A good man is hard to find . . .

Especially when he designed my cabinets. So finally a few words about my cabinets. After looking at virtually every option, from IKEA to full custom, we decided to go with cabinets from . . . wait for it . . . Costco. Yup, they were right there between the giant package of toilet paper and 40 pounds of ground beef! OK, not really. But they were indeed from Costco's "exclusive" distributor, and are all wood, really well made, and came with all sorts of added bells and whistles, like soft close doors and drawers. And it probably goes without saying that the prices could not be beat. I'm pretty sure my correspondence with my designer, JP (really), seemed incredibly steamy - furtive phone calls and emails in the night, plus lots of photo attachments. But then poof, right there in my inbox was my design. And then there it was again. And again. And again. After the various delays and hurdles, JP took it all in stride and kept at it, re-designing the kitchen to accommodate every problem and scenario. I realize that's what a kitchen designer is supposed to do, but I didn't expect someone from Costco to do that.

The only problem, of course, was delivery. Not that there were any snafus, oh except the monsoon that decided to break at the exact moment the giant semi truck pulled in front of my house. No, the issue is that the cabinets are delivered "fully assembled!" And when there are about 200 items "fully assembled!" in the middle of my living room, it's just a bit crowded.

But believe it or not, out of this chaos came some pretty sweet cabinets:

That's just a start, of course. Not surprisingly, there are some issues. Like I ordered a big corner cabinet without a Lazy Susan. And one cabinet is too big. Again, my fault. But Costco is replacing it! Hey, do you think I will get my Costco rebate points for this order? Sure beats the hell out of buying coffee and diapers.


Not now, dear, I have a headache.

I fully expected this project to be full of headaches, but I meant that figuratively, not literally. As it turns out, the floors are causing both. First I was elated to discover the original, same wood under tile. All it needed was a little TLC and it would be good as "new." I know now how ludicrous that sounds; I suppose I watched one too many HGTV shows to think it would be that easy. There goes yet another fantasy down the drain. But that wasn't even the worst of it. Because we removed some walls, there were also patches that had no flooring at all. I was assured - repeatedly - that it would be "no big deal" to patch these areas and match them perfectly to the existing flooring. Every time I questioned the reality of this, my contractor might as well have patted me on the head and told me not to worry my pretty little self about it, he'd take care of it.

So now it was time for the floor. And,a big cleaning because all the dust-producing work was done. I did a little jig! Since we had already sent our dog to the boarder, and because we were all so sick of the dust and the stain would stink to high heaven, we decided to use some of Matthew's 400,000 Marriott points and check ourselves into a hotel. We only needed two nights and we'd come home to a spiffy new kitchen floor and a nice clean house! Hurrah!

You know what's coming, right? Yup. The floor wasn't quite so easy to match - particularly when the workers bought PRE-FINISHED wood that they thought perfectly matched my 70-year-old red oak. Um, no. After they consented to replace the wood with appropriate flooring, my contractor discovered he couldn't actually match the stain. Nor had he been able to bring the covered up wood back to life. So two days wasted, tons of points gone, and yup, no floor. He called in a flooring company because they could do the job (which, BTW, is still a fairly small space) really well and really quickly. And, he promised, with no dust, since we just had a big cleaning. But by now I did not want to go back to the hotel, so we stayed through during the staining. The smell was unbearable, particularly since it was raining and we couldn't open the windows. And of course, the no-dust claim was a more vivid fantasy than even I could come up with. There was a fine coating of wood dust all over everything, including the furniture that we had carefully covered and the cleaning crew uncovered. And the piece de résistance: the cleaning crew unplugged our fridge, which of course was in the living room, and didn't plug it back in. Which we didn't discover for several days because we had been at the hotel and then were trapped out of the room during staining, so we lost just about everything in it.  Palm slap to forehead now.

