Culture No. 26: Going to the Dentist

It’s been a quiet week here at the Carlton B&B, with the Highlight Award going to my dentist appointment on Monday. Although, like most people of average intelligence and some number of teeth, I abhor the dentist with every fiber of my being, so perhaps that activity should be awarded the Lowlight Prize instead. In the interest of full disclosure, let me just say now: I hate the dentist.

I have always hated the dentist – even as a wee bug, when I really shouldn’t have known any better. Sister V. and I went to a pediatric dentist with a Pac-Man machine in the waiting room and the treasure chest of junk store prizes next to the check-in desk – everything a kid could really want in a dentist – but it wasn’t enough. I knew. I knew the dentist was a place to be avoided at all costs. This sort of attitude landed me – on several occasions – in the “special” waiting room where the “high-strung” children had to sit until the sedatives kicked in.

Yes. I hate the dentist.

Even though I’m no longer bitter about being drugged to clean teeth that were going to fall out anyway, I still hate the dentist. It’s not because it hurts, because it usually doesn't. (I love how they numb you prior to the Novocain now. Oh man, back in my day...) It’s because of the hygienists, who – without fail – feel the need to teach me the ABCs of flossing Every. Single. Visit. Yes, I could take the hint and be a little more diligent in my flossing, but I’d rather they’d just leave me the hey alone.

My new dental disgruntlement is the industry’s sudden love affair with Sonicare toothbrushes and Waterpiks. The first time I went to my new dentist here in NEPA, I thought I was in a product placement ad. Ugh. And I thought the flossing speech was bad… It was like they were giving away quarters every time someone dropped a brand name and everyone in the office was bound and determined to save up for a college education. (And yet they still just gave me the regular, old school, free toothbrush. Let’s talk about that hypocrisy.) Combine that with an annoying dentist who looked like Dr. Jackson from Stargate SG-1 (Get a haircut!), decided in 3.1 seconds that I needed five fillings, then proceeded to schedule me for an appointment without telling me why and I almost didn’t go back.

Because I guess that’s why I really hate the dentist: I have terrible teeth and I hate bad news. I brush twice a day, I don’t drink soda, I did the whole orthodontics thing, and – regardless of the opinion held by the patronizing hygienic masses – I do floss more than the average bear. And I still get slammed with the unwelcome news that five of my teeth are on the fritz.

But I did go back. (These are the only teeth I have.) Thankfully, another dentist at the office does most of the heavy lifting and I didn’t even have to deal with Mr. I-Need-A-Haircut. The new guy looked like a cross between Bono and a hobbit – quite possibly the two most trustworthy folks on the planet – and said less than 50 words to me the entire time. That, my friends, is what makes the perfect dentist. And he never even mentioned floss.

Cat No. 8: Irene

Nora is weathering Irene with her usual panche. Our sump pump's workin' overtime and our power's been in and out, but otherwise we are safe, warm, and dry. I hope the rest of you are the same. <3

Cooking No. 8: Star Wars Cookies

Last winter, I caught a bad cold and spent a few days on the couch watching hours upon hours of Cake Boss. The beauty of that show is that it makes cake decorating look so easy. All you need is a Jersey accent, a crazy family, a sassy attitude and you’re good to go! I have two out of three, which led me to instantly assume that I was more-than-qualified to make a Jeep-shaped groom’s cake for Bert. After I recovered - physically, obviously not mentally - I even went as far as recruiting a friend to help. Thankfully, someone talked me out of that fool’s errand along the way - instead we went with A Little Imagination Cakes who was awesome! - but the fact remained: I knew I could make something as crazy as Buddy. All I needed was an occasion and a chance.

Well, this week I got both. And let’s just say: there is definitely a reason why Buddy has not given me a call. Several reasons, actually. Let me explain.

