Cajun Cottage Under the Oaks

Because Someone Asked...

"Cay-
Your kitchen looks great! 

Where is everything?

Where are your canisters of flour, sugar, etc.?"

The sugar and coffee canisters (old dented relics that belonged to my mother-in-law and the children remember fondly) are still behind the same upper cabinet door she kept them in. Flour is stored in the freezer. Rice and pasta are stored in the pantry. Keeping it off the countertop truly makes me a more spiritual person. <wink ; )>

"Where is the toaster and coffee pot?"

The toaster (and blender) is in a bottom cabinet next to the dishwasher. It's white and I didn't realize how pathetic it looked until I had to take a picture of it. It's only the second toaster we've ever had and it's used on a daily basis...morning toast, tea time toast, snack-time toast, toast for tuna/chicken/egg salad sandwiches, and midnight snack toast.

The coffee pot is the black thing on top of the counter. You can see it in my last post too in the top picture. It kind of blends into the woodwork. The toaster oven is in the corner near the coffee pot. 

"Where is your CD player and 3 foot high stack of caseless CD's??"

On this little stand :) and the little girls' CDs are behind the little door.

Remember, everything behind these cabinet doors has recently been cleaned and decluttered.

Our Jim Weiss CDs and Music Masters CDs and other educational CDs (along with my holy candles, loose coins, recipe holder and flower press) are in the cabinet right next to the baking equipment under the microwave.

For Your Illumination

I hate to say I told you so, but...

"I told you so." 

Taken from the comments section, I wrote: "My glory is short-lived. I know. Starting with tomorrow's mail, the paper clutter will begin to take over...again."  :(

The Kitchen Table:

(crayola basket on top of science book, Louisiana state map, Halloween sticker book on top of mail and Annie's "Peanut Butter & Jelly" book, open invisible ink container, Chelsea's Louisiana binder, Annie's magnetic calendar and season board, and pencil on top of Alice's cake recipe)

The Sitting Room Table

(two large vegetable cans decorated as a mummy and Frankenstein made by the children long, long ago, Annie's new pillow material and stuffing waiting for me to get the sewing machine dusted off, my purse, a wrapped bridal gift, a goodie box and roll of brown shipping paper, autumn leaves, my Louisiana plan booklet, paper bag from printers full of Louisiana sheets for next co-op class, post office receipt, Fed-Ex envelope with Corey's 401 information, and Corey's new insurance papers on top of my red planner.) 

It's a Beautiful Thing

The Hillary Clintons of the world will surely snob me and walk away with their briefcases busily bumping against their suffrage liberalism.

"Poor little thing," they will think and say as they sniff a self-serving judgement on a woman who has made it her choice to stay home and serve her family. And who is, at this very moment, feeling very liberated and empowered.

Because I know how to roll-up my sleeves and clear-out cabinets and clean-off countertops!

Here 's to Fall Cleaning!

Not to mention the slow cooker potpourrizing my kitchen with the autumny scent of beef stew du jour.

Swaying, Sliding, & Sashaying

Autumn breezes are swaying, sliding, and sashaying through my open windows. I have thrown the patio doors wide open in an effort to welcome the whole party into my home.  If he could, this scrawcrow would surely join the dance.

(Added note: My husband brought home two pieces of driftwood (one piece at the bottom shown here) that were washed up in the storm surge, courtesy of Hurricane Ike.)

I'm in Love...(Home: Part II)

...with autumn and shabby chic.

If any decor pattern describes my taste the best it would have to be Shabby Chic made famous by Rachel Ashwell.  I got my first exposure and taste of this style back in February when the girls and I were invited to a birthday party at the home of my friend's niece in Church Point, LA.

My friend wanted me to see the house. 

Going into the home was a chance to see inside one of those "sleek, fanciful home-living magazines". I saw a style come to life. It was priceless.

