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Kick Ass or Die – Kick Ass or Die

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Well, shit.

That’s about the only articulate thing I can say about 2020. To be fair, I’m out of practice. However, I’d also guess I’m not the only person stuck in the space between “there are a lot of things that should be said about this year” and “dear god, I’m sick of people talking about this year.” A space that i believe can be most accurately described like this:

Well. Shit.

Sixteen years ago I started writing stories on the internet (about the adventures of renovating houses) before this was a thing. Just to put that in context, it was before YouTube existed, before Reddit existed, before HGTV was HGTV. A time where your best bet for finding information about how to DIY something on your house online was to delve into the fraught and contradictory advice on old contractor’s forums.

It took a certain amount of courage, in those days, to put stories about your life on the internet. To say, authentically (as a 23 year old woman, who just bought her first house), “Hey, I’m not an expert at this, and I can’t find any goddamn information on it anywhere, but here’s what I tried and how it worked.”

There were no rules. No real algorithms. A little money to be made (which, in fairness, I did), but not a whole lot of ways you could “sell out” even if you didn’t have a strong set of values around your platform. (And, let’s be honest, “platform” really is a generous word for it.)

There were, however, a lot of stories. There was a little bit of magic about being invited into people’s lives online, and I still carry those stories with me. I remember when Rob “Acidman” Smith from Gutrumbles died unexpectedly. When Patti from OMT had her first grandchild. When Sara and Shaun from Russet St. Reno got married. When Sarah from Ugly Duckling House broke up with her ex and took on all her house projects single-handedly. When Julia and Matt from Home on 129 Acres bought a farm at the exact same time I did. When Alex and Wendy from Old Town Home bought their historic Foursquare. (This list could go on forever.) And it’s not just the highlights of these stories that have value for me, but the whole of them. The projects, the searches, the obstacles. The tragedies and the strength. The joys and the successes.

Funny story (and something that almost never happens these days) I do not share religious, political, or lifestyle beliefs with everybody on that list. I don’t even share building philosophies with everyone on that list. (Although to be fair that’s because almost all of them are smart enough to wear PPE and don’t do electrical work while drinking… but whatever guys. To each their own.) And yet, there was no vitriol in these spaces. Just general enjoyment, entertainment, and, also, appreciation for being invited to know these people as people (even if, from the other end of the keyboard, it sometimes feels like you’re just telling stories into a void.)

These days, when I interact with people and the world via the internet, I don’t remember the stories (which, to be honest, are not so much stories as status updates.) I haven’t lost my curiosity, but it has very often been overridden by whatever dopamine hit scrolling endlessly through memes on instagram provides. And, in a lot of ways, I had been participating in that algorithm-driven machine, which we all know exists solely to sell us shit and waste our time, and yet can’t seem to quit. I participated through the way I posted, or didn’t. Through the way I branded this website. Through the way I monetized my “platforms” (seriously, every time I type that word I literally say “oh, go fuck yourself” to myself, out loud. It’s almost as bad as when someone unironically uses the term “influencer”… and now I’ve rolled my eyes so hard I think I pulled a muscle. Fuck.)

Even outside of the realm of blogs and influencers, I have friends (who have also been kick-ass colleagues in the corporate world) who write posts on LinkedIn that promise “5 Tips for [insert whatever business buzzword is hot this week]”. And I get why they do that. Why they have to do that. But also, dammit, I want your stories. Your real stories. The ones that you tell me over a couple of beers after a long week about the real challenges you have, and how some of them you overcame, and some of them you didn’t, because goddamn it life is hard. Interpersonal relationships are hard. Work, when you’re challenging yourself appropriately, is hard.

But that’s not how stories on the internet work these days.

A year ago, what I said to myself was: It is impossible to participate in any of this authentically anymore. And if you can’t participate authentically, you’re not participating at all. (And, also, because I’m basically a grumpy old man trapped in a slightly less old woman’s body, and “kids these days” have ruined the internet, which is not like it was back in the glory days of my youth… I threw a year-long temper tantrum about it. Goddamn sue me.)