Last Christmas, one of my BFFs gave me a package of Star Wars cookie cutters from Williams-Sonoma. I never opened them, but since Bert’s birthday is this week, I decided to whip up a batch of sugar cookies and show off my mad, TLC-learned decorating skills. After all, Sister V. and I have decorated Christmas cookies since the days of yore. How could this be any different? (<--- Famous Last Words. It would actually be very different.)

But for starters, these cookie cutters are awesome. I was very pleased to see that the cookie cutter industry has stayed technologically abreast of the changing times. Look below. See those little knobs on the back? They push each cookie out completely intact, minus the old-school cookie-ruining, tear-inducing tugging that always accompanied the "really cool" cookie cutters. (We had a Snoopy one growing up. So fun, yet so difficult to get his neck out intact...) These bad boys popped out like escape pods from a Star Destroyer. (Cue the nerd jokes. Sorry, but for Pete's sake: I *own* Star Wars cookie cutters. You had to expect some.)

The cookies looked really clean and crisp before I put them in the oven...

...but afterwards, they all seem to have suffered some sort of allergic reaction.

Most of my Darth Vaders turned into something vaguely bell-shaped (Bonus! They double as Christmas cookie cutters! I think I could probably frost them into Cylons as well...) My stormtroopers, which were the least-crisp to begin with, turned into faceless blobs. Boba wasn't very far behind. Yoda still looked like Yoda, but with ears like that, it's pretty difficult to look like anything else. But I didn't panic. Frosting, like paint, can cover a myriad of problems. If you know what you're doing. Which I didn't.

Regardless, may I present to you: Sarah's Star Wars Cookies, Episode 2011:

The Stormies: My favorite, hands down. And not-so-ironically, the easiest to do. Frost with white, pipe with black (Er, grey. Grey-purple. Gruple?) Yes, there is something vaguely feline about them, but as a closet cat lady, it seems only appropriate to combine my two favorite things. It’s like an Andrew Lloyd Webber and George Lucas collaboration gone haywire. How could you not love their cute little menacing faces?

Boba: Decorating the Fettster initially threw me for a loop. He doesn’t have one solid background color, so I decided piping each color was a better option. ("Many Zip-loc bags died to get this information.") Unfortunately, this turned out to be a lot more work. Boba was also the last cookie I did, which meant it was late, I was tired, and my frosting was running out. If I had worked on him first, I might have gone a little crazier, but I think he came out alright. So maybe it looks like he pulled out the pastel helmet for Easter Sunday, but you get the idea. Boba can totally rock pink.

Yoda: Originally, I thought Yoda would be the easiest to frost. There’s really no mistaking that head shape. And light green frosting is a lot easier to mix than black or red. In theory that’s all fine and dandy, but in reality his eyes look like deviled eggs and he seems to have some sort of weird tic-tac-toe board on his head. Oh well. Biting off his ears is really satisfying. Like biting the ears off your Easter bunny. The ears always taste better.

Darth: Oy vey. I was in trouble from the second I googled “how to make black frosting.” Let it be known: three parts red, three parts blue, and two parts green makes PURPLE. Not black. I put in a frighteningly large amount of food coloring just to make it this dark. I set aside a bit of gruple to pipe over with, but there really wasn’t enough contrast for me. Maybe I should’ve used white? Regardless, Vader looks like he’s wearing glasses. Fail.

I was a little disappointed my cookies did not come out exactly like the ones on the box (Closet Perfectionist. Right. Here.), but Bert really liked them and they kind of grew on me after awhile. I think the Williams-Sonoma test kitchen must have made a deal with the Dark Side to get their cookies looking so perfect. Or used fondant. Either one. Same thing.

Next time, I think I'll spring for some brighter, store-bought frosting. At least for the bits I piped. Other than that, I think I just need to practice a bit more. I'll get that call from Buddy one of these days...

Happy Birthday, Sweetie!

