I was absolutely convinced I wasn’t a stencil person. I’d tried them in the past and they shifted around while I was painting, and lining everything up felt like more work than hand-lettering. So, more often than not, I freehanded … and then felt annoyed at my mistakes.
Let me back up. I had decided to make a rustic wooden holiday sign, since our holiday decor is pretty much limited to an artificial tree (not yet up), a wreath or two, and hundreds of glittery balls that I stuff into any glass containers I can find.
I poked around on Pinterest looking for a good quote to paint, but it took a while to find something I liked.
I didn’t want anything too forcefully religious (“The weary world rejoices”) and so many of the quotes I found were a little … inappropriate for a family Christmas (“The tree isn’t the only thing getting lit this year.”)
I settled on a lovely G-rated line from Dr. Seuss’ How The Grinch Stole Christmas: “Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”
I grabbed a wood scrap and a container of beige chalky finish paint (Americana Decor’s Timeless), and settled down in front of an episode of Quantico to paint my letters.

I had decided to give stencils a second try after finding a package of discounted adhesive letter stencils, and they were pleasantly easy to use.
You peel them off a plastic backing and they stick to your project so there’s no slipping or smudging. (Of course, that didn’t stop me from accidentally painting over the outer edge of the stencil, but that was easily fixed with a bit of sandpaper.)

Because each letter is set within a rectangle, you can line them up easily and know you’re keeping your words in a fairly straight line. I got into a rhythm of sticking on as many letters in a row as I could, and then when I’d need a letter that was already in use, I’d stop and paint what was there — dabbing with a sponge brush.

Then I’d peel up the letter I needed to re-use, stick it in place, and continue laying out the letters again until I hit a repeated one. It was mindless and easy to do while watching TV, compared to the painstaking attention to detail needed when you’re hand-lettering.
I let the letters dry overnight, and the wood was ready for the super-simple finish the next afternoon — a technique SO simple that I actually wasn’t sure it was going to work at all, which is sometimes the case with my ideas.
The plan was to make a vintage sign with faded letters but without multiple coats of paint and stain and distressing. Because this is a really busy time of year, am I right?
I dipped a clean sponge brush into a can of stain (Minwax’s “Red Mahogany”) and brushed it quickly over the letters — panicking for a second when they disappeared — and then wiped off the excess with a rag.

I was finished the whole sign in less than three minutes, and the painted letters stood out nicely through the stain. Whew! It had worked! The kids were delighted with the Grinch quote, once I read it to them. (They actually guessed it was from “Elf” first, so another viewing is in order.)