And yet, even with a year of non-participation, some of you reached out and told me stories. Told me you bought your first houses (or farms!) Told me about the hard shit in your lives. About how you, also, were learning to tell authentic stories (and figuring out your personal boundaries for how and when to tell them.) About how your little girl was scrolling Instagram and saw a picture of me “working on trucks like daddy does!” and that may be part of why she believes girls can do things too. Build houses. Fix trucks. Put up fences. Drink beer and do electrical work.

(Or, maybe not so much that last one.)

It has raised a lot of questions for me about if and how I want to participate in telling stories online. In blogs, platforms, social media. And about what the value is. What the responsibilities are. There was a time I wrote stories about my life online just because I could, because it required a level of courage and authenticity I felt it was important to model for the world at large, and because I was goddamn good at it. But now, the courage isn’t in the storytelling. The value isn’t in being particularly good at it.

Also, as an aside, I have an Actual Professional Life. If the only things you know about me are stories from this website, you may be surprised that I’m as comfortable in corporate america as I am on a farm. Even though there’s no sawdust, no hammers, no getting your hands dirty planting seeds and then watching them grow. (I’m not going to say “no swearing” because that would be a big fucking lie. I swear in a boardroom as much as on a construction site, and I think everyone else should too.) There are, however, other things I love about it. Systems and processes. Figuring out how things work, identifying things other people can’t… things that are broken (or might break), and then fixing them. Identifying things that could be done better, and then improving them. Or growing and developing people, which has always felt like just another extension of hearing people say “I can’t” and showing them that they sure as shit can.

And, if we’re being honest, I’m not 23 anymore. At this age, and this stage in my career, there is a very reasonable question about how many stories about me drinking beer and almost electrocuting myself a prospective employer should be privy to.

But here’s a very real thing I’ve told the people who work for me: If you refuse to make a decision because you’re afraid you won’t make the right one… you’re always going to be wrong. Not that I don’t understand why inaction is so appealing sometimes. When you make a decision– when you pick a path–things will change. They may get better or they may get worse (those of us who have started “a small project” in 100+ year old houses know exactly how much worse), and I know how tempting it is not to do anything. When you choose inaction it’s easy to maintain the status quo.

Which is exactly why that’s the wrong answer. For me, at least. And for the teams I lead. Because in my life and in my work, I’m not here for status quo. I’m not interested in mediocrity. I’m here to kick ass or die.

And as far as this website is concerned, it seemed like it was time to take my own advice. To make a decision, instead of just sitting in a place of unanswered questions around if and how I should participate. So. Here I am.

Telling stories, old school.

No branding. No ads. No sponsored anything. No social media. Even if I don’t know exactly what the value in these stories is, I know that it will never be monetary, or measured in likes or followers or traffic. (I refuse to be the reason people spend more time on any of the apps.) The algorithm, frankly, can go fuck itself.

There will probably still be beer and power tools. There might be more about the ways I live a life that kicks ass (and sometimes almost kills me) outside of building shit. There will always be swearing.

2020 has been a weird year (to say the least) and I genuinely do not know what the next phase of my life will look like. More farm projects? Maybe. A finished house? Unlikely. A big move? An off-grid cabin in the woods? Building tiny houses? Climbing a big mountain? Flying airplanes? Running death races? I do not know.

But I do know there will be stories. And you’re welcome to join me for them.

July 16, 2026
These Strange Times[/gpt3]

This was meant to be a post about the kitchen projects I worked on during the early days of quarantine. (I know, I know, you’re mostly here for the kitchen.) Look, I did do some shit…

But it is almost impossible to talk about “quarantine projects” without sounding a little flippant about covid. Especially because I sound flippant about every goddamn thing, mostly because I do not get worked up over shit I cannot control. Also, that’s just how my writing voice sounds (up to and including in the obituary I wrote this summer for my grandfather…who died because of covid.)

