Feb 16, 2012 | This Life
Found this on Pinterest and then spent an hour looking for the original source. I can’t locate it. . . but if you know, please tell me!
A Little Romance:
I love Valentine’s Day. Always have, always will. Even when I was a love sick teenager pining for a boy who didn’t know I was alive, the day was a good day.
I’m blessed to be married to a Romantic. Yes, with a capital letter. IZ is a fan of the grand gesture (hello, favorite painting for my birthday). He covers holidays and birthdays and “events” with a lot of style. It doesn’t hurt that he’s an amazing chef. . . we eat well, and food is love in these parts. (It’s a Larsen thing, no lectures) I’m blessed and spoiled and thankful.
Then there’s the rest of the year. IZ would like you and me to believe that he has that covered too. That he is a master of the “little thing”. Those small tokens we tend to over-look because they become so much a part of our everyday life. In fact, he’d tell you everything he does is romantic by definition.
This is where we quibble. Our on going conversation looks like this:
IZ: “See, this is me being romantic. I brought in all the groceries from the car.”
Me: “Um. Thoughtful. YES. Romantic? I’m not sold, buddy. I mean, by that account, my doing laundry is romantic.”
IZ: “It is romantic. Being thoughtful is romantic.”
Me: “Well, it sure doesn’t feel romantic.”
He does this with every chore you can imagine. And often and our conversation is the same. I can’t help but think he’s pushing the definition. . . just a bit. But then I remember all those heady days of early marriage and wonder? Everything was romantic then. . .doing dishes and laundry and grocery shopping. Maybe it’s a time thing. Because what was once romantic in the early years, is, well, now a big old chore. An age thing? Holy Cow, an “I’m getting OLD” thing.
I can’t win here. So, is IZ right? Is it romantic because he says it is? Or is romance in the eye of the beholder? Because there are sure a lot of you who poo-poo Valentine’s Day and no amount of cheering on from my side of the field will change your mind. Valentine’s Day isn’t romantic to you.
And maybe that’s the catch and the solution. Maybe it’s about perspective. Maybe it’s about choice.
Those groceries unloaded from the car. Romantic.
Those mochas every day when I wake up? Romantic.
Door held, hands held, long talks, long walks, time spent together smiling and arguing. Romantic.
Laundry? Um, I can’t get there. But the rest of it, I’m willing to open my eyes and see the heart giving it all to me. And that, my friends, might be how you keep the romance alive.
Here’s an interesting article from USA Today on people who are “Intensely in love” after years of marriage. Worth a read, I think. . .
Feb 14, 2012 | Boy Wonder
Valentine Trifecta: candy, stuffed animals, a homemade card.
Stop Breaking My Heart Kid:
The 15 Year Old: “So, Valentine’s Day is soon?”
Me: “Tomorrow.”
15: “Oh. I don’t really have anyone to be my  Valentine.  (long pause, sigh, sigh, sigh) I guess there’s always you. (long pause) I mean, there’s a mom’s love, right?
Me: “I will always be your Valentine!”
Seriously, 15 is breaking my heart. On the one hand, I completely understand those sighs. Because at 15 who doesn’t want a Valentine. A real little romance to moon over, a hand to hold, a person to call on the phone, “no, you hang up, no you hang up.” But as his mother, I’m relieved. Sad, but relieved. He’s 15. I’d like him to learn to finish his laundry and keep his clothes (not to mention those blasted legos) off the floor before he endeavors to win the heart of another girl.
And he has high standards. Which is also good. And he’s homeschooled, which really narrows the pool. I’m safe and I know it. There are no girls on the horizon in the near future. But, honestly, on a day like today, I wish there was. I’d gladly give up my Valentine status to see him smile. A real, “holy cow she LIKES me” smile. . . not the wistfulness I get when I hand him his candy in the morning. Â Long pause. sigh. sigh. sigh.
I know some of you are not keen on this day. Or even if you are, life has brought you to a point where you’re looking about for a Valentine and the only face showing up for the role is your mom. And you might be commiserating with your 15 year old self and wondering, “Why don’t I have a Valentine?”
It’s OK. It really is. Because your mom loves you. . . and so do I. And we  both believe there is someone special waiting for you. Because we’re mothers and we know. Until then, we’ll happily stand in the breach and let you break our  hearts. We will always be your Valentine.
But really, pick up your clothes already.