Cars No. 2: Geoff & Jeepers

Is there anything worse than coming out of church and discovering your car battery is suddenly and inexplicably dead? Probably, but add in the fact that you are also absolutely starving (aka “post-church syndrome”) and have nothing of caloric value to hold you over other than a cough drop. And a gross one at that. No, there is nothing worse.

On one hand, church is an awesome place to break down because everyone’s more than willing to give you a jump, but on the other, it’s an embarrassing place to need one. Did my mind wander too much during worship? Did I not take enough sermon notes? Is this God’s way of saying “Sarah! Pay attention! Here and Now!” like the mynah birds from Aldous Huxley’s final novel Island, which I personally thought was a terribly patronizing read and I really hope God has better literary taste than that. (I think he does. There's a reason I am only one of the eight people on the planet who felt the need for more Huxley after Brave New World.)

No, I think it was God’s way of saying, “Hey! You need a new battery! I’ll have it conk out at church so you’re surrounded by a whole heap of people who can rescue you,” cause he’s thoughtful like that. And rescued we were. Bert’s friend/former groomsman J. and his son/former ring bearer C. came to our aid, all for the price of two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a can of root beer - my contribution to the “Let’s Fix the Mazda!” party. The boys dropped my dead weight off at the house ("I'll call my dad!" is not considered legitimate car knowledge, even though it's served me well for years...), then scurried off to Sears for a new battery. That was enough to get Geoff the Mazda home from church, but not enough to keep him from idling too low and stalling out. This led us - yes, totally including myself "in the know" - to believe that the alternator was on the fritz as well. Great.

Bert took yesterday off to figure things out and spent the morning on the phone ordering an alternator. NAPA could have one by 2, which was great because it meant we spent the entire morning enjoying the absolutely gorgeous weather. (I had to turn the heat on in the car this morning. SO excited about winter!!!) Geoff made it to NAPA alright, so after we picked up the alternator, we drove over to Advance Auto to make sure we even needed it. And that's where we heard the best news we'd heard all day: "Your alternator is fine."

Sweet. We returned the alternator and went back to Sears to have them check the entire system over again. They confirmed that we were good to go. Apparently, newer cars take 25-30 miles to "reboot" when the battery is changed (They must be running Windows...), so that's why Geoff stalled. And we need a tune-up, which we already knew. Huzzah! We splurged at Sonic to celebrate. (In the budget? No. But neither was the alternator. And $6 is a lot less than $264. ;) The Sears service department at the Wyoming Valley Mall is awesome. A little slow sometimes, yes, but awesome. 10 points. Gold star. Highly recommended.

When we got home, some Jeep parts Bert ordered last week had arrived in the mail, so instead of working on Geoff, he got to spend the afternoon working on the car that really needs the TLC. Poor Jeepers... He's been ill for awhile now, but needs to be on the mend before winter. (He's got a hot date with a garage in Connecticut if we can manage to get him up there.) But miracle of miracles, the car that is only two years younger than its owners was racing around the block in less than two hours, causing Bert to go into a Jeremy Clarkson-esque fit of glee at his ability to mend things. He is not on-par with "the world's least practical man" by any means, but the giddiness must be a universal man thing. But for the first time in a long time, both Carlton Cars are working. And I can definitely be giddy about that.

Craft No. 8: The Honey Do List

Just because trophy wives know how to work power tools doesn’t mean we want to spend our Saturday afternoons actually using them. That’s why God invented “Honey Do” lists and the Honeys to do them – so your average, unemployed trophy wife could spend her weekends covering more productive tasks. Like husband management and project direction. At least that's how the Carlton Clan spent this past Saturday.

Drill, baby, drill!

Not to sound bossy/overbearing/needy, but I do have a bit - pun intended - of an ongoing list of household chores that require either Bert's tools, muscles, height, or a combination of the three (aka "the trifecta of manliness" <3). They are not emergencies, per se. They are things that can be done whenever, as long as they're done eventually. But yesterday, well, Mr. C went all crazy and completed FIVE tasks in one fell swoop. So it seemed only proper to showcase our deluge of home improvement in its own post. The first order of business? Under cabinet lighting.

