NO SEW UPHOLSTERY SPORTS CHAIR? DON’T MIND IF I DO!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in MUFFINTOP DIY, Uncategorized | Posted on 05-02-2014

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Last year I bought a very well loved (aka grungry) kick butt Ethan Allen French Country arm chair with ottoman. You can read the post here. For multiple before pics, please visit the original post.

Here is the after:

photo-105-2

WHAT CAN I SAY? IT WAS MID WINTER IN THE FROZEN TUNDRA AND I LIKE COLOR!

Here is the chair a year later, after I painted and rearranged the room:

SEE HOW DIFFERENT THE PALER BACKDROP MAKES THIS CHAIR SEEM, BTW?

SEE HOW DIFFERENT THE PALER BACKDROP MAKES THIS CHAIR SEEM, BTW?

And we are sidewards again! My point in posting the chair a year later is that every DIY project can look great when you finish, but you have to wonder how some of the “Pinterest” pins or blog post projects hold up? How do you know that shitz doesn’t all fall apart once the shot it taken?!! The chair has held up very well over the past year I think, considering that I flop in it every, single day with my unskinnay bod-aaay, it’s had kids jumping on it, off it, around it, and, because of the way I did it (as in, not at all correctly!), I cannot flip the cushions! OH MY. My small investment is crazy comfy and has served me well as I’ve slurped many a coffee and beer on it while I check Facebook or read a classic piece of literature People mag.

I had originally planned to get it professionally reupholstered and then…dun, dun, dun, our dishwasher kicked the bucket. Poverty (all right, I’m embellishing but you know what I mean!) breeds inspiration, and so I thought I’d take a stab at redoing it myself! Shazam!

Since then, I’ve gotten emboldened to try other upholstery projects. This fall the plan was to big boy up the bedroom my middle and youngest share. Enter the ugly ass $7 chair. Hubs woudn’t touch it. Deemed it “disgusting”. Made THE FACE. At me! ME! Prima. Donna.

IT ACTUALLY WAS PRETTY GROSS!

IT ACTUALLY WAS PRETTY GROSS!

The random, grungy corduroy, the dirty arms, and the flipping tacks that I had to take out one by one–owww! I can understand why someone would doubt my skillz. I only bled a little (hear me roar!), I washed the hell out of the wood with Murphy Oil soap, primed and painted it in a lovely Benjamin Moore red I had left over from my son’s desk project, and then, had the idea to reupholster it in Red Sox material. I found this awesome fleecy Red Sox fabric that I thought would be forgiving and soft–and it is. Bonus, it was only $11 bucks a yard! You can get this material in other Major League baseball teams but not sure why you’d want to!? (I’m waiting for Big Papi to call me with his order. Cue up Blondie, “Call meeeee! Call me any, any, any-timeeeeee! Call ME!!!”) Who needs PR people? I got this! (No.)

Here are some after shots:

OK, WORDPRESS IS TRYING TO RATTLE ME WITH ALL THESE SIDEWARD PICS. WON'T WORK, WP--KEEP TRYING!!!

OK, WORDPRESS IS TRYING TO RATTLE ME WITH ALL THESE SIDEWARD PICS. WON’T WORK, WP–KEEP TRYING!!!

 

WE'RE FRONTWARDS. #DANCESJIG

WE’RE FRONTWARDS. #DANCESJIG

For a total cost of less than $20, I’ll take it. It’s a perfect size for the corner of the room, and could easily transition to a rec room or family room if future plans change. It’s an awesome spot to read a book, or, if I’m being honest, drop a pile of folded laundry til I can put it away! I will say that reupholstering a chair is not difficult–this chair was 800 times easier than the French chair because of it’s size, in part, but mostly because there were no cushions that detach to contend with. I took the old fabric off carefully, used it to make a template and traced it onto the new fabric, and stapled—that is IT. It’s like putting a puzzle back together–after you see how it comes apart, you can see how it will all go back together again. Honestly. That is IT. If you had staples showing, and you don’t know how to sew upholstery welting, aka, piping, like moi, you can hot glue gimp like I did on the French chair–and you can see how I did that in that post–sew easy! (Sorry.)

Dare to think outside the chair–you can’t buy something like this at the store, and any chair that you can buy, is at least a few hundred bucks. 