Shabby Chic is now a high dollar style because of its successful marketing appeal but it doesn't have to be nor, I believe, should it be. It certainly didn't start off that way.  And with banks failing and the housing market in a hurricane all its own, we best all learn to look at Shabby Chic outside of those "sleek, fanciful home-living magazines".

Shabby Chic is exactly what it says. It's a decorating style that has made the old new again. And I love it.

The niece very much has an eye and flair for decorating and I was embraced by a home that welcomed not only the chic-wannabe mom in me, but the shabby-this-is-the-reality mom as well.

I saw furniture that had been picked up at garage sales and flea markets and simply placed in an area of the home that seemed made for that piece. There were no weighty, high-priced items, no expensive pieces that could be damaged by little hands and childish play.

The room waved a welcome, it spoke a comforting presence, it warmed the heart, and it invited us in. I joyfully released the little hand held tightly in my own and I shared in a childish tract through the house.

Not surprisingly---at least not in the inner recesses of Louisiana---while admiring some charcoal drawings by a distant Sonnier cousin and Cajun artist Floyd Sonnier that ran the length of the hallway, I discovered that we were related to my friend's niece's husband. His grandmother was a Sonnier and cousin of Floyd Sonnier.  Small world, huh?

As can only be quilted in Louisiana, the niece's home and company immediately became an extension of family and we made ourselves quite at home.

And that's what I loved the most. The feel of the house and the family that had made it home.

Rachel Ashwell has this to say about her creative style: "I don't look for perfection in my home. What I'm after is a feeling."

Neither do I look for perfection in my home. I gave that up a couple of children and a couple of dogs ago. Not that I wouldn't want my home to be cleaner and more tailored and more "chic" but, even as a young child, I adored homes that looked lived in and offered a comfortable "shabby" quality.

I want the chic, but I love the shabby.

The look of Shabby Chic is that of walking into an antique showroom that has been picked over and left with white slipcovers thrown over the furniture.  You get whatever is left but, as you look around, you find a showcase strewn with rose petals. Literally strewn. Shabby Chic is a delicate balance between classy chic and shabby slobs.  It fits me perfectly.

Mirrors are left leaning against walls, somehow lost in time.

Drapes languish in the heat of the noon day sun and spill their exertion onto the floor.

Chipped tables and chairs are absent-mindedly left visiting in corners of the room, obvious to the time that has past.

Pictures! So many pictures adorn not only the walls but sidetables and mantles as well. They are black and white reminders of time passing by.

Piles of linen, especially vintage linen, dress the atmosphere with their presence.

Vintage wallpaper makes the walls talk.

Baskets, lovely baskets make even the clutter look good.

Like this Shabby Chic's blogger, I believe that "Due to our new economic crisis, I imagine there will be more competition at yard sales and a rise in shabby chic decorating with vintage and used pieces." 

We will, once again, have to work with what we have, and that's another reason I'm grateful for Shabby Chic.  It helps me to look anew at the house I call home.

My husband and I inherited an older home. We're not even sure when it was built. It's a low rambling 3,000-sq-ft ranch style on two acres.  Before I became the owner of this house I thought it had the craziest floorplan I'd ever seen! The front is deceptive because it houses only the kitchen and living areas (and now also the sitting room).  The part you don't see is down the loooong back hallway which twists and turns and secrets the rest of the house.

I still have not gotten the knack of how to address my living room in Shabby Chic. It's a big, lengthy room. I think my mother-in-law might have been trying to soften it when she painted the walls white and hung these roses.

That's the chic part. The rest of the room is just plain shabby.

One day a good friend of mine entered my kitchen for her first day and exclaimed, "What a nice big country kitchen!" Her first impression of my kitchen is what stuck with me. I like to think of my kitchen as very Tasha Tudor-y and a large rambling country-style kitchen suits me just fine. My oldest daughter says it's a "grandma's kitchen" and that'll be okay when I'm a grandma. For now I'm content to love a kitchen that gives visitors a Walton-family feel and one that blesses my family abundantly.