To be honest with you, I was a little surprised when Bert chose this project first. Our kitchen has two overhead fluorescent lights, but one of them only works about 25% of the time. (The landlord knows about it, but judging by the four months that have passed since we pointed it out to him, we're not getting a new fixture anytime soon.) So half of our kitchen is usually kind of dark. It hasn't been a big deal yet since we've only lived here since the spring, but I've been dreading trying to work in there all winter. So I scribbled "under cabinet lighting" onto the Honey Do list, thinking maybe I could get some rope lights or something tacked up at some point.

Lesson Learned: Never Underestimate Your Husband. Bert decided to sacrifice his college light table to the cause and showed up to the job with two, mini, fluorescent fixtures I didn't even know we had. (Unfortunately, in the process of getting the fixtures out of our basement, he discovered the table's wood casing had already been sacrificed to the ridiculous moisture downstairs. R.I.P., LightmasterVT. Your light shall shine on.)

After ditching the moldy light table, we ran into some more trouble. When Bert tried to hook up the first fixture, he discovered it was about 1/4" too long to fit under one section of our cabinets:

Anyone have a Dremel we can borrow? ;)

So that left us room for just one fixture, directly over the sink:

No complaints here! I will take what I can get!

It was pretty simple from there on out. I marked the spots for the screws, Bert drilled some holes, and viola!

The light plugs into one of our two counter outlets - see the black cord? - which, while not ideal, will probably work out just fine. I've only ever used one of three appliances (coffee maker, coffee grinder, hand mixer) on that counter, and I can't say I've ever needed to use two at once. Another perk: our dishes will probably be about 150% cleaner now that I can actually see what I'm washing. ;) A definite improvement all around! On to the next task!

See that cabinet Bert's holding? Yeah, well, believe it or not, but it's about to fall off. Our lower cabinets are made of lovely laminated particleboard (c. early 80s) and have not aged nearly as well as yours truly. This door in particular - another pun intended - has been drenched by years of faucet leaks and is slowly rotting from the ground up. The laminate keeps the rotten part of the door intact on the exterior, but the interior is not so lucky. Due to the rot, the bottom hinge had almost completely pulled out. I assumed the door was done for and that I'd have to buy a tension rod, make yet another curtain, and relocate the cleaning supplies under the sink to a more secure location. (Nora is fascinated by the cabinet under the sink. That's all I need: my cat drinking Clorox. No one will ever let us have children.) But then! Enter the husband:

Bert completely removed the lower hinge, moved it up an inch or so, screwed it back in, and I miraculously had my door back! Pretty? No. But it wasn't pretty to start with. And it works! And I don't have to make a curtain for it! So I'm a happy camper.

Bert's other projects - hanging curtain rods, pulling out the stove so I could clean behind it, and emptying the last few boxes from our move - were a little less exciting, but I am so glad that they are done! (And I think Bert is too. ;) Thanks, babe. You did a great job.

Anyone else work on those "Honey Do" lists this weekend?

NTOTD No. 10: Having a Grill

One of Bert's coworkers just moved out of Dodge and we inherited his much-loved propane grill. (You should've seen me freak out when the boys tried to load it in the car with the grease trap full and a-swingin' in the breeze. Talk about a panic attack!) It's a little rickety and only has two settings (Low and Hell), but it works and it was free! Hurray! No more boiled hot dogs or fried hamburgers!

NTOTD No. 9: Fresh Flower Friday

I bought these beauts downtown yesterday at the Wilkes-Barre farmer's market. Wouldn't it be fun to buy fresh flowers at least once a week? I'll have to see if I can slip that one into the budget... ;) Have a great weekend!

