Home Sweet Fibro

We are home at the Fibro and the boys are running around in circles in giddy delight. Something about being in their own space, surrounded by their own stuff, is just so happy-making that their little bodies can't contain it. Our new bathroom is an absolute delight, light and bright and white. Pics soon if I can work out how to manage them.

The Builder was determined to wake up here for Fathers' Day, so we spent yesterday in a frenzy of final touches... not to mention ferrying our stuff back from Mum and Dad's house. I don't recall taking so much gear over there. It must have missed us and moved in by itself. But now we are all reunited at the Fibro and all is right with the world. Or it will be, once I remember to pick up those little things I keep forgetting.

Fibrotown turned on glorious weather for Fathers' Day. And we had one of those days where it all went right. Instead of eating McDonald's for lunch on the way home in the car (simply because we forgot to book anywhere forgetting how busy these occasions can be) we ate a civilised meal in a Spanish deli with two surprisingly well-behaved children (I did wonder if we'd picked up the wrong ones at the market by mistake...).

We did some wine tasting (if you haven't visited Morellis Wines near Berry you are missing out - the most stunning scenery and a very cheeky verdelho as well), we bought some antique what-nots. Mr4 was heard to complain at one point that Fathers' Day wasn't really very fun for him but, once it was explained to him that Fathers' Day was not really about him, he subsided.

And then, at the end of it all, home. Who could ask for more than that?

What did you get up to for Fathers' Day?

[image: love this print by DefineDesign11/etsy]

The Renovators (Fibro edition)

Sunday night in the Fibro has become all about houses. The Block, Grand Designs, The Renovators. It's a TV transformation fest. The only show we haven't taken to is Top Design - too many hipsters, too little information.

We've always been fans of home shows. Hence our addiction to Escape to the Country during the drought of the last year or so. But now renovating is back in fashion and back on the box. Which is all very good timing, as we are about to renovate our bathroom and kitchen.

Yep, the Fibro is getting a makeover.

It's not the first time we've renovated. We totally 'did over' our cottage in the Big Smoke, down to replacing the rotting floors, putting in the missing windows and knocking down the termite-ridden lean-to kitchen at the back. It was a big job, but we did it pre-kids and we had fun - mostly. I will always contend that you never really know your partner until you renovate a house with them. Only then will you truly understand the difference between 'bluey-green' and 'greeny-blue' as a paint colour. Not to mention the importance of finding the exact, right 'profile' for your toilet.

The Builder is, as you'd imagine, a great man to renovate with. When I was dating I had but two main criteria for the man I would love: he must read books and put up shelves. In The Builder, I found both. And how. Not only can he put up shelves, he can build the whole house around them. Love that.

He has quite specific ideas about our renovations. Which is a good thing because, really, the profile of the toilet is neither here nor there to me. But his exacting eye for detail means a much better finish in the end. At least, that's what I tell myself when he shows me the 750th potential toilet/basin/tile. But we have the same aesthetic so coming to an agreement is not generally that difficult. Most of the time.

Renovating a fibro house brings with it an added edge of excitement. Disturbing asbestos is not for the faint-hearted or the amateur. It should only be done with the help of an expert. Fortunately, I have one at home - he may look like a Teletubbie in his asbestos safety gear but at least he's a safe Teletubbie. And we'll all be moving out for the duration to my parents' place to enjoy the fruits of their own recent bathroom renovation as they travel north for the winter.

We are at the enjoyable phase of renovating. The planning and deciding. Before the not-so-enjoyable dusty, expensive bit begins. I think that's half the joy of renovating shows - you get to watch the transformation, without the discomfort, and with the added frisson of being able to say 'why would you do that? I'd never do it that way!'.

Wish us luck!

Have you renovated? Got any tips?