For years I wanted a bigger, better, newer house like the ones my friends were building and buying and ones, for a time, my husband was helping to create when he operated a sideline siding business with a partner. They were working on houses that cost millions of dollars and he would drive me around on weekends to tour these homes. Just call me greedy!

That was yesteryear...

Last night I was listening to the President address the nation. Tonight I listened to the next President of the United States debate the economy with another Senator vying to be trustee of our national debt. Every lunch hour I see on my home webpage another bank has folded. Every morning I have coffee conversations in my country kitchen with my mother and my father about prudent and conservative living and spending. Every evening I listen as my husband educates me on the state of our economy.

Every day I thank God for this old rambling ranch house that gives us plenty of room, secure shelter and warmth, and lots of love and memories.  And I ask God to bless the husband who had the foresight to hold tight to what God was offering us so that my children will always have a home to come home to.

Now it is autumn and I give myself a treat denied throughout rest of the year. Those "sleek, fanciful home-living magazines" are my candy, not only eye candy but soul candy and heart candy as well. They help me to dream that life at home can be sweet and whimsical.

My home has a long way to go to get Chic. The Shabby is a no-brainer. But, perhaps, one day I'll have worked my imagination enough to see how its done and make it work in my home. I'm hopeful...

I'm excited that Shabby Chic doesn't have to be expensive and the fun is in the hunt, not in the purchase. 

In the mist of doom and gloom presented to us by our government, why not turn off the television, treat yourself to one of those "sleek, fanciful home-living magazines" or, better yet, go to your local library and check out books by the queen of Shabby Chic Rachel Ashwell, or, when all else fails, just do an Internet search, and check out some area garage sales or Goodwill shops.

Someone else's junk might be your treasure.

In the new issue of Romantic Country, Rachel Ashwell offers some tips towards Shabby Chic living (buy the magazine for more concise instructions as I only jotted notes):

• clear out the clutter
• list your needed items
• soft colored walls and florals (I have a debate with the "white" theory but that's just because I have a goodly number of children living here)
• washable slipcovers on furniture
• less is more
• overall simple look ~ no frills
• linens everywhere
• vintage and new texture mixes
• fresh flowers
• fragrance ~ candles set the mood

And this article gives you ideas for How to Get the Shabby Chic Look for Less:

• Shop at Target
• Scour flea markets
• Head to your nearest Salvation Army or second hand store.
• Check out garage sales
• Use a little imagination  :)

Want to know more about using vintage linens to decorate your home? Click this: How to Buy Vintage Linen to Decorate Your Home

Keeping your eyes open for Shabby Chic furnishings?

• "They've seen better days"
• "An air of sweet disorder/gentell decay"
• "The thrill of finding buried treasure"
• "The unbearable lightness of being"
• "We add ourselves to what we find"

Go here to read the details behind these quotes. So worth reading if you want to find out more about Shabby Chic.

A Name by Any Other Name Would Be So Sweet (Home: Part I)

I was rambling through my drafts folder and found this post written last fall, never posted, and long neglected.

As autumn breezes always bring me home to roost, I thought I'd share some "home thoughts", starting with this post.

* * * * *

I know exactly what Maria means when she writes about those sleek, fanciful home-living magazines:

"Often, I avoid looking at them lest it make my heart pine for those things and be ungrateful for what I have...."

Definition of Pining: to long for something or someone

Until last fall, I avoided these magazines least they feed the monster of envy that can bloat my stomach with discontent and disillusion.  But last fall I indulged myself a bit or, rather, my husband indulged me.  You see, we closed in our little carport (complete with the window seat of my dreams which has cozily become a nesting area for my younger girls) and I have given in to indulging myself in these very magazines.  I now have a quaint little cottage room that I can keep neat and tidy even if the rest of the house is in the shambles of living. 

It's just for a season really. And it's just one little room.