I loved that man dearly, but I’m going to ask that we skip the whole condolences thing because then I feel obligated to respond to every damn one of them– I get it, everyone is sad and sorry and thank you for having empathy for me, etc. etc.– and also I just want to talk about building shit for a minute without picking up that emotional weight.

But even in the covid era, I just cannot start a post about my kitchen projects by mentioning my dead grandpa. This story is clearly meant to be about something else.

I need to acknowledge the balancing act that is new (to me) in these strange times. My guiding principle has always been to tell an authentic story. That’s it. And while that often took courage, and a lot of introspection around what the authentic story truly is, it didn’t used to feel so… fraught. It didn’t feel like every somewhat flippant remark required a paragraph of explanation about how “just kidding, that was hyperbole.”

As someone who is trying to write again–trying to find my way back to telling stories–I don’t love the balancing act. And, yet, I also believe things should feel fraught, especially if you’re making a conscious choice to put your words out into the world. These are fraught fucking times. Change and growth always start from a place of discomfort, and people who aren’t doing a little balancing these days? Well. Yeah. Those aren’t my people.

A thing I say often to the people in my life (particularly when they are Going Through Some Shit) is this: A sign of being an emotionally intelligent adult is being able to hold two opposing feelings inside your body at the same time, and still function.

Two opposing things can be true. And we can hold both of those feelings inside ourselves at the same time. And it will be uncomfortable. And in order to get out of that discomfort our brains will tell us “you have to accept one of these ideas/feelings and reject the other right now”. Or, “you have to pick one of these opposing ideas and all of your actions have to back it up, otherwise you’re being a hypocrite/aren’t acting with integrity/don’t really feel the way you say you do.”

I’m sure literally everyone has seen this happen in a relationship in their lives. Where a person does, in fact, love their partner and want them to be happy. Doesn’t want to make decisions or do anything to hurt them. And yet, is unhappy in the relationship. Can’t be happy staying. They might even express that inner conflict through something like “I wish my partner would just cheat on me so I had a justified reason to leave.” Right? (And fascinating that we would want someone to hurt or betray us, specifically to get out of the discomfort of holding two opposing feelings inside at the same time.) Because we don’t tell stories about how it’s okay to feel both “I love this person and don’t want to hurt them” and “I have to leave and know it will hurt them” at the same time. And both can be true. And that’s totally normal.

(That’s not my personal issue, by the way. I’ve turned leaving relationships that make me unhappy into a goddamn art form. And I love all my exes. Have I mentioned them recently? Fabulous dudes.)

I, personally, have a lot of irritation right now at people being “performative” on the internet. Lots and lots of posts and stories about the cause du jour for about a week, and then it’s back to their regularly scheduled programming. At the exact same time, I am irritated by people constantly posting about the cause du jour because just show me your cat pictures, damnit. I am not here to take on the emotional weight of society today, I just want to read about people’s travel adventures and/or house projects for a minute without all the shit.

And I am doing the exact thing that irritates me right fucking now. I’m writing this post, so I can feel like I’ve publicly acknowledged These Strange Times, and then can then go back to writing stories about drinking beer and building shit, where I can make flippant remarks about covid and quarantine without feeling bad about it.

That’s the balancing act. Holding two opposing feelings inside of me, and navigating how my actions (and the stories I tell) align with those feelings. It’s uncomfortable. I am 100% going to fuck it up at times. And there probably won’t be any consequences when I do, because all of you who are here reading my stories will give me the benefit of the doubt. Or don’t care if I acknowledge These Strange Times, because you’re here for the cat pictures anyway.

(The Tiny Angry Badgers have turned into The Very Best Farm Cats, by the way. It’s definitely a story.)

And maybe I’m particularly suited to this time in the world–being uncomfortable, and making the choice to talk about why things are uncomfortable even when I don’t have to–because I have a lifetime of experience (mostly documented on this website) in the good things come out of putting yourself in uncomfortable situations even when you don’t have to. Of doing the hard thing, instead of taking an easier path.

I mean, at the very least it will make you smarter, and stronger, and better able to handle the next uncomfortable thing. Life is full of them.