[image: What will the Fibro look like after the reno? Hopefully as cute as this one from In My House]

There's maintenance - and then there's renovating

There are certain things in life that you put off. That you ignore. That you sometimes actively avoid. Then you go and do them and you remember why it was that you should do them more often. One of these things is going to the dentist (mind you, the biggest plus of that is the fact that once it's over you don't need to go again for a while). For me, getting to the hairdresser is another.

I know that a haircut is something that I should be writing in my diary every six weeks, and anticipating with glee. But, to be perfectly honest, I'm not much good at maintenance. I tend to wait until everything goes to rack and ruin and then try to rebuild from the ground up, so to speak. My brand new (and fabulous) eyebrow queen has taken this matter in hand and scheduled me in for appointments for the next six months. She assures me that it is not necessary to allow my brows to fade to nothingness before retinting them. There will be no Mr Potato Head shock if I take her advice. So she says.

The hairdressing sorority has not been so proactive. I thought I was managing quarterly appointments. My stylist today informed me that it was more like every five months. Not a great average.

Part of the problem is the sameness of my hair. There is only so much you can do with boofy redness. Too short and it's Raggedy Anne. Too long and it's Beyonce - only redder.

The sudden (and profuse) proliferation of greys, however, suggests that I need to step up my game. I made the switch to permanent colour about a year ago - no more fading of the semi, with no roots to speak of. Now I get a stripe. Subtle, but stripey. People ask me if I'm tired. They ask me if I've 'gone blonde'. No, I say, just washed out and grey. Thanks for asking.

This morning I went to get myself seen to. Waiting for my stylist, I sat and contemplated my face and hair under very bright lights. Hmmm. My stylist and I chatted about this and that - body image, air-brushing in magazines, holidays in Europe - as she applied the colour that she promised would lift my appearance from haggard to radiant. She shepherded me under the steamer, where I read a September issue of New Idea (nothing better than dated gossip, don't you find?), and then directed me to the basin. Otherwise known as the Pay Off.

Every time I get my hair washed - with complimentary scalp massage - I find myself wondering if I could manage to fit it in three times a week. Snuggled under my enormous plastic bib, feet up, eyes closed, goosebumpy chills running from head to foot. Too good.

During my haircut, my stylist revealed to me - and the rest of the salon - that she and 15 of her friends had 'made over' someone's house while they were off on their honeymoon. Repainted. Remodelled ('We decided to lose a wall'). Renovated. Stunned silence followed this statement.

"They don't know?" asked the woman in the seat next to me.

"Nope, it'll be such a thrill!" trilled my stylist. "They'll love it."

"You hope," said the woman.

The stylist didn't even bat an eyelid, all the confidence of youth personified. "Of course they will," she said. "It's been like one of those home renovation shows. Everywhere you look, someone is knocking down a wall or painting or replastering. I wish I could be there when they got home."

The woman next to me and I shared a look. "So do I!" we said, in harmony.

Apparently, they're coming back on Sunday. I'm almost tempted to book myself in for another haircut next week just to find out what happened. Or maybe just a hairwash...

PS: I love this image by esan01, on etsy - my kind of princess!

What did you talk about this week?

It’s that time of the week when I share some of the topics of conversation that came up through work or play (I'll leave it to you to figure out which) in the course of life in a pink fibro.

Sandcastles, Plasto toys, press releases, Fleur McDonald, deadlines, painting, roofing, plumbing, feeding the fish, the Famous Five, making ice, haircuts, new school pants, toenail fungus, market stalls, consumerism, Florence and the Machine, party plan businesses, rivets, karate, superannuation, property investment, blogging, freelancing, my lack of organisation, massage, grant applications, underpants, Splendour in the Grass, the stars, the weather, secret-recipe pistachio biscuits, Scrabble, scarves made from electric blankets, renovations, weddings, Twitter, Michael Robotham, silhouettes, alzheimers, Kangaroo Valley, glamping, birthdays, credit cards, scooters...and how does the grass grow (Mummy)?

What came up at your house this week?

{image: theweddingideasblog.co.uk}