Constantly covered in Paint


My formative years fit nicely into a boring, middle-class (WASPy & religious) narrative. When I was 11 or 12 I transitioned from quiet, cooperative follower to rebellious, moody, pseudo-intellectual teen. Unsurprisingly that was about the same time that I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder which would eventually be coupled with anxiety, a disorder people seem to be oddly comfortable self diagnosing.

While my family wasn’t incredibly unique, my mother introduced some not-so-common behaviors. One lucky one was her unabashed, on-going conversation and recognition of mental disorder. I still (in 2017!) feel that mental disorder remains a taboo topic, even among family. But lucky for me, I was regularly encouraged to be open about my disorder and to be comfortable seeking help for it.

As I mentioned before, I haven’t learned much throughout my life experience but I have picked up on a few things. One thing I know for sure is that changing circumstances almost always heavily disrupt my depression.Unfortunately, knowledge of this phenomenon has yet to prepare me for any of life’s curve balls or even life’s most organic changes. I handle change like an adult in theory but like a 7 year old in practice. If I’m mindful about impending change, I envision myself being fine with it. I approach it very pragmatically but my mental disorder is always waiting to disrupt the process. While I reasonably plan transition, depression pounces and then BAM! I’m suddenly executing my plan through tears, fights, screaming, emotionally driven decisions, and then total mental breakdown. This has happened at almost every juncture of my adult life. Interestingly and unfortunately enough, this reaction is basically guaranteed when it comes to changes I wanted or initiated. So considering all of the amazing, intense and self-initiated changes of the last 5 years, it’s safe to say I’ve done a lot of breaking down. Some people (especially Christians) believe that brokenness is a pretty perfect place start growing. I’m really hoping they’re right.

Buying a house has been the most intense experience of my life. This sounds like a gross overstatement but I’ve come to expect and accept that I experience everything a little more dramatically than most. I’ve definitely gone through the seemingly mandatory motions of mental breakdown (I even have a closet with no door to show for it). First time home ownership has affected way more than I thought it would. I was expecting it to do two things:

  • Allow me to feel like I’m not pissing away money on rent
  • Allow me to nest in a place that I make my own

I wasn’t prepared for the fact that it would:

  • Change my financial situation
  • Change the dynamics of my marriage
  • Introduce the concept of never ending needs
  • Turn me into a DIYer (sort of)
  • Teach me how much of a dissatisfied brat I am
  • Show me how little money I actually have
  • Force me to accept the importance of cleaning EVERYTHING

…and maybe most surprisingly: the power of paint.

Beyond her openness about mental disorder, my mother displayed a lot of behaviors and preferences that collectively added to (or subtracted from) who I have become as an adult. I’m a neat freak, a clean freak, a pseudo interior designer, a woman with expensive taste, a frequent restaurant patron, a wino, a crier, and a replacer. My entire experience as a roommate of my mother’s has sneakily exposed me to her inclination to replace things instead of fixing or improving them. The moment our offer was accepted on this house, I started the lengthy and ever-growing list of things we need to replace: the storm doors, the front and back doors, the baseboards, the bathrooms, the kitchen, the light fixtures, the trim, pretty much the entire contents of the interior of the house. Furthermore, thanks to my calm-cool-collected reaction to change, I immediately felt VERY STRONGLY about all of these things. See, the last residence I moved into with my parents was a condo that my mom had completely gut renovated before we moved in. Every STICK, floor and all, was removed from the condo and then replaced with something hand picked by my mother. We didn’t even paint anything ourselves, I just picked my room color and the contractor took care of it. This is a terrible last impression because while I understood the timeline for renovations was going to be different with my house, I couldn’t wrap my head around HOW different it would actually be.

