I’ll never know if my husband bought me my own mitre saw and drill set for my birthday out of love, or because he no longer wanted to be responsible for executing all of my crazy Pinterest ideas.
Either way, I finally have my own power tools!
BONUS: I still have all of my fingers to type this.
My very first project, on my actual birthday, was building faux floating shelves for our basement bathroom. I wanted them to be somewhere around 24” long to fit neatly above the toilet. I decided buying a single 6’1 x 6 board made sense, since I could get three shelves out of it.
(Why oh WHY does a 1 x 6 board actually measure 3/4” by 5 1/2”? I don’t understand it, but I’m going to have to start thinking of “1 x 6” as a nickname rather than actual measurements.)

I used my new saw to cut three shelf pieces — each one 22” long. Then I grabbed a long skinny 1×2 and chopped off six little pieces — one to match up with each end of the shelves. No measuring tape required, by the way. I just held the 1 x 2 up against the end of a shelf and drew a pencil line, and then used my first piece as a template to cut the other five.

The last cuts were boards for the front to create the sneaky look of having thick, chunky floating shelves. I stood up the short end pieces against the shelves, held a long piece of 1×2 in front of the whole thing, marked it off, and knew exactly where to cut to make a little “apron” for each shelf.
I borrowed my handy husband’s brad nailer to attach the pieces together and, wow, that thing is awesome. It’s like a gluegun for wood! In no time at all, I had all three shelves assembled. If I flipped them over, they looked like a wooden tray missing one long side.
After a visit to the backyard to stain them (Minwax’s “Dark Walnut”), I brought them back inside to measure where the brackets would go. So these aren’t technically floating shelves because of the brackets, but I knew I could hide them with accessories.

I marked that each bracket would be 5” in from the edges and then had to laugh at the tools I was using: a 4B sketching pencil and a sewing measuring tape! Three of my hobbies converged right there on my first-ever woodworking project.
I predrilled the holes so the wood wouldn’t split and then screwed two brackets into each of the three shelves. I didn’t even remove the price stickers, it seems, since I was too excited to get them on the wall.
Installation would have been easier with two sets of hands, but I’d done everything myself so far and stubbornly refused to bring in my husband in those final minutes. Holding a pencil between my teeth and my drill between my knees, I climbed the step stool, pressed the first shelf against the wall — with a level balanced on top — and scribbled shakily inside the bracket holes where I needed to drill.

Once all three shelves were snug in the wall — complete with wall anchors! Look at me! — I stood back to admire my work. The first thing I noticed was that I probably should have added a bottom board to the underside of the shelves — at least the highest one — since you could see the “tray” design and it ruined the illusion of one thick shelf. Oh well. I think I’ll try that next time!
Giddy with a sense of accomplishment and feeling like the next Amy Wynn Pastor (#TradingSpacesForever), I styled my new shelves with bits and pieces I’d been squirreling away for the basement bathroom. Chalk-painted mason jars with sanded detail, a tin can and silver canister I’d “faux-tarnished” with stain and a tin bucket to hold guest toiletries. I admit the jar of epsom salts is silly because there’s no tub in that room, but I like the way it looks!