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July 16, 2026
DIY Cabinet Painting | Cheap & Easy Bathroom Update

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Thinking about doing some DIY Cabinet Painting? Check out this project where I took outdated bathroom cabinets and painted them for cheap!

Today I’m showing you how I easily and quickly painted some outdated cabinets on a bathroom vanity. This is an inexpensive, yet high quality fix! And can easily be done in a weekend.

Check out my other bathroom remodel video!

Things I Used In This DIY Cabinet Painting Project:

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July 16, 2026
Drinking Beer & Building Shit: The Deck Stairs[/gpt3]

If there ever was a summer in my life that I’d want to be on a roll with building shit, this would have been the one, obviously.

Was I? Absolutely not.

I’ve never been able to fully articulate the difference between when I’m “on” and “off” as it relates to building. Sometimes–through fate, or alcohol, or the alignment of the stars, or (more likely) brain chemistry–I am just on. I have energy for days, I can hold numbers and building plans in my head without trying, I never mis-cut a board, and the most complex projects seem laughably easy. Sometimes this lasts a week, or a couple of weeks, or the entire first half of 2019.

And then there’s the other times. Where I will sit and stare at a pile of lumber (or the space where I’m supposed to be building things) for a very long time. I will get distracted by whatever nonsense is on my phone. If I try to force it, I will mis-cut every board twice and then lose my shit.

The very strange thing is that this is almost exclusively related to building shit. And sometimes with writing. But it doesn’t happen in the other areas of my life, like with my job (which, like building, requires both right and left brain participation), or my workouts (which, like building, require a degree of energy and motivation).

My point is… brains are very weird.

Historically the way I’ve handled this is… I just don’t build shit when I don’t feel like building shit. (Or, sometimes I let myself build whateverthefuck I want, even when there are more critical projects I should be working on.) And that has worked because I’m okay with living in a house that has no flooring and holes in the walls. But you can imagine it’s weird for people in my life (hi mom) who need me to help them with small, building-related tasks, and instead of getting anything done, I’m just staring comatose at the tape measure (when literally the month before I fabricated a couple of built-ins in a weekend out of basically scrap wood.)

(True story: In the worst of my “off” period this summer I tried to force myself to finish those cabinets for my mom, and ended up spending a fair amount of money on custom, non-returnable cabinet doors in sizes so wrong I think maybe I had a stroke when I was reading the tape? I mean, come on. It’s a fucking rectangle divided in half, and I have built actual houses. It should not be possible for me to fuck it up that bad. But I did.)

All of this is to say… this summer, I did drink beer and built some shit. And on the scale of how much I was in Kicking Ass and Building Shit Mode? (10 being this and 0 being those cabinet doors I mis-measured.) I was probably at a 5.7 for this one:

That’s what I spent a week’s worth of evenings staring at. The back of my mom’s deck.

My mom’s deck needs some work in general, but you know what was impossible to come by this summer? Pressure treated wood. Everyone and their goddamn uncle was building decks (which I wholeheartedly support) but also, so irritating when I need lumber and it’s out of stock. Also, you know what I’m not doing when I’m at a 5.7 on the Building Shit Mode scale? Replacing all the decking and railings on a 600sf deck. Just no.

However, this was legitimately driving both of us nuts…

The existing railing was right at eye-level-when-sitting-down height and blocked the view of the lake. And I was like, okay, I’m not in Building Shit Mode, but, also, it’s stairs, right? I should be able to do this in my sleep (and/or with the help of 4 cases of beer.)

Here’s the thing about being at a 5.7. This build was miserable. (Also it was the hottest, muggiest week of the year.) But, also, it was not impossible.

Luckily, my mom’s house is a mile down the road from the farm, and I have a tractor with an auger. So digging the holes for the concrete piers was relatively easy. (Did I break a shear bolt and also somehow cause a leak in the gear box of the auger? Of-fucking-course.) Was the grade of the ground a pain in the ass? Also yes.

Did I buy those stringers pre-cut? Absolutely.

Did I also send my mom on a mission to 4 different lumber yards to find enough pressure treated wood to finish these off? I did.