I’ve slowly learned with much resistance and through constant reading of Apartment Therapy articles and “how to ____ on a budget”s… and then finally through practice, that there are two annoying things you can do with little to no money that will vastly improve pretty much anything in your house: clean it. paint it. Cleaning is something I’ve always been stellar at and definitely don’t mind doing. I get extreme satisfaction from cleaning things so I was willing to accept that fate. What I wasn’t ready for was the extent to which I would have to clean something to accept it. I’ve always started out with a house or a space that was already relatively clean so most cleaning was just up-keep. I never had to look at an all pink, all tile, 1950s bathroom full of dirty grout, especially not one I would have to live with for at least a few years. I must say though, it is truly incredible how tolerable something can become when it is clean. I don’t love my pink bathroom but after 3 hours of grout scrubbing, I definitely don’t hate it.


My best cleaning advice is not not spend a ton of money on cleaning products. All of the best, most effective cleaning products are the cheapest ones. I think my magic shopping list would be:

  • Bleach
  • Baking Soda
  • White Vinegar
  • Powdered Comet
  • Powdered Barkeepers Friend
  • Murphy’s Oil Soap
  • Windex (or ammonia)
  • Spray bottles
  • Scrub brushes
  • Scotch sponges
  • Microfiber rags
  • Rubber gloves

There is nothing you can’t clean with that list and those are all probably the cheapest items in the cleaning aisle. There are hundreds of recipes for grout cleaners, stink erasers, goo gone, and glass cleaners that only involve those products and I stand firmly by that.

After you’ve cleaned the hell out of something you hate… and I mean cleaned the HELL out of it – like if it’s a ceiling fan, you unscrewed the light kit and all of the blades and cleaned each little tiny part down to the screws – and you still hate it; paint it. My husband seems to have known about this little “secret” but didn’t let me in on it because I guess he thought I wouldn’t buy it. I will admit, it was a hard one for me to truly get behind but I’m now a believer. We’ve painted five rooms and two hallways so far and I wasn’t really a prophet of paint until now.

The trim of our house was presumably measured, cut, and GLUED on (nailed on in some places) by a blind 4 year old. When we moved in I started noticing how severely damaged and dingy it was, I found all of the little crevices full of dust and dirt and unpainted wood. It was making me crazy. How expensive would it be to have someone rip out all of our base boards and trim and replace them with shiny, pre-painted stuff? Probably more than we could afford. But then we started painting and I jammed the oh-so-magical bright white, high-gloss paint into every nook and cranny of our hideous trim and suddenly it didn’t make me want to rip all of my skin off. I’m not in love with it but I certainly don’t hate it, it’s way easier to clean and I’m likely the only person that looks at it closely enough to notice how damaged and ill-fitted it is. Bless paint.

As if trim restoration wasn’t enough, we found that painting the interior of our front door changed the entire tone of our foyer (along with painting the walls and trim, of course). I’m currently whitewashing the ugliest ceiling fan I’ve ever seen in my entire life and it’s costing me $0 (I mean, we already had the paint and brushes). All of that to say – I’m perfectly fine with the fact that my hands (and other random body parts) are constantly covered in paint along with my sleep shirts and now several pairs of leggings. Worth it.

I plan to soon embark on a mini kitchen makeover and much like every Apartment Therapy article that chronicles cheap kitchen “updates”, I too will be painting everything and replacing hardware. That may end up being a fun before/after entry.

There’s no concise way to wrap up all of my thoughts this time around. All I can say is that patience is hard, change is even harder, and being a replacer is easy but maybe the satisfaction of improving something will save me from our throwaway mindset.


House –> Home



Move to New York


Move back to St. Louis

Get engaged


Get a dog


Get married

Buy a house


Spend the rest of your life working on said house

Over the past 5 years I’ve done plenty of relatively risky, stressful, and financially irresponsible things. I quit my job in St. Louis and moved to NY in the spring of 2012 and luckily managed to get a job that I hated. What’s more New York than that? I’ll tell you what: spending roughly $400 a month (thanks Metro North Rail!) to get to that awful job every day. I’d drive to the station, take the train to Grand Central, get on the 4/5,¬† get off at Fulton Street then walk to the office. And repeat: walk to Fulton Street station, take the 4/5, get off at Grand Central, take the train and drive home. Soul crushing.

On New York: Everything everyone says about NYC, both good and terrible, is true.


