Thank you for your kind words of support during this difficult time with our powder room renovation. You are all fab.
Here is a little peek at what I saw when I stepped back and it started to sink in that it was JUST SO YELLOW. It may look like the walls are illuminated with some kind of special lighting. They are not.That's just the colour.
In fact, I described it the other day as the kind of yellow you'd see all around you if you were trapped inside the actual Golden Arches, or the sun, whichever is brighter and is more likely to burn your retinas.
Ok, the new colour is getting worse/more intense as the day progresses and more light shines into the room.
I'm using this as incentive to suggest new yellow-colour names to CIL.
How about Peeps Throw Up? Any others?
<1:24 p.m>
I have just spent the morning painting the bathroom. The blue walls in the room leading into it causes the eye to play a little trick with the colour. That, combined with the poor lighting filtering from the small window is turning Harvest Cheer, aka Dark Daffodil Yellow into The-Canary-Who-Ate-Too-Much-Spinach-and-Pooped kind of yellow.
I keep sneaking peeks as it dries. This is going to take some getting used to.
You walk in there, and you can feel your eyes go wonkey and buggy.
I bet this will do wonders for my skin tone.
Next up: painting the door (WHITE), installing the toilet and sink (WHITE) and adding the trim (WHITE). Suffice it to say that everything that's going to be going into this bathroom has to be WHITE, (towels, soap, I mean everything) in hopes of lightening the yellow into something that's easier on the eyes, like Big Bird.
Note to self: leave the colour choice and the taping and painting to the professionals
p.s. Emma's b-day party was on Saturday. I am pleased to report there were no injuries or lost children, but more about that later.
a.
<friday may 14, 2004 - 9:08 a.m>
Five years ago today I was in labour with Emma. Little did I know that the end result would be a ten-pound-three-ounce whopper of a girl.
Here's she is then, and here she is now. Happy Birthday Boo. We love you so much.
andrea
<wednesday may 12, 2004 - 10:34 a.m>
I got my haircut last week. I hadn’t had my hair cut for months. I don’t know why it always takes me this long to get around to doing it. I love getting a haircut. I love everything about it, well, now that I have found a hairdresser that I like.
My hairdresser is a funky young girl of indeterminable age. She could be 18, she could be 30, or anywhere in between. I have never asked. I am also never able to recognize her when I show up for my appointment. This is clearly an indicator of how seldom I take the time for a haircut, but also how often she changes her appearance. She is now sporting a short dark bob with a splash of bright red in the front. It looks great on her.
I love getting my hair washed. Leaning back into the sink, one finds oneself at the mercy of the shampoo girl. There’s a strange level of unspoken intimacy here, one that isn’t often broached in a world where we keep safe distances from each other in the name of personal space. But it’s more than just the proximity of her vertical body to my innate horizontal. She’s touching me. She’s washing my hair. This is personal.
Her fingers move deftly across my scalp, firmly and with purpose. For me, this part is less about the wash and more about the experience. In a good salon you’ll be the lucky recipient of a massage to the scalp. This is a seriously underrated part of the body. The constant stream of hot water on my head dissolves the stress that has accumulated in my brain, as does the amazing smell of the shampoo and conditioner. I have no idea what she’s using on me. My reclining position and newly-relaxed state leaves me both helpless and unable to see anything other than the ceiling tiles. Whatever it is, it smells nutty and tropical, like some faraway Caribbean destination. This smell will come home with me, and bring me tropical dreams while I sleep.
The hair washing is over much too soon. Time to talk about the hair. I tell her what I envision, she gives me her input and we proceed. My most radical departure: bangs. After lord-knows-how long it took me to grow them out, I decided that the world has seen enough of my forehead and it was time to cover it with something again.
The only awkward moment in this process is when she stepped back from the chair, looked down at the top of my head and said:
“Now, about your cowlick….”
First, I hate the word ‘cowlick,’ especially when it's applied to me. It reminds me of Alfalfa on the Little Rascals. But it’s true. I have this idiotic tuft of hair (aka – a cowlick) just above my temple. It’s a patch of, let’s say, 200 hairs, 180 of which are constantly moving in different directions. It never behaves. So there was some discussion about it and we decided to give it the chop and make it into a wispy bang as well. Discussion about my bangs are fraught with complication. My widow’s peak leaves me unable to have normal bangs. My mother says it’s a beautiful gift, I say it’s a curse.
Hairdresser girl warned me it would be hard to coiff. So with the help of some straightener, a dollop of wax, a stream of Sahara-like air from a Turbo 3000 hairdryer, much pulling and brushing and rolling and professional coaxing … she actually made the ‘cowlick’ appear like regular hair. Mind you, it was only temporary, and I knew that, because I have since been unable to replicate what she did with my hair. I am currently sporting two wonky S-curve cowlicks each on opposite sides of my head. I am not exaggerating when I say that this very morning I used straightener, gel, wax, a hairdryer of equal heat and intensity, AND a curling iron to give it one final singe and straightening. It didn’t work. I have never felt so unwomanlike. I can’t make my own hair work. I am a knob.
But that day, the rest of the haircut fell into place, and I walked out of there with a spring in my step. My hair felt wonderfully soft. It bounced. It shone! I felt like swinging my head around like the women in those shampoo commercials. But I didn’t. I didn’t want someone alerting the police to some crazy shiny-haired woman running around with a loose neck.
Next time I won’t let so much time go by between appointments. And, perhaps I’ll ask her to make me a blonde again. :)
a
<tuesday may 11, 2004 - 8:32 p.m>
Two moderately hunky workmen started on our bathroom floor today.
Tomorrow it's about grout and the addition of an electrical outlet and the fixing of walls.
We also bought our new toilet. I think it was the fastest sale of a toilet in the recorded history of the world, although (as Mark reminded me) the lead-up time to this big event has been a couple of weeks in the making.
We marched in there, found a salesperson, got the scoop, consulted our consumer report, paid, and brought our baby home.
We're on our way! Woo-hoo!
a.
<sunday may 9, 2004 - 8:55 p.m>
Happy Mother's Day!
This little photo, taken today, is for all the moms out there. :)
My day was lovely. It started with breakfast in bed.... all my favourites; bagels, cream cheese, smoked salmon, a couple slices of bacon, coffee and juice.
And gifts! I received some beautiful handmade paper and other crafty things.
After a LONG hot shower I drove to Dow's Lake, alone, to bask in the glory of the wonderful weather. Plenty of other people had the same idea.
After a couple hours of people-watching and photo-taking I went to fill up on coffee, went browsing for shoes, and then grocery-shopping.
I know, the latter isn't that glamorous, but I bought myself the fixin's for a special dinner (salmon steaks and spinach salad) a photography magazine and a hydrangea bush.
I spent the rest of the afternoon doing a bit of gardening, and reading in the sun.
All in all, it was a very nice day. Thanks to my DH and my lovely offspring for making it so special.
Monday: bathroom reno continues. This is what it looks like right now. Ugh. I wish it was over. Also on Monday, it's my turn to be duty mom at Emma's nursery school. Last time I was there a kid fell into a gigantic puddle, head first. :)
