I Imagine..

...being able to sit uninterrupted with my thoughts and blogs in a place like this

(tiger pelt and all)

Although, it wouldn't necessarily need to be quite that grand...

I'd just like to have the time to congeal my ideas...

My mind is just sort of toast these days, and more demands on my time have left my brain feeling like a big void. I hate it when that happens... I feel like such a lame-O blogstress.

This makes me feel better, though...

Guess who had a 1st Birthday party? Yes, already.

If this is true...

Then I have the soul of Van Gogh.

You tell Me

I've noticed more and more blogs (MLHP included) posting design boards or other Photoshop-created images full of products, banners, cute fonts, etc. I'm starting to think some posts are morphing into a bunch of pseudo e-zine features. Have you noticed this, too?

design board I'm working on...

Don't get me wrong, I love working on design boards - putting into a visual what I have in my brain for a particular space. But, what I want to know is what do YOU love? What do you want to see from design blogs, or more specifically, from this design blog?

Do you want to get my take on design published in magazines? Do you want to see what projects I have going on at my own house? Are you interested in what I'm putting together for others' - including their design boards?

The last thing I want is to be putting content out there that is ho hum. If I personally think something is rad, I'm likely to post it regardless, but it's good for me to know what you want from me, your humble blogstress.

Juices Flowing

The other morning I hopped on the treadmill for my usual, decent-but-not-excessive routine. Sometimes, I prefer the treadmill so, rather than having to focus on questionable topography (very typical in Brazil), my brain can meander into creative territory.
So, there I was, pacing along, sort of expecting the onslaught of ideas I use for home decor projects, blog posts, etc when there was....nothing. Not really a void or vacuum as much as the brainstorm equivalent of bellybutton lint.

Todd Romano's NYC Apt. via AD aka My blue heaven

I didn't worry too much about it - ideas will come, blog posts happen - but it got me thinking about what other expressive people do to get their juices flowing. Remember Alexandre (Mikhail Baryshnikov's character) in SATC - pulling all-night, creative benders to come up with his art installations? Or, notoriously, musicians tapping into their inner genius via mind-altering drugs.

I'll take my cafe au lait here, please via Vivre Cote Paris

Note: Extra-tall shower curtain and tufted little bench Disregard: Poor quality photo

I dare say I'm not that in touch with my inner artiste, but I do find that certain environments foster the flow of creative juices more than others. ...And the monotony of the treadmill is usually one of them. So, what happens when that doesn't work?

Well read? I'd say that's a YES.

What do you do when your go-to for creative enlightenment falls through? Inquiring minds wanna know!

...AND - Go back HERE to register for the CSN giveaway (aka Free Money) - Tomorrow's the last day to enter.

Art that got away

A few years back, I spotted a painting at the Paris Market in Savannah. It was a very large canvas - probably six feet tall - of the back of a woman dressed in a ballet costume. It sounds cheesy, but only because my description is beyond lame. It was gorgeous, ethereal, and I wanted it with my whole being. Despite being the work of a SCAD student, we couldn't swing the price tag, and it would have done it a huge disservice to strap it to the roof of our VW Corrado.
Still, it haunted me. Still does.
I searched the artist online, but never found anything. I've since forgotten his/her name, but never that painting. That's why you should hock things to buy art that speaks to you.

I've found similar attempts, but nothing that makes my heart skip the same way.

Then I saw this...

via

Yes, that's a real tutu on canvas. Clever I'd say. They could be on to something...

Would you ever...

Wallpaper your kitchen?

Why or why not?

The "It" Room: Momcave

Word on the street is, Mancave: Out, Momcave: In.
As I see it, a Momcave is a space devoted to the imagination, relaxation, and fancies of the woman of the house. That woman need not literally be a parent, as almost all women are mothers to someone or something - even if it's a houseplant!

In my mind's eye, my Momcave would be part sitting/reading area, creative workspace, with a little corner exercise studio - a place where I could capture the fertile ideas that always come up during the monotony of the treadmill, and bring them to fruition - a living mood board, if you will.