Craft No. 7: Living Room Curtains

So yesterday was a really bad day. You'd think sharing a bed with someone would make it really difficult to get up on the wrong side of it, but somehow I managed. It started around midnight when Nora came in from a romp, ate some Greenies (the only treats Snobcat deigns to eat), then promptly came into the bedroom and threw up on Bert’s dress shoes. For reals, mi gatito? About three hours of on-and-off sleep succeeded that episode and the rest of the day followed suit, including the craft-project-of-the-day: my living room curtains.

One of the things I really like about our apartment is its abundance of windows. We have ten altogether - a vast improvement over the old apartment's two - and the natural light is just amazing. Thankfully, most of them came with blinds – excepting the bathroom and the kitchen – so there’s been no crazy rush to put curtains up. Which is why my former bedroom/bathroom/kitchen curtains (aka "the multi-taskers") turned up again, this time in our living room. And stayed there. For months.

I absolutely love that tree fabric and would probably curtain the whole house in it if they still made it. (Dear Robert Kaufman, please bring back the tree fabric. Maybe in brown this time? Love, Sarah) But eventually I had to be honest with myself: the curtain style was just not cutting it. The panels weren't wide enough and the curtains were too long. See that “bunch” of fabric just laying around on the window sill, waiting to get covered in rainwater and dead bugs and everything else? Mmm, yeah. It was driving me nuts. Definitely had to go.

So I decided to make valences. I'd never made them before, but I figured, "Hey, they're smaller than curtains, so they'll be easier to make, right? And cheaper. Woohoo!" Cheaper, yes. Easier? Maybe if you know what you're doing. Which, of course, I didn't. (On strict principle, Mama V. doesn't sew. My ignorance is, of course, her fault. ;)

Choosing the fabric - usually the first problem to surmount on account of too many choices - wasn't a problem this time. I'd had my eye on this print for about two months now:

Because everything looks cooler with Apple products in the background...

The navy matches the rest of the living room. There's turquoise, there's stripes, there's a fun retro-mod vibe. It's like everything I could ever want and need in a fabric. Perfect. (Dear Jo-Ann Fabrics, Way to start making cool prints. Gold star for you! Love, Sarah)

We have two windows in our living room and they're both the same size. Wonderful. This project was getting easier and easier as I went. I measured, I cut, I sewed, and viola! I created this little monster:

And I was horribly disappointed. There are about ten things in this picture that I don't like, but let's stick with the four that actually pertain to the valance. It's too thin, it's too short, it's not wide enough, and it's too...blah. My awesome, Sarah-esque (Word of the Day!) fabric looked really wimpy up on the wall. I knew they might look better if I lined them, but I really wasn't too keen on that. I didn't want to screen out any natural light. I just wanted to hide the blinds and keep the windows from looking so naked. So I went back to the drawing board. For weeks. Of mismatched curtains driving me nuts. (I wasn't going to put the trees back up. That would be admitting defeat, which of course I never do.)

Then, inspiration struck! My friend J. made valances for her kitchen a few months ago and finished them off with a strip of contrasting fabric at the bottom. I thought a stripe of navy across the bottom might give the valances a bit more "punch," so I picked up a half a yard and gave it a whirl.

But the frustration continued. In order to sew the strip on, I had to rip out seams for an hour. Then I realized that about half of those seams could have stayed in. And that treating two pieces of fabric like one was a little more complicated than I expected it to be. (I'm new at this, okay? I miss the good ol' days of one fabric curtains.) But eventually - three episodes of Pawn Stars later (Don't judge. Netflix needs to add more American Pickers.) - I got it figured out:

And then I stared at it for awhile to decide if I liked it or not.

...

And I do. I wish it was a little wider so it'd be more "scrunchy" and I wish I made tabs for the top instead of just sewing it over, but it's alright. It'll do. Not bad for an extended first try. Live and learn.

