pretend to be asleep?" I briefly wondered. Then our ketubah caught my eye. "Oh yeah. I suppose I promised to help him with these kinds of things. There it is-- in writing-- with my signature underneath."

I hefted myself from bed to help, but then had the stunning realization that I had not a clue what to do. Colds are easy: ply 'em with Jewish Penicillin (matzah ball soup) and an embarrassment of citrus, and then force them to drink their weight in fluids. How does one stop violent, constant vomiting, though? Dude requested Pepto Bismal, so I went off in search of it at the neighborhood gas station and then stopped at Whole Foods for a few other Healing Items. Oranges. Bread for toast. Kombucha (they didn't have Gatorade so I figured it was the next best thing).

When I got home Dude had taken up residence on the couch and looked 3000% miserable. I gave him a just-in-case garbage can and then poured him a dose of Pepto. I also surrounded him with water, mouthwash, paper towels and Chlorox disinfecting wipes. Just-in-case garbage can became absolutely-necessary garbage can as the Pepto that had just gone down came right back up. I felt like a terrible wife for cowering in my chair and closing my ears during any one of the dozens of times he heaved and heaved and heaved.

Poor baby, but I can't bring myself to come within three feet of that garbage can.

Nothing seemed to be helping, so I had to bring in the reserves: my mother-in-law. By the time she left, he was sitting up and talking in complete, audible sentences. Cured!

The lessons I learned yesterday, in no particular order:

-Mommies cure everything
-Wait six puke-free hours before trying to make a sickie put anything down his gullet
-Looking totally disgusted during your sickie's most vulnerable time doesn't really help
-If you must watch the Oscars with your sickie in the room, mute the commercials so he doesn't have to hear Arby's reuben advertisement for folks who would "drink Thousand-Island dressing through a straw"

The Neenuh Gift Trifecta

As someone who prides herself on giving thoughtful prezzies, I must give credit where it's due: Ana NAILED it.

Ana and I go way back to our toddler years at Temple Israel in Duluth. She's now a BFD in the Jewish Youth Services sector here in the TC, and when she asked me to teach a Jewish cooking class for 8th and 9th graders this winter I couldn't say no. Cooking! Youths! Sign me up.

We made everything from knishes to hamentashen, from falafel to tsimmes. It was a great group of kids, and I was sorry to see the trimester come to an end. 

Last night I came home after a particularly long week of work to a mysterious package on my coffee table:

Cooking. Tribehood. France.

Could you imagine a more perfect gift pour moi than Quiches, Kugels and Couscous: My Search for Jewish Cooking in France by Joan Nathan? The answer is no. You could not. And would you even believe me if I told you that there is a recipe for kosher-for-Passover macarons? Because there is. There's also a recipe for a delicacy called, "Frozen Soufflé Rothschild," which in its true state is embellished with GOLD LEAF. I DIE.

Ana, you win all the awards.

Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est un collier

As if there could be any doubt as to where I left my heart...

I saw the Minnesota version of this necklace on Pinterest and snapped it right up for Anna's birthday. Then I knew I had to get Frenchy versions for My Main Meuf Missy and me.

Mr. Sir and I have been Euro-nostalgia-ing real bad lately. We're watching documentaries about the Medicis and having romantical dates at fancy French restaurants where we order escargots and rue that they're already de-shelled.

I should probably be using my next paycheck to replace this wheezing laptop, but instead I'm putting it all toward a 10-day Visit in August to Paris, Diggy-town (Digoin), Charolly (Charolles) and a few other places that stole mon coeur.

Je vous verrai bientôt, mes amies.

PS: The title of this post is taken from a song by Quebecer Gilles Vigneault

PPS: Anyone want to go to Iceland with me for a few days on the way back?