It would be inspired...

..but organized

warm...

source

...but whimsical

How about you? Give me your dream Momcave!

Deep Thoughts: Rich Hippie

I came across this (not necessarily new) spread. A home decorated by Dallas designer, Michelle Nussbaumer. The style is described as "Rich Hippie." And it was a "temporary" home for the clients. Uh huh. Take a gander, then, let's talk...

What's your first impression?

Do you, like me, think, "Well, if we took some of the elements away, I could deal?"

Or does your little devious inner voice gasp at the sheer excess of it all? For instance, take those curtains in the (tangerine??) dining room - the felt flowers were hand-drawn and sewn by Nussbaumer her assistants. This is a designer known for her vast knowledge of antiques, and she goes for a DIY felt project? If I were the client, I'd be more than a little ticked at the "quirky" use of my funds...

Here, in the Batik-laden sunroom, she used a clementine velvet sofa (which I kinda lerve), but paired it with a French Country coffee table that probably has serious provenance, but that I swear you could recreate via Hobby Lobby. Oh, and get this...she stated that the bench/coffee table was washed with a cream white, because "bright white paint looks cheap" (or something along those lines) Really? Go back and check out that dining room table....

Office/Library of a World Traveler = Good

But, are you seeing my point, here? Yes, designers have an obligation to create a space that adheres to clients' wishes, and perhaps this client wanted the "I have so much money, I can have a 'temporary,' eccentric home" look. But, I would argue that designers also need to push past their own whims. To me, this space is wasteful.
It reminds me of some line in Ben Hurr or other epic film where there's a Ruler who does nasty things because [insert snooty accent] "It amuses me."

If this stairwell were sans the blah-beige carpet, I might, might be able to give it a pass...but something about these carpetted stairs makes it beyond repair.

Bedroom madness

So, tell me, am I getting bogged down? Do I need to take a deep breath, and remember that design is a world where style is ultimately subjective, and where there really is no accountability on the part of the designer, so long as the client agrees and signs the invoices?
Set me straight, peeps!

On a lighter note...If you're a mommy-to-be or new mommy, check out my guest post today at Odi et Amo featuring my Advice for New Moms.

Form or Function?

It's the age-old question: Form or Function? Much like heels vs. flats, boxers vs. briefs, at some point we select something based on the practicality of its use, or the way in which it fancies our eyes.
For me, current form v. function decisions usually revolve around something like small kitchen appliances: cool, retro-looks-great-on-your counter vs. a Clydesdale horse of kitchen gadgetry.

I can't even imagine the scope of thought we'd have to put into decisions that come with, say, a complete home overhaul.

For instance, Bedroom: Carpet or Hard Woods?

For looks, nothing beats beautiful wood floors, agreed?

But, I can't stand putting dusty feet into my bed. Two solutions, I suppose: slippers and large rugs.
All our homes have had hardwoods in the bedrooms, and I have to say, I think I'm ready for some soft stuff underfoot.

Office: Elegant Sawhorse vs. Chunky HideItAll desk

Which of us can't see our most productive and creative selves in this clutter-free and complexion-flattering blush office - complete with its sleek glass, sawhorse desk?

Here's our desk at Casa Giese - a very heavy rustic thing I had made years ago in Texas. It does a halfway decent job of hiding all our junk, but it somehow makes me feel bogged down.

In another life, we'll have his-n-hers offices. Actually, mine will be called my "inspiration room." ;)

Bath: To Clawfoot or not?

Cocozy

designismine

It's a simple decision, really. If you have the room and budget for a clawfoot with separate shower stall - high five it. If you must do the combo gig, then leave the classic tub to the pretty images. Have you ever tried to take a shower in a clawfoot? It's nearly impossible to do without a) Getting water everywhere and b) Feeling like the curtain is attacking you. Not to mention the high wax-it factor when you try to climb waaay up and over the tub to escape.
Gorgeous form, but certainly not the winner of the multitasking contest.