After I did this chair, naturally oldest bro was all, “What about a chair for MY room!” Fair enough. He was over the blue gingham glider in his room. I took to my beloved Craigslist to find an appropriately sized chair and boom—$19 (I know, random price and now that I think of it I handed the woman $20 and she did not give me mah dollah–but I was in no mood for a tete a tete in her random garage in the sticks–know when to hold ‘em and know when to fold ‘em, people!).  $19 was a steal for this vintage, caned chair. It is SO COMFY. It was a pecan colored wood and slightly beat, with a 70′s gold velourish type material. AND THERE ARE NO BEFORE PICS THANKS TO TOILETTE IPHONEGATE OF 2013. I’M NOT BITTER, SON!

This chair took some brute strengh to take apart, and it was tufted so BUTTONS, ALL THE BUTTONS, dude. I was not gonna rebutton it. No way. I spray painted this chair in a high gloss red paint and primer combo—likey! I thought that woud be the best way to cover the caning and it didn’t disappoint. Love the gloss. Here are some after shots. To be different, I did this chair in similar fleecy material, but chose Patriot’s instead of The Sox to mix it up. (Brady? Call me. How perfect would it be to sit in this chair and read Jinxelle bed time stories in your Uggs. Check it! Ya think Manning has a cool chair like this, Brady? Um, no.)

I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY. SIDEWARDS!!!

I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY. SIDEWARDS!!!

 

SIDE VIEW

SIDE VIEW–THAT CANING. MUAH!

Here’s a brighter pic! ( I LOVE FOTOGRAFY–ha ha ha.)

I'm bright! I'm upright! Jazz hands! Woo!

I’m bright! I’m upright! Jazz hands! Woo!

Check out the curves and the legs–oh my! Flutter!

That’s it, peeps—I’m living the DIY dream!

From shizz to shine, all on a dime.

I gots to save mah money for fun shoes and wine! 

And remember, dare to think outside the chair! What do you have to lose? (Besides some blood and burnt skin. Wo-man up!)

 

 

 

 

 

STFU SAMMIE TIME—I NEED TO S DOWN AND S UP!

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Posted by muffintopmommy | Posted in Boys, boys, boys! And did I mention, boys?, Friends...you got what I ne-ed, OH &^%$!!, Some things just don't fit into a neat little box. The uncategory!, Uncategorized | Posted on 25-10-2012

Tags: , , , , ,

After weeks of a revolving door of sickness around here coupled with our uninvited furry house guests, I was rocking a funk pretty hard. I’d had grand plans to start back up exercising after a foot injury and drinks on the deck derailed me over summer, only to have a hacking Marlboro red cough hang on for well over a month. Co-pays upon co-pays and costly critter craziness (triple c–beware!) helped suck the fun out of fall. And ohGoddearGod the incessant political ads and phone calls are enough to drive me to drink.

More. And earlier.

I usually try not to be rude to the callers because honestly, it’s a person just trying to do their job in a rough economy, which must not be easy, especially now that we’re all battle torn. But calling me at 9:45 and asking me to complete a survey? When hubs and I had finally planted ourselves to watch our DVR’d Modern Family, commercial free and in peace?

No, homie, no.

SERIOUSLY? NO. Photo credit: Photobucket

I scowl at hubs and snatch the phone in disgust.

Me to hubs: Are you kidding me? It’s 9-naughty word-45.

Him: BLANK LOOK. What ring? Ooh, look at Sophia Vergara.

Me: I KNOW! THIS IS A BIT MUCH! I’m answering it before they wake the kids!

Hubs: BLANK LOOK. I just want to see more of Sophia Vergara.

Me answering phone: DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS? (Suddenly, and without warning, I’ve morphed into my late father, who when pressed, would go ape on people—0 to 60 in a matter of seconds. Usually his ire was reserved for the door to door Jehovah Witnesses who would always seem to try to prosthelytize during nail biter Red Sox games. I’m pretty sure the soul of my dad is prayed for even today in J Dub circles.)

Friendly survey caller: Yes! I do, it’s 6:45!

PSYCHO JANET: NOOOOO, it’s 9:45 in my world!