So after suffering through the first valance, I thought number two would be a breeze. And it was. It went from cutting board to the window in about 30 minutes. And that's where I discovered it was about five inches longer than the first one. Wha...?!?! (Remember, by this point I'd been picking out seams for most of the afternoon. My patience was completely and utterly shot.) At first I thought the curtain rod hardware was installed at different heights, but when I pulled both valances down to compare, I realized that I had just measured the stripey fabric all wrong. Sigh. Back to the seam ripper I went...

But by the end of the day, I had two valances of comparable length that I kind of like. And a really bad mood. So bad, in fact, that I purposefully went outside in Sarah-melting-heat and ran three miles just for fun. That helped. Then Bert took me out for ice cream. That helped some more. Then I actually got a full night's sleep - wonder of wonders!

Lesson learned: Don't sew when you're tired. Who knew?

Next up: Cleaning off that bookshelf (and maybe putting photos in the frames ;). Anyone game?

Culture No. 25: The Back Mountain Creamery

Is “Ice Cream Reviewer” a legitimate job? If so, I want it. Trophy wife status be darned. Why? In case you’ve forgotten, let me remind you: I love ice cream. Nuff said. But it’s not just me. I come from a long line of ice cream aficionados who do crazy things like hike Mt . Monadnock in order to justify eating a half gallon of ice cream afterwards at nearby Kimball Farms. (For reals, that is their average serving sign. Kind of ridiculous. And amazing.) It's genetic. I really can't help it.

So when Mama And Papa V. were down a few weeks ago, it only made sense to introduce them to my newest ice cream love: the Back Mountain Creamery. The BMC is a we’ll-squish-the-crunchy-bits-into-your-ice-cream-on-a-cold-slab kind of place, which I won’t lie: made me a little nervous the first time I went with my friend A. I usually don’t like places like Cold Stone. They’re expensive, they never put enough crunchy bits in, and their ice cream just isn’t that good.

Fortunately, the BMC is none of those things. They’re super reasonable, they put enough crunchy bits in even for the girl who ALWAYS has to order extra, and the ice cream itself stands out with the best of them. (The owner/manager also really liked my Threadless shirt, so that gets extra points as well.)

Papa V., the man who chronically suffers from Vanilla Peanut Butter Cup withdrawal, was enraptured by the fact that he could make his own. Mama V. was a little whelmed at first by the seemingly infinite number of choices, but she settled on a fruit mix-in (Peach, I think?) that was definitely worth it. Me? New York Cheesecake ice cream with graham crackers squished in. Delish. If only I had the car today...

Culture No. 24: Laundry Day

Here is a little-known, somewhat-believable-if-I-say-it-with-enough-authority fact: trophy wives do their own laundry. We also do our own cooking and errands, although I’m beginning to wonder if the lack of hired hands is more of a NEPA thing and less of a universal maxim. Regardless, Monday is laundry day here on the farm. It is the day when I take all this:

Never one to follow my own rules, I snuck in a few loads on Friday, otherwise there'd be a lot more than this. This isn't too bad for us...

And descend into this hole:

If anyhouse was a candidate for a laundry chute, it would be THIS ONE. I am not looking forward to winter in this department...

Usually while singing this song:

To where our washer and dryer live:

Our basement is always damp, very much not finished and – in addition to the W&D – contains a sump pump that sounds like a cross between a hippopotamus and the nightmare furnace from Home Alone. (It’s located right underneath my desk on the floor above. Rest assured: it was quite the shock the first time I heard it come on.)

I’ll be honest with you: due to a mother who “likes” doing laundry, laundry has never been (or needed to be) my strong suit. I never did it myself until I went to college and I didn’t separate my clothes into whites and darks until my second semester. (When I came home for that first Christmas, Mama V asked, “Why are your white clothes so dingy? Have you been separating them?” To which I replied, “Have I been what?” Please note: that was the semester I started playing rugby, so a lot of my clothes had a very high mud content. It wasn't pretty.)