As this, and other urgent questions circle my brain. What say you?

One for the record books

Do you remember when air travel was easy, fun, even exciting? Probably sometime before 9/11 for most of us.
After twelve weeks, five flight changes, and two missed connections, we finally arrived at our house in Brazil on Tuesday.
Are you ready for the tale? Hope you have your coffee (or other choice beverage) in hand...
*Pics of ordeal not available. See inserted inspiration images for monologue relief*

Saturday, the 24th was my birthday. We had finally received Isla's visa after a twelve week ordeal of government bureaucracy, and we were scheduled to fly home. The girls and I had been in Texas, while Ben worked both in Brazil, and The States, so it was actually a great gift to finally have my family together. The plan was for me to fly with the girls from Houston to Atlanta, where I'd meet up with Ben for the overnight direct flight to Brasilia.

A garden I need - San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

When I checked in in Houston - six bags and two kids in tow - I asked the "kind" lady at the counter if she could give a birthday girl some decent seats. Instead I got, "Well, I can give you some bad news on your birthday - your flight has been delayed - you'll get in thirty minutes before your flight to Brazil departs."

I took a deep breath, and just prayed we'd make it - maybe Ben could tell the gate keepers in Atlanta our situation, and they'd wait. I must not have much pull with my prayers, because very shortly thereafter, the flight was further delayed, making it impossible to make our connection.
The direct flights are only offered three times a week, so I knew the earliest we could catch the next flight was Monday, and the agents said there weren't any seats available, anyway. Tears. Restless and tired kids in an airport is not a happy place.

My make-believe Parisian pied à terre

Fast forward to Atlanta. My flight arrived about ten minutes before the Brazil flight was set to take off, so I grabbed the girls, and started to haul it, but Ben met us, and said our seats had been given to standbys. We had to go to the re-booking counter, a train ride three concourses down.

When we got to the counter, I realized I didn't have my carry-on, which I had gate checked. The carry on that contained my $$$ camera/lenses, laptop, iPod, prescription meds, jewelry, oh, and all of Isla's new social security and birth certificate cards. It was a flippin' goldmine for someone with sticky fingers, and I was beside myself. Picture a frantic woman with baby in Bjorn running down the concourse back to the gate - that was me. At the gate - no dice - no one had seen it. Had I left it? I don't know - I was in a serious hurry. It wasn't with the stroller and car seat I had also checked. Again, tears.

Bookshelf goodness

Two hours later - about midnight - the international desk found us seats to fly Monday night, but they weren't direct - we'd have to route through Rio. OK, fine - we just needed sleep. Both girls were still awake - and totally, totally out of their minds tired.

We were told our bags were in a holding area, one we couldn't get to since it was so late. So they sent us on our way to a meager hotel, with a "care kit" that contained a t shirt, a toothbrush, and that's about it. But, before we left, I made a claim for my missing bag.

It was after 2 am Sunday when we all crashed. Happy Birthday to me.

Despite the trendiness, I still love this type of art - for the sheer thundering movement of it

Monday, we were back at the airport, trying to get our bags - for the diapers, changes of clothes we so desperately needed. Good news: bags arrived AND my carry on had shown up in Oklahoma City, and could be sent back later that afternoon. Good thing I got that file started the night before! Major happy dance ensued.

We took a long afternoon nap, and Ben retrieved my carry on that evening - everything intact. Dear God, I know these are not the important things in life, but I owe you one.

Settee and ottoman prettiness

Monday, refreshed with a full-night's rest, we took the girls on the MARTA downtown to the Children's Museum, where Avery had a blast. Took naps and showers, and got ready for our flight.

Before we took the shuttle, I asked Ben to check our flight status (our luck, you know) He got quiet - not good - then said, "Business."
Me: "Hmm?"
Ben: "Business - we got bumped to business - all of us."
Suh-WEEET!
With new spring in our step, we headed to ATL with plenty of time to spare.

Get out of my way, I'm jumping in first!