Friendly survey caller: Oh, I’m sorry, would you have time for a quick surv….

PSYCHO JANET: Are? Are you kidding me right now?

Friendly survey caller: So, when would be a better time to ca….

PSYCHO JANET: When would be a better time to call? Um, never, how about never!

Friendly/dumb survey caller: So, could I call you….

PSYCHO JANET: Ne-never call me. Never! Please. Never! Seriously? Never!

They broke me. They did. I didn’t want to be rude. I didn’t mean to be rude. But a girl can only take so much. (All this for FOUR electoral votes! FOUR. 1,2,3,4!)

Photo credit: Photobucket.

And then…it came. The guilt.

See, the thing about bitching about your Marlboro red cough and your kid’s asthma flaring up and your medical bills and being stalked for your miniscule fraction of your four electoral votes, and, and, and, and …the other crappity crap that’s befallen you is…..it’s called life. You gotta do it in context. Because the minute you finish decorating your big fat whiny cake for the pity party you realize, “Schmuck, there are kids who are REALLY sick. And moms who are REALLY sick. Moms who wish their worst health problem was fitting into a smaller size or lowering their cholesterol.” You know I could go from here to the moon and back on sad scenarios.

And that’s when you take your STFU sammie and sit down and shut up. Or as my bf and I like to snark, “Oh, s down and s up!” It’s crabbier and edgier and honestly, it instantly puts things in perspective.

But sometimes, it takes a kid to tell you what you’ve been missing.

I NEVER REALIZED I HAD A HOME WITH A VIEW, UNTIL MY 5 YEAR OLD TOLD ME TO LOOK UP.

Gorgeous, right? 3 year old, 5 year old, and I were playing in the back yard yesterday afternoon. I was going through the motions, kicking a ball and pushing them on the swings, but my mind was a million miles away. The critter people were due in a half hour to see if they “caught” anything. Gag. What was I going to make for dinner? Gag again. Oh, crap, scanning the yard and realizing I (and by I, I mean, hubs!) has to fix the fence/finish painting the shed/put the patio furniture away before the Frankenstorm hits. GAGGAGGAG.

Woh, woh, woh. Debbie Downer? Check please!

Also, it was my sister’s birthday. The one who passed away over two decades ago—more than half my life ago. And yet, all these many years later, the date rightly dances through my thoughts. Though I think of her all the time, this date will always be THE.YEARLY.REMINDER. of a life cut short. And every fabulous, and horrible, and yes, even mundane moment, like bitching that your favorite show was interrupted by a political survey, that we know we all take for granted— is magnified.

It weighs on me.

And just like that, my 5 year old fights to interrupt my subconscious, as if he knows damn right well I am present. But not really present.

“Mom?”

“MOMMY?”

“Mom, look!”

“What, honey?” I ask and absentmindedly glance around.

“Up there. UP THERE!” He points, emphatically.

To that sky. That gorgeous, perfect scene that loomed above the whole time, but I hadn’t noticed. Not even for a second. I was too busy looking down. And around. At all the “stuff” that had to get done. Probably, if I’m being honest, feeling a little sorry for myself.

And why? Would I and should I? How could I feel sorry for myself? When gifts are all around me. I have a life—a great, fortunate, wonderful, if not perfect, life.

I was reminded of a quote I read on Pinterest recently, “Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.” The source is unknown. But the sentiment, is perfect.

I have a thoughtful husband and beautiful kids who love me unconditionally…..a house with A VIEW! Every day I get to live and breathe and have bad luck and good luck and no luck, really is a gift. Sometimes, I need a kick in the pants–which might be tight—but nevertheless! From a five year old.

I’m reminded that children live in the moment. Their world is black and white. They love unconditionally and without rules. And when we say or do the wrong thing or fall short of who they deserve us to be, they forgive and they pull us back. We adults, with our preoccupations and our propensity to kvetch and sulk and take things personally, we lug our baggage. It’s heavy. We get tired. I…got tired. Maybe he sensed it.

These kids are unbridled enthusiasm and glee, for the sun on their faces and the sky full of puffy clouds that may or may not look like a bear, or a firefighter, depending on who you ask. Or maybe a wink or a nod or a smile from heaven. Who knows?

Like everything in life, it’s all in the eye of the beholder.