And this is where the actual headache comes in. Two days of oil-based stain followed by sealant trapped in a closed up house is a great recipe for a blinding headache, in case you're ever in need of a manufactured one, if you get my drift. But hey, we have floors now:

Good News, Bad News

Yes, I have good news to report! The good news is I have not gone on a homicidal rampage yet. Or had an official nervous breakdown, just small ones where I curl up with a glass of wine and whimper softly. So I guess that's progress. I was fully prepared for the usual time (and money) overages, but days when workers simply don't show up were not in my plans and are sending me over the edge. I have tried to stay out of it, figuring if I mother-henned (OK, nagged) my contractor too much it would make things worse. And the problem is I have known him for quite some time so I have been hesitant to be more "firm" (OK, bitchy) with him. But I'm just about at my limit. Because things are going from bad to worse (more on that later).

On a bright note, the walls are looking lovely, painted in Sand Trap by Sherwin Williams.

And the wood floor unearthed under three layers of tile has been cleaned up enough to save it. Hurrah!

So what's the bad news? Well, besides the MIA workers just a few minor details. For one thing, the overall mess and dust storm is starting to wear on all of us. I mop, dust and generally clean every day, but the plaster was like talc in the way it exploded and migrated all over the house. It is literally on every surface here, including my upstairs bedroom on the OTHER SIDE OF THE HOUSE. It doesn't help that Kit Kat, our dog, is so happy when people are here she can't stay away from them. So besides the overall sheen of dust on everything, there are paw prints everywhere. It stopped being cute about a week ago and I have now sent her to the farm. (No, I didn't put her down, there's a boarding farm we use).

The cabinets are delayed, but that's actually a good thing as the floor is no where close to being finished (which is a subject that will get its own post). And likewise the appliances are late and the refrigerator is on back order. Who knew there would be a run of stainless steel French door fridges? I'm not willing to settle on different appliances, as these stainless steel goodies were the impetus of my fantasy and I have designed the entire kitchen around them.

And then there's the subject of our second kitchen. It would seem like a great thing that we have a second kitchen, but it's not actually helping. We have it sort of set up, but it's really impossible to reconstruct everything. And then the other shoe dropped: the dishwasher in that kitchen doesn't work. So I have given up even trying to cook full meals. I have switched almost entirely to paper and plastic and I apologize to the environment, but I am just over it. I have made one exception: glass wine glasses. I simply can't drink from plastic.

This project has made me so tired. By the end of the day I am so weary I barely have the strength to open a bottle of wine (no martinis - too many steps and additional things to clean).

Inches Do Matter

I have discovered a few areas of my life where even one or two inches has a huge impact on me. One is CrossFit - the difference of jumping on an 18-inch box and 20-inch box is tremendous (you try it). And the other is . . . kitchen walls. My contact at my cabinet company said to wait to order until the demo was totally done and drywall was up to remeasure and order. I was very frustrated - why was he denying me my cabinets! What could possibly happen from taking down one crazy uneven plaster wall and putting up nice even drywall? How could that impact my design? Well, as we've seen just from removing walls to discover random, immovable posts, a lot can happen. Sure enough, the long wall is now a full 4 inches shorter than it was. Now that might not sound like a lot but trust me, it has rocked my world. The cabinets on this wall fit to perfection, but now the changes require odd measurements and since the cabinets are in standard sizes, it's going to take a Mensa member to figure this out. This is also the wall where the refrigerator will go and opposite the dishwasher/sink, so I have to consider doors opening, corners, etc. Why is this so complicated?

On a bright note, I have nice, lovely, even walls. With drywall and everything. It's not quite cleaned up yet, but it's actually taking shape. I can almost figure out where I'll be pouring the wine. Now if I could only find 4 more inches. . .