It still isn't complete, in more ways than one.  The window space above the kitchen sink still needs to be cased in as does the doorway.  There is a wasted space on the side of the window seat that needs to be closed off but can't because our house dog has taken up residence there in an attempt to find her own peaceful space.  We have eked out some bare furnishings with a chair a friend was putting in her garage sale, a cabinet that belongs in the girls' room once we get around to putting down new flooring, and a table that is bearing down on twenty-plus years of family gatherings.

The room is a multi-faceted serving as a library/study during the day and a sitting room afterwards and on weekends.  But it still doesn't have a name.  Some of you may recall me nicknaming it my "hole-in-the-wall".  That no longer fits and we're still in the futile attempt of naming the room.

For now when we must go into the room to place something, we say:  "Could you go put this in the...in the...the...the room?"

"Would you mind setting this in the...in the...the...the room?"

"It's in the...in the...the...the room, honey."

It's rather frustrating.  I don't want the...the...the room to be called this forever.  I refuse to call it the dining room though our table is in it because I have plans for a dining room in the future but which now serves as a bedroom.  I don't want to change the name mid-stream. 

Of course we could just use the term dubbed by my 6-yr-old: "the waiting room".

My husband suggested calling it the Upper Room.  Has a nice ring, don't ya think?  Most friends suggest calling it the den but, to me, a den is a place with big fluffy bean bags for reclining, a huge television for late night popcorn movies, and a huge fireplace.  It's like a bear's den.  It's a big cozy place to relax.   

But the...the...the room doesn't have a television.  I won't allow it.  And I don't want it to be a place of complete abandon.  This room actually sets the tone for the whole house.  It's a "first impression" room.  I know you ladies will understand what I'm saying.  My children think I'm being trite but it's a woman's prerogative to be trite.  Right?

Like with the name.  I thought I was being silly at first.  Then I spoke to my cousin who just bought a new home and revealed that she had one room at the front of her house that...for goodness sakes!...didn't have a name!  She was in a pickle with it.  But, surely, a name would evolve at some point.  Right?  Right!

Luckily my cousin and I aren't the only ones creative that way.

But I'm still waiting for a name to evolve for my solitary room.  And, as I wait, I looked the room over wondering what style it was anyway.  Why should it matter?  Because people ask!  They really do. 

"So how did you decorate it?"

Well...huh...I'm not sure.  My oldest daughter noticed this immediately, as soon as the doors went up.  The entrance door is a French-style white and all the trim is white.  But dear hubby and I love a quaint country look and were quite taken with the doors we selected for the laundry and quest bathroom.

There's a story on the doors too.  Let me sidetrack a bit.  See the door on your far-right?  That opens to the laundry room.  The door even has a name!!!  We don't say, "Open the laundry door."  Instead, we say, "Open the girls' door."

Why?

When the  doors came in they were unfinished.  We stained them ourselves and the girls wanted so much to help out.  I say grab them while they're eager beavers.  The children helped tile the floor, paint the walls and trim, and stain the doors.

I'm all about exposure to new experiences so I let the girls help stain the laundry door while I blissfully stained the guest bathroom door.  I was proud of them both.  They were so eager and willing to help and they loved the job assigned to them.   They swiped at the door and jabbered on in cordial workmenship until...

...until Daddy walked in and caught them sopping of the very bottom of the bucket and applying it repeatedly to the middle of the door.  He didn't fuss but calmly said, "Okay, girls, I think you've done enough for now."  He shooed them away and did his best to even out the stain.  Probably no one but us notices that dark stain across the middle of the laundry door.  But notice it we do, everytime we enter the room, everytime we open the door.  The darker, uneven stain is like a youthful handprint on this room.  And handprints are made to be remembered fondly.  The girls are very proud of "our door."

And that's the tale about the wooden doors.   Back to the decoration theme.  My oldest daughter was quick to point out that the room was uneven.  We had a contemporary up-dated entrance door blended in with rustic wooden deco, doors, and window seat.  I didn't know what to call it. It was quite possible since I didn't read those sleek, fanciful, home-living magazines that I didn't know the correct terminology.