But I'm learning. Our bottles of stain remover have become my new BFFs and last week I was even brave enough to splash some Clorox in with Bert's undershirts. (It made no noticeable difference, but it made me feel really accomplished - like I was the Emeril of laundry. "BAM! Let's kick it up a notch!")

This week - in true, trophy wife style - I am trying to clean a pair of (formerly) white Ralph Lauren canvas shoes I bought at Salvation Army for $3. I conquered the spaghetti sauce on the shoelaces, but the yellow stains elsewhere are proving a challenge. Which reminds me: time to go soak them in Oxi-clean! A trophy wife's work is never done...

Cat No. 7

Friday night at the Carlton's. This is how we roll...

Craft No. 6

I know things have been a little quiet on the craft front – although 1.5 months might be considered more “dead” than "quiet" – but bear with me: I’ve been working on a huge, time-consuming, ridiculously awesome project that will be done in the next month or so. I’ll share it with you then.

But this morning I needed a break from “The Most Complicated Craft Ever,” so I nipped out early and went over to Lowe’s to look for cabinet pulls for my still-not-finished kitchen. (I also needed more supplies for TMCCE and Jo-Ann’s is conveniently next-door. So I guess it wasn’t a real break. Just a working one.)

Let me sum up the past 1.5 month’s worth of cabinet pull drama. (As a trophy wife, I must elevate these small battles to telenovela status. It keeps this place hoppin'.) When I left you last, I was determined to salvage my existing cabinet pulls by sanding down my splotchy spray-painting job and repainting them by hand. The result? It worked great!

And then I pulled the masking tape off the silver bits. The result? Not so great.

That hole is from the last person who decided to give the cabinets a facelift and I'm not sure how to fix it without painting the entire cabinet front. Ideas?

By this point, I was so frustrated with the whole thing that I screwed the pulls back into the cabinet and swore that on my next trip to Connecticut I’d hit up Anthropologie for some replacements. Stat.

Cue Plan D. When I was in the 860 a few weeks ago (I’m sorry. Referring to places by their area codes never gets old for me.), Sister V. and I planned a Manchester shopping trip. These outings are a time-honored tradition and follow a very strict schedule: meet at Clothes Mentor, eat sliders at Ted’s, browse Anthropologie. Other stores may be added as necessary, but these three activities are compulsory. (Fun Fact: Telling a stranger Ted’s paper straws remind you of tampon applicators is a terrible way to make a first impression. Learned that one the hard way. ;) After dinner, we cruised through Anthro where I made a terrible discovery:

Anthro doesn’t carry that many pulls. Knobs? Yes. Up the wazoo. (This or that would look fantastic in our bathroom.) Pulls? They carry all of 13 varieties, the majority of which incorporate animals or glass. Not quite the look I was going for.

So on to Plan E. (You would be amazed at how many of my craft projects do indeed involve a Plan E. Too many.) I packed up the snobbery and hit up my friendly neighborhood hardware supercenter where – surprise! – they had about 50 different kinds of pulls for half the Anthro price. They didn’t have a huge selection of chrome – the look I was going for – but they had enough. I came home with three of these beauties for about $10 total.

They also had some matching white and chrome knobs I might spring for. We'll see. My DIY ones work fine for now.

Ta-da! So in conclusion - because YES, this project is finally DONE - we went from this:

To this:

Yup, washed the dishes again for ya!

Not a huge change, but definitely an improvement. And it only took two months, $10, and a lot of elbow grease. I'll take what I can get!

Top 100 Signs I Married the Right Man No. 90

90. When I say, "Hey! Look at that awesome car!" he automatically assumes I'm talking about the Entenmann's box truck with the enormous donut on the side, while completely ignoring the 11th generation "Thunderbird blue" hardtop T-bird (aka "the most beautiful car ever invented") sitting right next to it.

Granted, in most other circumstances he'd be right. I'll give him that. It was a good-looking donut.