Pole Dancing in the Kitchen

Despite my best efforts, including enlisting an engineer, I could not find one person who would agree to remove the offending post in my kitchen. Oh, wait, one person did say we could remove the vertical post if we replaced it with a 12 inch header that would span the room. That was a worse option. And my contractor, who apparently knows me well, helpfully noted that if he removed the post, eventually the stairs would be uneven, but that might not be so bad if I were drinking. So OK, the post has to stay. Someone cheerfully suggested replacing the post with a stainless steel one that would match the appliances and go with "the look" of the kitchen. Naturally, in my haze, I thought that sounded like a terrific idea and promptly Googled "stainless steel poles." Let me just say that those three words put together like that yield some interesting results. Who knew there are also platinum stripper poles? I guess stainless steel really would make me look cheap. And now I have cookies in my Google that I am sure will one day show up in Amazon and Facebook (people have suggested monetizing the blog, but now with these words, I'm afraid of what would show up in it). Of course, this has now proved to be an endless source of amusement among my friends and the kitchen workers. Matthew, wisely, has stayed out of the conversation. In an odd twist, we have a crazy rule that we don't spend single dollar bills - we save them and eventually have several thousands of dollars that we use for a trip or something. When the 800-Got-Junk people came to remove debris, I wanted to tip them but only had those singles. I handed them a wad and they just smirked. Maybe I can pay for the kitchen in cash!

As if the pole dancing prospect wasn't enough to make me crazy, the kitchen is no farther along. In some ways it's worse.

But hey, at least the drywall arrived! Of course, when the guys started putting it up, they made one or two minor errors - see if you can find them:

Yup - no openings for the oven/stove electric and gas outlets! Good trick, no?

And to add insult to injury, the dust and mess are migrating to other areas of the house. The old kitchen table is in the living room pending giving it away (or putting it on the curb), and it's gathering clutter and dust.

Yes, those are martini glasses. Don't judge.

Beer Goggles

You know how beer goggles makes you think you're going to bed with a supermodel but you wake up with someone from Revenge of the Nerds? Uh, neither do I. But I hear that's what happens. I am now experiencing that phenomenon with the kitchen. The kitchen of my fantasies that I went to bed with (or dreamed about) is turning out to be a different kitchen in the light of day. And she doesn't look so hot.

First the demo story: As I mentioned, we left for Thanksgiving a full week before the holiday and returned on the Saturday after. So that was 8 days - 8 days in which (even with the holiday break) I was quite sure, and quite reassured, that the demolition would be complete. I expected to walk into a nice, relatively clean, shell all ready to measure for cabinets (which of course can't be ordered until the shell is ready). But no, this is what I saw:

To make matters worse, because the house is 70+ years old, there are some fun construction surprises, like a post that was in a wall that apparently holds up the stairs. And it's in the middle of the room that will have the pantry and island. Isn't she a hottie?

So now we're stuck trying to reconfigure half the kitchen around this lovely pole, which at night probably looked like a keeper, but in the light of day looks a little worse for wear. My kitchen is doing the walk of shame.

The thrill is gone

Ahh, how quickly the blush fades off the rose. We are one week into our renovation - or rather demolition - and I already want a divorce. Not from my husband - yet - from the project. First, the good news. While the demolition is taking much, much (how can I say this more clearly - MUCH)  longer than I expected and than I VERY CLEARLY specified with my contractor (is this clear by now?), there are some lovely surprises. Besides the incredibly awesome circa 1940s rooster wallpaper uncovered beneath the tile, the workers discovered hardwood floors - mysteriously matching the other floors - under three layers of tile in the existing kitchen. We (or rather said contractor and I) are convinced with a little sanding and finishing, we don't need to replace the wood floor. So hurrah! We save some money! But you know what that means - something else has to give. Gosh, I wonder what's going to happen next?

Delayed Gratification

So, for both of you reading this, you're probably wondering where I've been. The sad fact is there are two reasons for my radio silence: nothing to report and pure laziness. Mostly, though, there was not much to say for a while. I went through what can only be described as an existential crisis over the cabinets. I kept making the problem worse. Every time I thought I had the answer, I decided to just get one more estimate, look at one more place, check out one more showroom. I guess you could call it a fear of commitment, or perhaps a "grass is always greener" syndrome (something like the 7 year itch). But you'll be pleased to know, I'm now blissfully attached to what I am sure will be amazing cabinets.