You can’t see the brackets at all now that the shelves are full, and they really do look like chunky floating shelves. I’ll always think of them as my “birthday shelves” since I made them and installed them on the very same day I received my new mitre saw and drill set.
It’s no secret that I’ve been struggling this summer. Some days are better than others. It’s been a year since I started taking antidepressants and I alternate between thinking they’re the best thing in the world and wondering if they’re working at all.
I’m a severely introverted mother and wife who desperately needs daily time away from her family, and I’m not getting enough of it these days. Even though it makes sense on paper (or in pixels, in this blog window), it still feels shameful.
School starts in one week for our oldest, and the week after for our youngest. I can’t wait. I seriously CANNOT wait. (Again, more guilt.)
I feel like we’ve been on top of each other all summer and I can’t breathe. Ever. Whenever I do manage to get a bit of time in my office, my back tenses up when I hear footsteps coming towards the door. The sound of the doorknob turning instantly fills me with frustration, no matter who it is or what they want.
I was interrupted twice in the three minutes I took to get dressed this morning. (“Whatcha doin’ Mom?” “What are you doing, Mummy?”) and I had to bite back screams. “Just getting dressed,” I replied. I could hear the tightness in my voice. Both times, they started to say something else and I had to cut them off with “I’ll just be a minute. Please.” I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t.
I’m dreaming of the time I’ll have alone, all alone in this house, to work and think and write and breathe.
It’s not a lot of time, of course. Precisely two hours and 10 minutes, three days a week. Six and a half hours a week. It sounds like a lot when you think of it as six and a half hours, doesn’t it? That’s almost one entire workday in my old life, if you consider taking time for lunch.
I fantasize regularly about freezing time. Moving around the house, completely alone, and picking up the piles of crap accumulating on the stairs. Tackling the disastrous utility room. Sorting through the junk that piles up on the floor of my office/studio. Doing all of the little annoying tasks that there is never time to do these days — tasks that would make me feel so much better. Tasks I’d even enjoy doing if I was listening to a podcast and not stopping every two seconds to deal with someone.
I need summer to be over. I need more moments when I’m not listening to squabbles or Netflix or yells for me to check a wiping job (shudder) or lay out clothes or hand out snacks. I need more moments to work without my heart pounding too quickly, trying to get an inhuman amount done in 30 minutes.
Most of all, I need to ignore the guilt that clogs my throat every time I think about how much I just want to be alone.
Some days it feels like I haven’t done anything this summer except yell at the kids to turn down the iPad and that I’d be working “just 10 more minutes.” Like I’ve made dozens of pots of sloshy Kraft Dinner (I always screw up and add too much milk) and even more peanut butter sandwiches on leftover hotdog buns because I didn’t feel like going out to buy bread.
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Everywhere I look, I see families that are “doing summer” better than me. Families who have weeks of vacation and weekends off together, perfect for setting out on road trips and beach adventures. Summer stresses me out because I’m not a sun person or a beach person or even an outdoorsy person. I feel like a quality summer is measured by picture-perfect, sandy-footed beach visits and therefore I always fail.
I see all of this on Facebook, by the way, when I’m on deadline and cranky and the Spongebob Squarepants theme song is echoing in my brain (“Absorbant and yellow and porous is he!”). As I’ve said before, working from home is both the best thing in the world and the worst thing in the world — and it leans towards “worst” during the summer months.
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I’d been planning to send the kids to morning day camp several days a week so I could work without feeling guilty about ignoring them. They must have sensed that camp attendance would be the perfect trifecta of convenient, affordable, and good for Mommy’s mental health: they declined the offer.
I did send them sometimes and they had fun (of course), but other mornings they insisted on staying home. They stayed in their pyjamas until the afternoon, wriggling on the couch in a tangled-up pile until one of them started crying. Sometimes they drove me insane with squabbling and tattling and other times they played very nicely together — organizing pretend weddings and building bionic rabbits out of Lego.
“Only boring people get bored,” I’d tell them when they asked if it was time for a show. I let them be bored and I never regretted it, because they always ended up making crafts and forts and inventing games and teaching themselves magic tricks. The house has been way messier than usual, but I like to think of it as a character-building mess.
We didn’t go to a cottage like just about everybody else on our street, but we flew to Ontario and spent a week at my dad and stepmom’s — swimming two or three times a day. We went on two camping trips with friends — making s’mores, zooming down slip’n’slides and trick-or-treating around the campground. The kids spent a few weekends in Halifax with my mom, gleefully riding the ferry and exploring downtown and even going to the beach.
Even though we decided not to sign up for any summer sports, we did get a membership to our local pool and went for a swim whenever we felt like it. We went to a zoo, got scared silly in a “kid-friendly” (totally not kid-friendly) haunted walk through the woods, and marched in our town’s first Pride parade. We went to playgrounds and splashpads and out for ice cream.
We stayed home a lot, sure. But we played washer toss on the set we bought at the campground earlier in August. We dragged home a new-to-us playset and gave it a makeover, and now we can’t imagine our yard without it — fights over the swings and all. We hung out with neighbours and missed them when they were away (see above, RE: everyone but us has a cottage). We ate pizza and watched movies together most Friday nights.
Even though it sometimes feels like our summer paled in comparison to everyone else’s sun-kissed, Instagram-filtered adventures, it was a good summer. There was a little of everything, including boredom, and it’s left us all feeling very ready for the start of a new school year. Especially me, who may not survive another episode of Spongebob Squarepants.
I started rug-shopping for our living room recently and realized that a rug is something I’ve never bought before. Bathmats and little welcome mats are cheap and easy to pick up, but a rug — a huge area rug that’s going to pull together an entire room — is an investment. So when I say “rug-shopping,” I really mean going online, fainting at the prices and bemoaning that we’ll be rug-less forever.
I’m really intrigued by the idea of making a huge rug out of a drop cloth, so that may get added to the project list (that ever-growing Google Keep list on my phone). For now, though, I tried making two different rugs using fabric.
I started out easy, testing a method where you needed nothing at all but about a metre of fabric and a sewing machine. I chose a fresh, fun white and yellow chevron print from Atlantic Fabrics’ home decor section, prewashed and dried it, just in case, and spread it out on the carpet in our family room.
I’d bought exactly twice the size I wanted the finished rug to be, so I just folded it in half, right sides together, and pinned all the way around …
Continue reading in my weekly DIY column, My Handmade Home
We bring Annabelle home today.
And I’m kind of freaking out.
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| The kids are oblivious. And weird. |
I admit it. I got a bit psycho today about the MESSY state of the kids’ rooms. I haven’t been… https://t.co/yRLgvqZIdP— Heather Laura Clarke (@HFXHeather) August 25, 2016
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I don’t think the kids’ rooms have EVER been this clean.
(And let’s not talk about the foul mess I discovered under C’s bed, let alone the FLOUR I had to vacuum out of her carpet because she ripped apart one of those squishy balloon stress balls and then attempted to hide the evidence.)
I stopped the cleaning frenzy yesterday, realizing that the house is never going to STAY this perfectly clean. Annabelle is not just coming for the weekend — she’s moving IN with us.
I’m nervous, but I’m also excited. I’m worried about how everyone will adjust, but I’m also strangely calm in the knowledge that we love each other already.
Here we go!