Feb 13, 2012 | This Life
What I did this weekend. I think.
That big sucking sound you hear is me:
How was your weekend? Mine felt like it was in a time warp. . . like time was speeding by and I was barely moving. It just took so much longer to get things done than I expected.
So what took so long?
A tedious trip to the craft store. JoAnn’s has opened up a much larger store across the bridge. Which would make a girl think, or made this girl think, that finding fabrics to match her custom dye colors would be a breeze. It was not. I should have known better after last week’s dismal trip to match ribbon to Liberty of London fabric. Just call me delusional. I walked around and around the fabric department muttering under my breath while pushing one of those ridiculously small carts. There were 2 dozen bolts of ballerina pink fabric and no plum to be found. Why is that? After what seemed like a lifetime scouring the organza offerings, it dawned on me while standing at the cutting counter. I should have just dyed my own fabric.
I’m pretty sure at the moment time whizzed past me and I lost a few hours.
And then there was the door. I’ve decided to use the old door in our new bathroom for a backdrop, hoping the light in the space will create the kind of photographs I want. It’s strange, but the best light in the house this time of year is in our bathroom. It’s a difficult space to shoot in, I suspect I’ll be standing in our tub for most of session. I just can’t ignore that light. However, the door was left unpainted and was in pretty bad shape, so before any photographs could be taken, I had to paint.
TIME WARP. I don’t even know where Saturday went. I have a painted door. But that’s all I can give you. I think IZ and I may have walked that day, but the rest is a blur. Â Does that ever happen to you? You just lose time. Â . . like, now, maybe, reading this post? I’m sorry. You can’t have your 10 minutes back.
Post Script: On a completely different note. . . I’m super excited to finally be listing new slips at Mireio. The custom colors are so beautiful. . . muted and sexy and really different than anything I’ve done before. I mean, there are FEATHERS. Stay tuned.
Feb 10, 2012 | A House A Home, This Life
Friday night ritual: lots and lots of water. And candles. And an icy cold Manhattan if I can cajole IZ to make one for me while I’m soaking.
This has become my Friday night ritual. The water is just beginning to fill the tub in this photo, but trust me, I push the water line as far as I can. It’s this little indulgence that keeps me sane.
And NO, there’s not a picture of me in the tub on principle.That and because I’m super scared of dropping my camera in a tub full of sudsy water. In real life, IZ says I’m a total exhibitionist.
Really? What was your first clue? My ten year old personal blog?
Still, no nudie photos for y’all.
Do you have a ritual to help keep you sane?
Feb 8, 2012 | In Photos
Tea Tins have a way of being re-purposed at Chez Wonder. In this case, as holders for assorted scribblers. Though, looking at the photo I have to wonder, “Who took off with all my permanent markers?”
Wanted: Permanent Markers Returned
This is what happens when you finally clean your studio space after 6 months. You discover things really are missing, not just lost under piles of fabric. Â I’m declaring an amnesty until 5 pm today. Return the markers, no questions asked. After that, there’s going to be trouble.
No seriously, boys. . . what did you do with my markers?
Feb 7, 2012 | This Life
Me: What’s that box?
IZ: Your birthday present. The question is, when should I let you open it.
Me: Now now now!
IZ: Really? I just don’t want you to be disappointed when your birthday comes and there’s nothing else.
Me: I won’t be, I promise. Besides, I know what’s in it.
IZ: How do you know?
Me: I just do.
Me: I’ll prove it. I’ll write what I think it is on a piece of paper. On this napkin, see. And you can look at it after I open the box.
IZ: You’re jumping around like a little kid. Ok. Open the box.
(more…)
Feb 6, 2012 | This Life
Time keeps on slipping. . . (finish that lyric.)
Checking In:
Remember this list? I’ll confess, I still haven’t come up with a “theme” for 2012—so it looks like I’ll just run with my list of Non-New Year’s Resolutions and scratch it off my to-do list. So, let’s check in on that list.
(more…)
Feb 3, 2012 | A House A Home
As promised, here are photos of my work in progress closet. It’s probably a good thing there isn’t space for a comfy chair, or you’d never get me out of there. Writing from the closet. . . sounds like a good name for a new blog.
I have a thing for beige sweaters. I don’t know why. If you’d asked me before I took this photo what color I prefer, I would have said grey. Um, clearly that’s not the case.