So . . . now the fun starts. And when I say fun, I mean in a way that the Marquis de Sade would appreciate. Have you ever lived through a kitchen demolition? Even better, demolition of plaster walls? Well, neither have I. Because I had the inspired and brilliant (AKA stupid) idea to do the demo over Thanksgiving week while we were visiting my parents. It seemed like a great idea - keep the kids and dog out of the dust, have all the crappy stuff done, and return home to a lovely shell ready to go! But all that did was feed my neurosis over what the hell was happening in my kitchen while I wasn't there. It didn't help that my husband called me every five minutes to clarify questions about wall removal. Um, didn't SOMEONE have the plan in front of them?

I now have pictures and fascinating things to report about the kitchen - which I'll do tomorrow. In the meantime, I wanted to share this gem that was uncovered under some wall tile. If I can figure out how to save this, I will!

So many men, so little time . . .

Strangely enough, everyone I'm working with on this project are men. None of whom are my husband - hey what he doesn't know won't hurt him. He keeps saying he doesn't care. Until, of course, I present him with any options and then he cares, an inevitably he picks the thing I don't want.  So, lesson one - don't ask if you don't want an answer.

My contractor, Daniel, my favorite appliance guy (you know who you are), and the cabinet boys are the hot men in my life now. And yes, I said boys, plural. Now that I have made the monumental decision to go with "real" cabinets, I have to actually design them, which is much harder than I thought. First thing - taking my design (which by now I've tweaked) to get estimates. As usual, Matthew would just go for the first bid and be done with it. I on the other hand, have been known to get multiple bids for a car detail, so it stands to reason that I am going to get multiple bids on something as big and expensive as cabinets (and I guess when it's time, countertops). But all those choices have succeeded in only one thing: paralyzing me with fear and indecision. Mocha Grande? Vintage Cherry? (Hey, stop that, that's a stain color). And then I was presented with yet ANOTHER choice - true custom made just for me or "semi-custom" - solid wood stock cabinets with all the bells and whistles based on my design and measurements. I am no farther along than I was a week ago!

If this is a glimpse into what a burst fantasy is like, I'm dreading the actual project. For now, I will keep lusting over the shiny toys and glossy photos. Matthew has given me one week to decide or - gasp - he's going to do it for me.

My latest four-letter word obsession is . . .

IKEA.

I'm officially in the full-frontal kitchen porn business. As anyone who has gone through this knows, the cabinets are the most expensive part of the kitchen (or should be). So it only stands to reason that I should pick out my cabinets first, right? Easier said than done. As I mentioned before, my most vivid fantasies have happened in IKEA. That's probably because I have stayed out of the higher-end kitchen showrooms. The truth is, I have Anthony Bourdain tastes and a Paula Deen budget. Why should I tempt myself with goodies that I really, really can't have? I get good inspiration at IKEA, and hey, I actually got a great kitchen plan there. Without IKEA I would be still just drooling over a magazine somewhere.

We had pretty much decided that no, IKEA cabinets are not for us. But then, as a tease, an email appeared in my inbox. That can only mean one thing: 20 percent off! Holy cow. I mean, IKEA was already much less expensive. This was a big deal. Think of all the other, um, toys, I could buy? So back to IKEA I went - this time dragging my husband, who had steadfastly refused to even consider them. But even he was lured by the price.

So what do you think happened? Yup. He was "fine" with IKEA, but on closer consideration - and by close, I mean my head was literally stuffed inside the back of a cabinet - I decided, no, at the end of the day, this just would not make us (OK, me), happy. How much would I save? $5,000? Nothing to sneeze at, sure, but over the course of years, a true custom kitchen would both make me happiest and count more toward resale. And considering how much action happens in our kitchen, it pays to get it right. So back to the drawing board we go. But at least I have my kitchen plan to work from!

It's been a while . . .