Top 100 Signs I Married the Right Man No. 91

91. He has a green thumb (and doesn't know it).

When I went out of town a few weeks ago, I left Bert with a short list of 'chores' to do while I was gone; namely, get the mail and don't let my plants die. Due to an over-zealous-with-the-lawn-mower neighbor, all of my plants live in pots, so the latter assignment wasn't really a big deal: a can of water for the front porch, a can of water for the side porch, and you're done. Voila!

Well, I think the huz must have slipped in a little something extra, because I came home to this: more blooms on my gerber daisy than I've ever seen before in my life. This plant usually gets two blooms, three in a good month. But now it has six?! I don't know if it's having one last huzzah before winter or what, but I am impressed. The boy's got skillz.

Commerce No. 3: Beyond the Thrift Store

On paper, our clothes budget currently amounts to all of nothing. In reality, it’s a bit more than that, but not by much. It kind of runs on an “as needed” basis. And when you think about it, there are really few clothing items that you actually need. (I’m sorry, Anthro, but it’s true. I don’t need an $80 t-shirt, no matter how fabulous and hip it will make me look.)

Consequently, my days are severely lacking in trophy-wife-esque shopping sprees. (Although I am a little crazy about stalking the Daily Deal sites. Rue La La or design/story, anyone?) We do have some large thrift stores in the area that I like to dig through, but when they come up short, here are my top three favorite sources for clothes on the cheap:

1. Sisters

Sister V. was a fashionista long before Mama V. stopped bribing me with action figures to go clothes shopping. She remains at the forefront of Hartford fashion to this day. And since I’ve received her hand-me-downs since Day One, why not now? (Thankfully, just like her four year-old counterpart, she continues to remain very generous with her belongings. Thank you, Er. I wore my new pink shirt the other day. Perfect.) Unfortunately, there’s no way my boats/feet will ever fit into her shoes and her pants have to pass as capris, but shirts, sweaters, dresses, and skirts are pretty much interchangeable between the two of us. And thankfully, Bert's sister has the same size feet as me. Yay for free Merrils! ;)

Granted, not everyone is blessed to have awesome and similarly-sized sisters, but the same idea could work with your mother (Mama V. also benefits from the Sister V. closet clean outs.), friends, or co-workers. Try holding a clothing swap or offer to let someone dig through your Goodwill bag before you drop it off. They just might return the favor next time.

2. Target Clearance Rack

As a very general and loose rule – more like a guideline, maybe – I don’t buy clothes at Target. The quality just isn’t there and I’d rather buy one piece that will last over five pieces that will fall apart/pill up/look worn after five washes. BUT – and here’s where the loophole comes in – I have found some awesome deals combining clearance sales with Target coupons. This method is touch-and-go and takes patience, but for someone who pretty much lives in t-shirts (<$1) and jeans (Free!), it’s worth it to grab a few cheap extras every now and then.

3. Consignment Shops

Consignment shops provide two ways to find a great deal. One, you can find brand-name merchandise on the cheap (especially if it’s been sitting in the store for awhile), and two, you can bring in your own clothes for cash or store credit. (Local stores tend to stick with store credit. National chains like Clothes Mentor or Plato's Closet usually give cash.) Many stores also carry home and decorative items, which creates a great way to “regift” less-than-stellar presents without being caught in the act. (I don’t know this from experience, of course. It just seems like it would be a resourceful thing to do. If you were into that. Which I’m not.) Before I drop off a bag of clothes at Goodwill (but after Mama and Sister V. have taken the obligatory peek), I usually stop and see if my favorite consignment shops are interested in anything. Sometimes it's yes and sometimes it's no - for some bizarre reason, Mama V. had a heck of a time trying to resell my wedding shoes - but I think it's worth the extra leg work. (And I have the free Ralph jeans to prove it!) Now if only more of them carried Menswear...

What about you? Where do you shop on the cheap?