I’ll spare you the boring “life’s so crazy and you never know the path you’re going to go down” details and consolidate. I met a dude. I got a job that was more rewarding. A nephew happened. My dude and I moved to St. Louis (my hometown). We got engaged. We got a dog. We got married. We bought a house. And now we’re (I’m) here blogging about this house and my life. I guess I’m digging for that cathartic writing experience I used to get when I was 15, crying at the computer in my bedroom.

These days the computer I cry at is in my home office, in my cute little house that is both my pride and the bane of my existence. It seems like most of my life is spent in my home office, it’s quickly becoming the non-kitchen heart of the house. It’s where my husband decompresses from his day. It’s my dog’s 1st floor safe-haven (she’s kind of needy so she has 3 safe-havens in the house). But most importantly and worst of all, it’s where I spend 8 hours of my day. Working from home has never been easy but it has taken on a new level of burden now that we own the home I’m working from. I know that sounds ridiculous considering I CHOSE this house. I badgered a real estate agent around for 2ish months only to finally land on THIS house. I picked the room. I picked the paint color. I picked the furniture. But alas, all of that personal connection is what makes it so difficult. I’m invested (on so many levels) in this stupid house and sitting around in it for 8 hours a day is driving me insane. I’m finding every little nook and cranny that needs to be cleaned or fixed or changed.

You’ll hear a lot of people say that people (read: family) make a house a home but as with most things in life, I’m going to have to disagree. At the risk of sounding incredibly materialistic, I’m going to say that making a house YOURS is the first step in making a home (this is probably more of an identity crisis on my part than a bit of advice so I guess just take it with a grain of salt). It’s not just¬† YOUR stuff that does it either. I wasn’t in St. Louis when all of our furniture got moved into the house and coming home to a house full of our shit didn’t really feel special or homey. Whatever the feeling was, it was obvious that it required a fight with my husband about where he put everything and then I got to begin the laborious process of obsessing about colors and arrangement and projects and updates. We did not buy a turnkey house and I honestly, despite the stress it would relieve, probably never will. For some reason, I love the character of old houses but will do just about everything to modernize them without tearing down every wall or squaring off every arched doorway.

South City St. Louis is littered with these little 1930s gingerbread craftsman houses. They all share some of the most gorgeous and interesting features I seek out in a house “with character”. First of all, they’re made of firebrick, something common yet sacred in St. Louis. I recently found out that most yellow firebrick in the area was actually mined from the ground beneath these neighborhoods, same with the limestone around our doorways and chimney bases. Secondly, the houses all have hardwood floors, sealed coal shoots, wood burning fireplaces, and, for better or worse, plaster walls.

The popular “knock-down” texture of these plaster walls was my biggest qualm with the house upon closing (it was a close call but a lot of the other things were tied for second). The texture is extremely polarizing, people either love it or they hate it and I LOATHE it. We walked through a few houses that decided to try bold, non-flesh tone colors on these textured walls and it was… ugly? Cheap looking? I can’t even pin down the description they elicit. I knew I couldn’t live with that color-limiting texture so I began pouring over the internet for solutions. I finally decided (with the green light from my husband who later regrets giving me the green light on this) that we would hire a plaster worker to come re-plaster the walls into a smooth texture. After receiving our quote, we decided we’d re-plaster ONE room in the house. It took about 5 guys and one full day to do it, but a couple weeks after we moved in, I finally had gorgeously flat walls in one room.

As lame and vain as it may sound, spending money to change something to my preference began growing my sense of “home”. We painted the room a bold navy and white washed the fireplace and trim… and suddenly it was my living room.



I’m not discouraging or endorsing big expensive vanity jobs. I’m not even saying smooth walls are better than knock-down texture (that’s a lie, they are). I am saying that one of the joys of owning a home has to be the fact that it’s YOURS and you can make it yours.

I’m not going to try to pretend I know what this blog is going to be about or why I’m writing it or if there’s any longevity to it. I’ve learned very little from my 28 years on earth but I have found that my most rewarding life experiences come from short-sighted actions. So here we go…