Since I posted. For one thing, I have an actual job. Plus some rental properties. Plus two kids. And I was traveling for work. Oh, and I'm planning a charity event. So much as I'd love to sit around and  have impure thoughts about my kitchen all day, alas, I have to pay the bills. But the good news is that my kitchen wall can come down! So now I'm like a dog that chased a car and caught it - what the hell do I do now? I'm paralyzed with anxiety and fear about what to do first, second, third - well you get the drift. Lo and behold, today my Jenn-Air catalog - er, "lifestyle book" - came in the mail, replete with a heavy black envelope. I will read this later, in bed!

So where to start? Well, back at square one with a kitchen design. First I made an appointment at a major home improvement center - I live in Atlanta, so you can figure out where. At first I thought the consultant would be very helpful - until he suggested putting the sink and dishwasher in the island, away from the main part of the kitchen. Um, no, thanks, that doesn't work. Next stop - IKEA. I think this is where kitchen porn was born. Everything is so tidy, modern, clean, perfect. And of course Swedish; so  blond, fresh and smart - like ABBA or a certain nanny-turned trophy wife-turned wealthy divorcee. With the right kitchen, I'd be writing like Steig Larsson in no time. The thing is, I didn't actually want IKEA cabinets but I wanted inspiration. I'm pretty independent, but there's too much self-service involved, too. If I'm spending all that money on a kitchen, I want someone to at least design it for me. But lo and behold - IKEA contracts with a company that will do a full design for about $200! No obligation! Really how could I not do that. And you know what? The design is almost perfect! So now I have a plan. Step one,  done! But what do I do next?

In the privacy of my own home . . .

While waiting to determine if the wall can be removed and my fantasies can come to life, I have been trying to resist all temptations. No HGTV, no magazines, nothing. I was going to quit cold turkey. But then Matthew was out of town and late one night, in the privacy of my own home, I thought, "What could it hurt to look at a few websites." So when I was sure the kids were asleep, I did it; cautiously at first, then with abandon as the night wore on. First stop, http://www.kitchenaid.com/. Holy cow I didn't even know they could do some of those things - what's a dishwasher drawer? Is it legal? I was even lusting after their garbage disposals and trash compactors. Talk about useful!

Then I got bolder; or maybe I just felt more experienced. Next stop, http://www.jennair.com/. I can't believe I didn't have to sign an age disclosure before entering. I couldn't even look at the pages for too long, my eyes were burning. The best part: they had an option to order a book! I keep looking every day for the brown-paper-packaged book so I can whisk it off to my bedroom and hide it in my mattress. Something to dream about while I await the word on the wall.

It's not all fun and games and vivid fantasies

Well, it was bound to happen. I put the cart before the horse and am now stuck. All my fantasizing may be for naught if we can't remove a wall (or two) that would be a critical part of the project. So now I'm having to slow down, find an engineer/architect and do the very un-sexy stuff. Of course, this just makes me want a kitchen even more; it's like it's playing hard to get. And what's worse is that all my reading and toy shopping has really fanned my kitchen urges. I close my eyes and I can see it: I will perfect Bouillabaise. Zoe and Dylan will sit happily and do homework (even though Dylan is not yet 4 and doesn't have homework), while I make bread (even though I don't eat bread). I will all of a sudden like eggplant. I will even learn to carry a tune as I hum gaily while whipping up a nutritious yet tasty dinner that everyone loves. And the leftovers will be easily stored in my French door fridge! I might even wear an apron!

In need of a little reading material

Kitchen design magazines don't come wrapped in brown paper, but they should. As I lingered a little too long in Home Depot's magazine section, I wondered how many books and magazines I could possibly buy to feed my fantasies. The reading material certainly covered every thought and fetish imaginable, from small space designs (were they spying on me?) to lavish commercial looks. How would any of these magazines help me pare down my ideas? All they would do is give me more ideas - which I daresay I didn't need any more! And sure enough, there they were, devices, tools and tricks I had never even thought of but now couldn't get out of my head: warming drawers, built-in coffemakers, under-cabinet mini-fridges (or is that a wine fridge), hidden shelves. Oh, the possibilities were now endless. I decided I could not do this in public - what if I started to drool? So I bought three magazines - fewer than half the ones they had available - to peruse in the privacy of my own home. Plus, then I could rip out pictures and put them under my pillow to dream about them. I figured if I was armed with pre-determined ideas, I could better manage my upcoming consultations with designers and cabinet suppliers, right? I mean,  how hard could that be?

