crafty man cave wall art.

I know, it almost seems like that juxtaposition of words should not exist. In recent months, Bubba and I have been dreaming up plans on finishing our basement. Since he's such a sport and lets me do things my way above ground, I figured it's only fair to let him take the reins downstairs. And so the man cave plans were born.

 Anyway, my husband is a class act, and would never think of plastering posters of cars or girls in skimpy shorts all over walls that are still half-mine. I'm sure he's going to fill the space with dark leathers, faux furs, and coffee table books. But just in case, I figured I'd get him started with a piece of art that says, "I trust your judgment, but don't you dare hang ratty old posters in my house" all in one gift.

 If you're like me and type things like "DIY man art" into Pinterest, then you may have seen something like this or this or this.  I normally hate words on the wall, but loved the rustic and laid-back vibe, and thought it'd be just the right springboard for the beginning of the basement story.  So, on December 23, armed with an exacto knife and contact paper, I got to work.

It was a pretty easy process.  All I had to do was type my text into a word document, choosing different fonts for different lines.   I used Open Office, and exported it as a PDF afterwards, so that I could open it with my favorite photo editor to size to my preferred dimensions (what I actually wanted to hang on the wall).  Then I just uploaded it to Staples, had it printed as a poster, and got to stenciling.. for a long, long time.

Once I had my poster, I stuck a piece of contact paper to the front, and traced each letter out with my knife.  It took FOREVER.  I can't believe I'm saying this, but wine made it worse.  A couple of hours before midnight mass, I finished the cutting stage, and peeled each piece of contact paper from the poster backing.  Since my piece of plywood was already painted white, I could just stick the contact paper on wherever I wanted, and get to spraying the whole thing black.  Admittedly, I wish I'd taken more time to make sure everything was perfect, but it's definitely got that homemade vibe going on.

Here's the finished product:

Of course, it's not in its permanent home yet.  You know, we need stuff like drywall first.  For now, it's propped up on a shelf in our dining room.  I'm hoping to sneak it into a closet for the next couple of months, but we'll see.  I caught Bubba taking pictures of it on his phone, so I think he's pretty pleased.  Now if I could just get him to use those new running shoes I bought for him..

Christmas Tree 2012

This is probably a sick statement:  there are very few things more important to me than a Christmas tree.  I know.  I mean, I value a lot of things:  education, faith, a solid foundation... but there are very few things as universally magical as a Christmas tree.

I grew up in a Christmas house.  I say that with careful tread, because if you asked my mother today, she might try to tell you that she did not necessarily care for Christmas more than any other woman or parent.  I grew up in an enchanted house.  A perfect, day-dreamy childhood home.  We had egg hunts on Easter, wore giant headphones on the Fourth, and decorated the tree together in December with rules that had been ingrained since we could walk.  If you're old enough to know Santa's nine reindeer, you're old enough to know that big, heavy ornaments go on the bottom.. dainty, glass ones up top.  Ornaments in a group are not placed right next to each other, but far enough apart in the same quadrant for spectators to realize that they're related, but not be overkill.  Tinsel is not clumped, and ugly goes in the back.  It's a lot of rules, I get it.  But life is full of rules.

When I was just starting out in my first post-college place, my mom and I went to Kohl's and bought the entire St. Nicholas Square ornament line.  They were on sale.  At the time, Bubba and I lived with his younger brother, and I gave the two of them the long-and-short of decorating a Christmas tree.  I snuck out of bed one night and rearranged.  On my wedding day, we had a Christmas tree, and after the rehearsal dinner, my bridesmaids helped me decorate.  Although I promised to relinquish control, still, they got the lesson.  Both trees, for what it's worth, were beautiful.

Anyway, nowadays, Bubba knows his place:  he follows me dotingly to the tree farm, tips the young man who ties the tree to the car with a manly bro-shake, finagles the darn thing in the tree stand, and then sits back and drinks whiskey while I fuss over whether or not we need more lights (for the record, the answer is always yes).  It may not be a perfect system, but it works for us, and it makes us equally happy.

Behold, the tree of 2012:

Yes, that is the Grinch on television.  It's tradition in our house to watch a classic Christmas movie while decorating.  Usually classic is a little more along the lines of Rudolph or Year Without a Santa Claus, but let's face it.. sometimes it takes me so long that I have to move along to the new age favorites.