IZ added this shelf for me. There had been these horrible wood things that someone slapped into the walls. They were so gross and poorly done, he pulled them out for me before I painted the space. The only thing that really bugs me, is the mismatched hangers. I’d love to replace that mishmash with flocked clothes hangers —but it’s an investment and I feel guilty about it. So, until I get over myself (or come into a windfall) I’m living with the wild look. Beats the floor!
I love this little print I picked up a thrift store for a dollar. She was cut out of some sort of magazine or newspaper in the late 1800’s and I couldn’t resist her. And I’ve had the white ware vase for ages. The lace curtain is also vintage. It doesn’t quite fit the window, but it was close enough I couldn’t resist. I really love the patterns it makes on the walls when it gets afternoon light.
All my favorite things. Vintage textiles and blue glass and handmade trinkets. I told you, I would live in here.
The calendar is so pretty. Notice? It’s a new month! A new image. I think this is New York. It doesn’t say, so that’s what I’m pretending. I’m not happy with the way I’ve hung the calendar. But, I figured it was better to get it up in a make-shift way and enjoy it! Because who knows how long until I figure out what I’d like best. The flower on top I made and the ribbon is vintage.
The color is a mix of paint (I know, I know, no more custom colors) of our bedroom paint (Morning Fog) and our bathroom paint (Bakery Box White). I’m not sure you can really discern the difference between the closet and our bedroom, but I carried the paint out into the small hallway that separates my closet from our bedroom to tie it all together. (Photos of that when I actually finish.Oy)
So, progress! Happy Friday Friends. I don’t know how to end this really, so I’ll just wish you a relaxing weekend.
Feb 2, 2012 | This Life
This Auntie business is serious fun.
Really. Can’t help myself. I went into Freddy’s for a  birthday card (which I did manage to remember) and found myself in the baby department. I immediately spied this adorable play set that said, “My Auntie thinks I’m Awesome.” Perfection. Except it had ruffles and flowers and was clearly meant for a girl. Um, kinda think nephew’s parents would not approve. I thought about buying it just the same and sending it along with a note that said, “Um, more babies please. I’d like a girl next.” But I should probably reserve that level of obnoxiousness for my own child. In the future.
FAR in the future.
So, I bought this set instead. I mean, it’s not quite the same sentiment, but it does have a futbol on it so, that counts for something. But it makes me sad that there wasn’t a boy’s outfit with the other saying on it. And I’ve spent the afternoon vacillating between wanting to write an angry letter to Carter’s for their clear bias toward girls and wanting to design my own baby line.
Seriously. I’ve waited forever to do this and I can’t help myself. Is there a support group for doting Aunties out there?
Feb 1, 2012 | From the Kitchen
Tomato Basil Parmesan Soup:
Poor IZ is sick. He’s still plugging away at work (the joys of working at home) but I’ve been taking up the cooking duties for the past few days. Monday, I did this dish on the side of the couscous box that was a hit. Hardly “cooking” as much as following directions. But I did add my own twist of walnuts and myzithra cheese—hanging out with IZ in the kitchen has clearly rubbed off on me.
But yesterday, he was feeling so poorly, I knew a “Chicken With” meal wasn’t going to cut it. “How about soup?” And with a snuffled nod we were on.
Now, I have a history with soup. I don’t make it. Ever.  Not after a disastrous encounter with homemade acorn squash soup in 2007. How bad was it?  Not even IZ could muster a pity bowl and he’s got a cast iron gag reflex. My child was not so diplomatic: “WHAT IS THIS . . . STUFF?! This is horrible. The worst soup ever. What are doing to us, MOM?”  Or something to that effect because I remember promptly ordering a pizza and calling it quits. It was that bad. That night we  all made a silent deal between us: the only soup Wende would be making from here on out was reheating IZ’s leftovers. Done!
That should give you some indication how sick IZ is presently.
I started with this recipe from 365 Days of Slow Cooking but then got serious about the modifications (though, it’s still plenty fattening). I’m sorry, but I blanch at two cups of half and half. SERIOUSLY? Um, no.  So, I modified and tested  and modified some more and served. . . and my teenager, who hates all things tomato, ate two servings. “Brilliant and thank you!”
I’m not sure what I’m more excited about. . . that I made soup or that the 15 year old said, “You can make this again.” Â His father seemed equally pleased. He’s still sick, so this soup won’t cure all that ails you. But, it comes pretty darn close.
(more…)
