Chips For Dinner

Have I mentioned that we live in a mall? It is one of those trendy "Shop, Dine, Live" concepts. And since I personally love to do all three of those things, it only took about 2 seconds for me to fall in love, sign a lease, and move right in.

On weekends, you can usually find the three of us strolling through the mall, visiting our little splash pad (Yes, I said "our." Marty seriously thinks this whole retail & entertainment wonderland belongs to him), and most definitely making our way down to Barnes and Noble to visit [what he thinks are] his trains.

Last weekend, after some wandering and a quick hello to the trains, my husband declared that he had a craving for sushi and nothing else would do. As luck would have it, there is a sushi place mere seconds from B&N, so off we went.

Marty had not eaten sushi before that night, but due to his adoration of all foods white, I was optimistic. With eyebrows raised, and my best "this is going to taste soooooo good" smile, I placed two California rolls on his little plate. Next, I began the standard first time food performance, telling him how num-num-nummy the "rice" was, taking an over-exaggerated bite of my roll, chewing and mmm-ing dramatically (eyebrows still up, by the way). The success rate of this routine hovers somewhere around 4%, but we mamas all keep trying, don't we?

After I swallowed my huge bite, Marty reached out toward the community sushi plate, and attempted to load his plate with a few more rolls before he had even taken one bite. Had my dramatics finally paid off? I'll admit it, I got my hopes up. Hopes that we would actually pull it off: introducing him to this foreign food, one that his mama and daddy happen to love, and having him gobble it up with a smile. For a split second, I dreamed of us leaving the restaurant with a full-bellied baby, all happy and ready for a long night's sleep. I imagined all of the other patrons looking on during the meal, impressed by our well-behaved toddler, eating his sushi like a big boy and letting his parents have an interesting conversation.

Silly Mommy.

This kiddo here had no intention of actually eating the rolls. He just thought they might be something fun to destroy. So after both of his pieces were ripped to shreds, and he realized that his little belly was still empty, the tantrum began. Bo and I started shoveling our dinners, shoulders slumped, heads hung in shame. Peeking out the corners of our eyes to see if people were staring and thinking, "...that poor starving toddler... and those parents who thought it was a good idea to bring a baby to a sushi joint..."

Ugh.

But wait! The waiter! He had the brilliant idea to bring Marty some chips to snack on. I didn't even know sushi places had chips. But they do! And so our night is saved by that saint of a waiter. And the emergency iPad mini stashed in my purse. God bless good waiters and iPad minis.

I probably should have limited the number of chips he ate that night, because they totally spoiled his dinner. He wouldn't eat a thing when we got home. But, whatever. My man and I got to finish our sushi in peace, aaaaaaaaand we even got to have some of that conversation I had hoped for. I can't remember if it was interesting, though. *Mom problems*

Blue Painted Piano

When I think back on the first time Bo took me home to meet his parents, I really only have one vivid memory. The memory has nothing at all to do with his parents, but rather it is all about their 1940's Baldwin piano, at which my boyfriend sat and played the first song he ever wrote for me. It is really quite romantic dating a musician. And being married to one...? Better.

...I remember snuggling up next to him on the floral brocade seat of that piano bench, leaning my head against his shoulder and thinking how lucky I was to be having that moment right then. So lucky. The atmosphere was perfect. His parents had long gone to bed, the lights were low, and it was just him and me and his beautiful song (and the ginormous portrait of his mother hanging above the piano, but I try to block that part out).

A few years after that night, Bo's parents down-sized their home and asked us if we would like to have the piano. Without hesitation, my man snatched that thing out of his parents' home and moved it across town to live with us. And that is the story of the first time we moved our piano. In the years following, we moved that big, heavy beauty so many times it is a miracle it still plays a note. But it does. And now there are usually 4 hands tickling the ivories on any given night. Two big, two small.

When we moved to TX last year, I looked at our once lovely instrument, with her curvy legs and swirly feet, and realized that we had accidentally beat her to a pulp. The once shiny finish was dull and lifeless, the wood scratched and chipped. Too many bumps and bruises from too much movin' around. Not to mention the shabby (and not in the "chic" way) floral brocade on the bench. Ick. Our girl was in baaaaaaaaad shape.

So we painted her blue.

This was taken right after we finished the project. It has since been moved to its permanent spot and re-accessorized.

I knew we could never afford to have the piano professionally restored or refinished. That costs thousands of dollars. And since I knew I wasn't willing to use up such a huge percentage of the square feet in our teeeeeeeny apartment on something that was not (in my opinion) beautiful, I started searching for a DIY solution.

Annie Sloan chalk paint was our answer. After reading that it was pretty much fool-proof (a requirement), and that you didn't have to do any sanding or priming (very attractive), AND that you could paint indoors with limited ventilation because there are no fumes and no smell (jackpot!), I was in. Somebody toss me a paintbrush.

We chose Napoleonic Blue. Gutsy for sure. But I figured that since we couldn't afford to bring the piece back to any version of its original self, we may as well go polar opposite. We don't like to take ourselves too seriously around here.

So we painted and painted and painted. Lots of nooks and crannies in our girl. We did NOT take the piano apart. I've seen other bloggers who were way more particular and thorough than we were. But we live in a 3rd floor apartment with no garage, and Marty was starting to walk at that point. I had to keep our little project contained, so we just did the best we could. And it turned out awesome. Fool-proof, indeed.

In the end, I probably used about 3-4 coats of blue (which was only about 2/3 of the can of paint), followed by several coats of clear wax. I loved the clash between the antique lines of the piano and the modern finish of the opaque blue paint, so I didn't use any dark wax or antiquing techniques on this project, other than sanding just a few spots to bring out the curves. I also went kind of crazy with the buffing once the wax dried, because I wanted that super shiny look. I love it so much. After we were finished, after the wax had cured, I placed all of my knick-knack and photos back where they belonged and stood back for a look. It was as if we had gotten a brand new piece of furniture. A work of art that quickly became the centerpiece of my home decor. And for the price of a can of paint, some wax, and a few brushes. Happy, happy me.

We ended up moving her to the corner near a window.  The natural light in these pics shows more of the true color.

Almost a year has gone by since our painted piano project and the paint is holding up incredibly well. I haven't touched it up or re-waxed it yet, although I think I will wax the most loved areas again sometime this year. And trust me, this thing is loved...