Like all good fantasies, this one began in the . . .

Bathroom. While hubby and I were on a much-needed adult vacation, I received a text from my mom: "Minor flood in bathroom, need number of plumber and insurance." Um, OK. The minor flood ran into the TV room, buckled the parquet floor and threatened to do some serious damage. The TV room is next to the kitchen. So my mind immediately started to wander. Maybe the damage will be so severe we will have to demolish the room? Maybe it will damage the wall next to the kitchen? Now I will admit, we were at an all-inclusive resort, so while all the flood-plumber-insurance calls and texts were going on, we were a little under the influence. The Stoli Oranj fueled some pretty vivid kitchen fantasy talk. It probably didn't help that we were with my sister-in-law and her husband, who's a contractor. So yes, he's a pro.

Upon our return, we discovered the damage wasn't as total as we had thought - or perhaps hoped. Our insurance settlement was generous, allowing us to replace the floor. And then it started. Hey, we thought, we have some money left over - maybe we should go ahead and redo the very unattractive bathroom. (It has a weird built-in shower that in 5 years none of us have ever used. There is no towel bar. And the only storage is a strange built-in cabinet on the side next to the toilet.)

And then the other shoe dropped. My fantasies were launched by none other than my father, who decreed that it was time to finally do something about the kitchen. The kitchen that three of us can't stand in and get coffee at one time. The kitchen that barely allows us to have a decent dinner (and still requires us to make half of it in the dining room). And forget cocktail hour - that requires a virtual synchronized swimming routine to prepare drinks and appetizers. After all, my dad said, if we're doing two rooms, what's one more? Oh boy.

Kitchen Foreplay

Before I get too far down the rabbit hole of my kitchen fantasies, I need to backtrack. In order to understand just how vivid my dreams have become, it's important to know where we are starting. Imagine, if you will, a U-shaped kitchen with about 8 feet of total, usable counter space. Of course that space also needs to accommodate a microwave, toaster oven, coffee maker and coffee grinder.

What the kitchen lacks in counter space it makes up for in cabinets. There are cabinets all the way to the 10-foot ceiling. Of course, most of those are unreachable and therefore unusable, leaving us with about 10 linear feet of cabinets.

Did I mention the drawers? There are 6 sort of normal sized drawers, housing flatware, dishtowels and the non-negotiable wine instruments. There are also 4 comically sized drawers about 3 square inches across - so tiny that one holds just a can opener and some measuring spoons.

Gee, what gal wouldn't get all hot and bothered with a kitchen like this?

Did I mention, our house was built as a duplex in the 1930s, so I have not one, but TWO kitchens like this! It would be ideal if I kept Kosher, but I don't. Instead, what I keep is half my beloved items, like my KitchenAid stand mixer, on the other side of the house. Which means when I want to use it, I have to risk appendages to carry it to my work space. I have never, in all the years in this house, made an entire, large, meal in only one room. And that, in essense, is my fantasy.

What is Kitchen Porn?

I'm not sure why the phrase "kitchen porn" rolled off my tongue so easily. I think it's always been in the back of my mind - every time I wandered through a home improvement store, IKEA or one of those high-end of kitchen design showrooms, I always just thought "This is what it must be like for people who are into porn." They fantasize about what they'll do with and in these rooms and they figure the biggest, best equipment and shiniest toys will make them happy, even if just for a little while.

Now, after five years of dealing with what can easily be described as the saddest, smallest kitchen outside of perhaps Tokyo, we're finally getting ready to remodel our kitchen. And now I can indulge my kitchen porn fantasies.

First stop . . . magazines.