Enter my dear cousin once again.  I was telling her that Princess said it didn't match and didn't have a "name" (ah, everything must have a "name" certainly) and my cousin just looked at me with a slight shrug and said, "Yes it does.  It's called French Colonial."

Ah, bless her!

French Colonial.  The name sounded lovely.  These were two time periods and themes I knew I could work with.  I love anything French and I love anything Colonial.  It was a perfect fit and a perfect match.  I am a proud French-Colonial mistress.

Then yesterday I was sweeping the ceramic tile and realized how homey the room was.  My mother and grandmother concur.  They have sat in the single chair and breathed, "I really like being in this room."

And I'm so glad because that is the first purpose of the room.  I wanted it to be a place people like to just sit and be.  It's a room I can decorate to greet each season.  It's a room I can embrace with my three daughters.  My oldest daughter has called it a "keeping room" and it is for "keeping".  Certainly. 

Still, we struggle for a name.

Music Room? ~ alas the piano remains in the living area

A library? ~ alas there are no books in it...yet!

A parlor? ~ perhaps a bit old-fashion though I do like the Jane Austen flair it evokes.

My husband jokingly said we could just refer to it as "the garage".  Ha! Ha! said I.

Then yesterday I was fluttering through one of those "sleek, fanciful" home-living magazines.  It's coming into fall again, you know.  The magazine was one on cottage-decorating.  It features Cottage Living and is defined by its small room-ness, its beauty of window seats, and state of simply being in a room.  And it dawned on me!  The best name for this room! is! the Cottage Room.

There can be no other term and, because it is a "cottage" I can enjoy the indulgence without feeling guilty.  Afterall, it's just for a season really.  And it's just one little room.

* * * * *

Epilogue: Since writing this post, the room has officially gained the name "sitting room". It's a bit more cluttered, a bit more "lived" in. But it's still a very sweet room.

The girls and I were decorating it this past weekend with our signs of autumn and my 10 yr old asked: "Is this the only room we're decorating?"

Basically, yes. The other rooms are much too "lived in" for civilized niceties.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Autumn

Reveling in the Sound of it All

As always, Danielle Bean writes the words that make my heart sing. She gives rhyme and reason to the reason why I do this, live this, love this homeschooling lifestyle:

"On some days more than others, homeschooling can feel like just another "have to" when I long for more time to myself. I find it necessary to pause regularly and make sure I'm reading the sentences. Only then will my focus change from the little parts to the complete thought and the whole story.

When I focus only on the reminders about schoolwork, the time it takes to teach and to grade papers, and the mess our "learning" leaves in the dining room, I am missing the point. I see letters and sounds instead of a complete thought and the whole goal, which is the raising and education of souls for heaven.

Yesterday, after an afternoon spent outdoors playing soccer in the field and 'house' in the woods, my gang headed inside for cleaning up. I washed Daniel's fat fingers in the sink while the stove pre-heated for dinner. Then I pressed his fresh face against my own, listened to the older kids laughing and wrestling in the next room, and reveled in the fact that I get to spend entire days with these kids I love.

I get to watch them grow and learn and discover the world. I get to help them along every step of the way. Not have to -- get to.

There is plenty of drudgery and work involved in the running of this household. But we're not just sounding out words here. We're writing novels."

Read all of Sounding Out

Rainy Day Rattles

While a band of water droplets march across the road and seep, drip, and weep on the concrete, shell driveway, and grasses outside Mom creates and prints out lesson plans for the new school year, the girls work with puzzles and felt boards and have conversations like this one:

"When I turn 7 I want to have my birthday at Chucky Cheese."

"When I turn 8 I'm having my birthday at Mr. Gatti's."

"When I turn 9 I want my birthday party here with a big cake."

"When I turn 10 I think I want to eat at Burger King."

* * * * *

Why do rainy days always make us think of food?

How to Promote PEACE in Your Homes

The question has been asked here.

Can anyone give advice?

I would attempt to answer but Oma and Opa were here this morning and would probably laugh at anything I wrote.  ;)