Then, watched out the windows as the Heavens opened up, and released an enormous deluge. We nervously watched the flight status - it stayed On Time.

We boarded, settled, and began smugly sipping champagne, when the Captain came on the overhead saying we were missing about 70 passengers who were delayed by weather - we would wait for them - for two hours. (Kinda wish they'd offered US that courtesy) Oh well - we were comfy, so it didn't smart as much.

But, it did make us miss our connection in Rio. Ugh, and freakin' ugh BUT with the help of a gracious airline valet - we were rebooked for the next flight, which boarded immediately.

My dream house would most likely have a similar courtyard

It's a short flight - Rio to Brasilia - less than two hours, but we and our kids were toast. Too little sleep. Too much confinement, and our now oh-so-refined rear ends felt especially punished by the coach seats.

We walked in the door of Casa Giese around 3:30 on Tuesday, beat to a pulp, but together, and home.

Avery 3 years, Isla 3 months

Like a verdict...

Over the last few weeks, I've had a lot on my mind regarding the birth of this baby. I'm in the process of changing practitioners, and since I'm now into my last trimester, it is unusual to be doing so...
Guess I should take a step back to try to give a condensed version of my thoughts...

My delivery with Avery was near perfect (at least in my book), and a huge part of that had to do with my caregiver, a midwife named Angie. Now, before you categorize me as Granola, know this: I was blessed with a complication-free pregnancy, and when my OB said I was free to see the midwife in his practice, I thought "why not?"
At the time, I did not realize that, in general, there is a large vacuum in the way an OB/GYN and a Midwife practice medicine. For the most part, midwives promote pregnancy and childbirth less as a medical event, and more a natural and healthy occurrence. Having said that, there are different classifications of midwives, some are all about home births and very little medical intervention, but all must be licensed by the State to practice.
My midwife, Angie, is a Certified Nurse Midwife - someone who has a graduate-level education in nurse midwifery. These are often the types of midwives with practice privileges in birthing centers or hospitals - who can do everything an MD can BUT a c-section, and this was the case with mine.
I feel there are two things that made my delivery with Avery ideal: my trust in my body's ability to birth a child - I did not fear the pain, and my absolute trust in my midwife. Those last couple of hours of labor are fuzzy in my memory (too bad I wasn't blogging then!), but I know that whatever Angie said to do, I did, and the result was a perfect, alert baby girl. I did not have any pain meds or tearing.
I won't get into the "to have or not to have" an epidural. I will say, however, that many nurses, other women, etc told me [in defense of pain meds], "No one gets a medal for withstanding the pain of childbirth." Yeah, well, despite having what everyone tells me was an "easy delivery," I wear the fact that I went medication-commando like a badge of honor. For me, the benefits of being drug-free were worth it.

About 24 hours after birth. Me (yikes!), Angie, 'lil Pumpkin, Proud Daddy

Needless to say, my standards are fairly high for my second birth experience. A young, female OB/GYN in my hometown was recommended to me, and she seems capable enough, but after Ben and I visited with her about birth plans over the holidays, we both walked away thinking: she's no Angie.
I don't think it's so much an issue of her being a good doctor (she is), I just think she practices with the MD mentality of delivery: come into the labor room at the last minute, "catch" the baby, do any stitches, and move on.
Well, that's just not good enough for me. When you've experienced the best, you have a hard time settling for what you feel is less...

Sweetie pie - a few days old.

So, I consulted with Angie, and found a group of midwives who practice with some OB/GYNs in the Houston Medical Center. Like Angie, they are Certified Nurse Midwives who deliver at two of the medical center hospitals - perfect.
However, they don't typically take new patients after 30 weeks. I'll be 34 weeks when I get back to Texas for the duration of the pregnancy. I've sent them my chart for full review, along with a letter proclaiming my loyalty to midwifery - I'm basically begging them to agree to deliver this child!

After Bathtime - about four weeks.

And now, I wait. Sitting by the phone. Waiting for judgment.

The Sweetest Thing.