I still wouldn’t describe myself as a stencil person, but these adhesive ones are certainly the way to go if I need to get lettered quickly — and without a lot of focus on what I’m doing. After all, a show like Quantico really deserves my full attention.
Don’t forget to pin this post so you can come back to it later!
I hit 50,000 words this morning on my newest novel — the novel I’m hopefully will actually see the light of day. Fifty thousand and 14 words, to be exact.
You know, unlike the first one (55,000 words) that I got up early very morning to write and tried hard to get published and then promptly dropped the day — the very day — I discovered I was pregnant with D.
Oh, and unlike the second-latest one that started with such promise (and I probably will get back to, most likely, maybe?) and then abandoned?
Unlike all of the other semi-finished novels and not-so-short short stories filed away in folders?
This one is different. This one is raw and real and good, and you know how hard it is for a writer to even think that about their own writing.
I’m still getting up at 5:15 or 5:30 every morning, seven days a week, and it feels easier every day. I’m also going to bed much earlier than ever before — 9 p.m. at the latest, most nights — so I’m not exhausted from waking up so early.
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I actually may experiment with getting up even earlier, because by the time I sit down with my cup of tea in the dark dining room — Chromebook glowing — I squeak in just under an hour before I have to wake up the kids and get everyone ready for the day.
I get 1,000 words done in an hour, and 2,000 seems to be the norm on the weekend days because we’re not rushing to the damn bus. If I got up earlier? Maybe I could get 2,000 each weekday and 3,000 on each weekend day? Or am I getting carried away and forgetting about SLEEP and toying with burning the (battery-operated) candle at both ends? I think so? Hmm.
It feels so good to finally be back at this kind of writing. I spend my days writing about just about everything, in every kind of style, for money. There is certainly no paycheque with this book, at least not yet and maybe not ever, but it’s feeding my soul.
It’s washing over me like warm bathwater. It’s calming the voice in my head screaming at me that the novel isn’t going to write itself. I’m sacrificing time and sleep and possibly sanity to work on it, but it feels right in every way.
It’s what I have always wanted to do, and I’m doing it.
I’m doing it!
Our five-year-old is learning to read, and it is totally blowing my mind — but also making my arms sore.
I knew he would learn to read once he entered Primary, but I guess I didn’t think it would happen so quickly! I don’t remember reading in Primary, although I do remember a classmate writing a murder mystery in Grade 1 (she was immediately skipped ahead, clearly).
It started one day in October, when our son came home and announced “We rolled pumpkins at school and now I can spell ‘roll.’ R-O-L-L.” I almost dropped a plate, I was so surprised. He could spell ‘roll’! He was a genius! Or — wait, maybe he just memorized it? Hmm.
//platform.instagram.com/en_US/embeds.jsThe next week, I discovered he could read “it,” “is,” “and” and “the.” It was even more exciting! The class newsletter suggested reading at home with your child and running your finger until each word as you read it.
From that day on, I have exhausted my arms each night — the left from holding a storybook so both kids can see, and the right from slowly underlining each word as I read it. When I get to a word I suspect he knows, I pause and that’s his cue to sound it out. While it’s all very thrilling, children’s books have never felt so … endless.
A few days later, I found out he knew “in” and “on,” I think, but it got confusing quickly. Which little words did he know? Which ones were still a mystery? And how come he sometimes read “a” as “the”? It’s one letter! A! Ahhhhh!
He knew “by” but not “my” and huffed at me like Seriously, Mom? How could you point to a word I don’t know? Are you pressuring me?! But then he was supremely offended if I dared to read one of his words out loud during story time, instead of pointing to it and waiting. “I know that one! Don’t say that one!”
I just learned last week that there’s a “Word Wall” in his classroom where these words are posted, so I thought I might finally get some clarity. How many words are on the wall? Which words are on the wall? Are new words added each day? His answers were “Not sure,” “All of dem” and “Uh, I fink so?”
Continue reading in my weekly parenting column, The Mom Scene …
I’m starting to figure out that for each season of parenthood, there is a piece of furniture you will toss and later regret.
When our son was a baby, we scrapped our glass (potentially deadly) coffee table. When he turned one, we realized we had to donate our kitchen stools because they were helping him climb onto the stove (whoops). Then, suddenly, our kids were older and we were thinking, darn, wish we’d held onto those stools.
Of course, that just gave us a great excuse to make even better ones. The original stools were short, round, backless and completely dull. It took me all of three minutes online to snag free printable plans for extra-tall farmhouse-style barstools from Ana White (author of The Handbuilt Home).
Ana’s plans are DIY gold. My handy husband, Michael, spent one afternoon measuring and cutting out the pieces, and two other sessions assembling everything. He built the back first — from the top of the backrest all the way down to the legs — then the legs, and finally the seat. He used our orbital sander on all the three sections before assembling everything so it was easier to get into the nooks and crannies.
I chimed in about the height of the seats, but other than that I was just biding my time until I could paint them. I was dying to try milk paint for a vintage look, so I headed to Onslow Historic Lumber in Truro to buy a package of Miss Mustard Seed Milk Paint.
There were so many gorgeous colours and everything seemed like a real possibility for our kitchen, but I eventually picked “Mustard Seed Yellow” to pop against our white beadboard peninsula. The paint is designed to work especially well over raw wood, which meant NO PRIMING! Haul-eh-BOO-ya, as my five-year-old says …
Continue reading in my weekly DIY column, My Handmade Home …
The beginning is dreary. The end is one never-ending battle scene that feels like Transformers — and even the dress-changing dance scene at the very end isn’t enough to redeem it.
In my version, it is nothing but Aurora and the fairies living in the cottage and messing around with those wands. The hilarious attempt at sewing a dress and the unbaked cake with candles = gold.
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| LOL Fauna, you crazy chick |
The dancing mop, the eggs that crack themselves, the dress that swirls into a perfect skirt and stitches itself those tight sleeves = perfection.
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| Ahhh, that’s the stuff. |
We will also keep the scene in the woods where the animals pretend to be the prince. It’s darling, especially the owl.
We can’t even watch this damn movie because I have to spend the whole time hovering in front of the (remote-less) VHS player hitting fast-forward like my life depends on it.
The opening scene is all very nice, but then it’s a bunch of death and dying and dead parents and evil uncles and sadness and OMG SIMBA RUNS AWAY and WHEN CAN I HIT THE PLAY BUTTON?
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| *sob* |
In my version, it goes: Circle of Life. I Just Can’t Wait to be King, Hakuna Matata. Can You Feel the Love Tonight. And then the ending sequence with Simba and Nala’s baby. So basically, five songs. The end. No fast-forwarding and NO HYENAS.
I love this movie. As a kid, I had no idea what the eff was happening with the running away and the scary soldiers, so I always stopped the tape after the Lonely Goatherd puppet number. It all goes downhill from there. That’s where the movie should officially end.
(I would also add in more scenes involving clothes sewn from drapes. Many, many scenes.)
So much greatness in this movie. Imagination, flying people, pirates, a fairy, the importance of storytelling, a dog as a nanny (with a hat!) and a boy wearing pink. Love it.
But!
Let’s just say, the first time our son cheerfully sung along to “We’re off to catch an ‘injun!” I almost had a heart attack. And “What makes the red man red?!”
Remove the totally offensive representation of Native Americans and this movie would be … a lot better.
But! There is a super sketchy villain who is literally A DEAD BODY and PIECES OF HIM FALL OFF because he’s ROTTING and his sidekick is a disgusting goober of a bat. In my version, he is removed and I don’t care if the plot makes little sense without him.
Because ew.