I basically outsourced (to my tractor, my mother, the liquor store, and whoever cuts those prefabbed stringers) all the major hurdles in the project.

It was so miserably hot that for the first time in my life I worked barefoot and in shorts on a project. (Definitely regretted the barefoot thing more than once, but it’s cool, my tetanus is totally up to date.) But I will say that at the end of those hot, miserable building sessions… this wasn’t the worst way to end the day.

After about a week of trying not to shout profanity in front of the neighbor kids (whom I adore), there were stairs…

And a much better view from the deck.

(The railings are temporary until the whole new deck railing goes in.)

Also, here’s a legit (even after 4-cases-of-beer) protip… I ran a 1/4″ roundover bit in my palm router over the ends of the deck boards on the stairs. Looks way more polished.

Also, that “starting stair” that’s wider than the rest of the staircase and wraps around the railing posts? That was just because I fucked up on the height of where the top of the first step should land based on the grade… decided to add another step, and decided since I was adding another step, I might as well make it fancy.

None of which would have happened, if I’d been a 7+ on the scale and all my initial measurements were right. Are we doing philosophical life lessons today? If so… there’s probably one buried in there somewhere.

Like I said, it wasn’t easy. But difficult does not mean impossible.

At the end of the day I’m happy with how the stairs turned out, happy we made a little progress on Lake House projects this year, and definitely not going to talk about how many actual cases of beer it took to finish that project. (It was a lot.)

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July 16, 2026
How To Add An Outdoor GFCI Outlet | Easy DIY In One Hour!

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Thinking about putting in your own DIY Outdoor GFCI Outlet? Look no further and check out this project where I show you exactly what to do!

This week, I’m showing you how to very easily install an outdoor GFCI outlet from an existing interior outlet. It’s a fast DIY project for anyone that needs an exterior outlet in a new location!

Things I Used in This Outdoor GFCI Outlet Project:

For more outlet related content, check out my other video where I added indoor outlets in my garage!

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July 16, 2026
No, My Kitchen Doesn’t Have a Floor (And Other True Stories)[/gpt3]

I’ve had bare subfloor in my kitchen since one day back in 2015 when I was definitely not starting my kitchen renovation, but also happened to have a dumpster and my house and was probably drinking beer and decided to indulge in my favorite beer-drinking sport… hitting something with a hammer.

Which is how this happened…

All I’m saying is, it has been some years since I’ve had an actual floor in my kitchen. But, interestingly, not enough years that my friends and family have given up hope. Like, for five whole years people in my life have asked very often and very optimistically if my kitchen is done yet.

No. No it is not. Because I like hosting holiday parties with this fully hot wire just hanging out of my kitchen wall waiting to zap someone. Because I am fun, goddamnit.

Also, listen, this house is one hundred and sixty years old. Just to put that in context, zero people on this planet were alive when this house was built, and, also, there is a zero percent chance any project in a house that old will go as expected.

Mostly irrelevant side-note: I don’t think I’ve professed my love for the book The Architecture of Country Houses by A.J. Downing (circa 1850) lately, but it was the de facto authority on building country houses in its day (i.e. the day this house was built) and absolutely worth the read for anyone living in/dealing with in an old house. (You can find the whole book on Google books, but used copies are still available today and cheap.)

From the book:

Preach, Mr. Downing.

Anyway, in the spirit of Mr. Downing’s “blunt and honest expression of the truth”, all “small” projects in this house are not fucking small. They are an epic uncovering of pain-in-the-ass and sometimes disgusting shit.

Like this…

This is a mummified mouse I found in my kitchen wall.

But, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

No, I do not have a kitchen floor, but, in the early days of quarantine I decided to tackle a couple of kitchen projects I thought were isolated enough to handle in a weekend or two without devolving into utter madness. (Ha.)

One of them was the opening between the kitchen and the rest of the house…

It used to be an arch. I can tell I hated the arch because in 10 years of living in this house, and taking pictures of this house for things I write on the internet, this is the best picture I have of it. (On the left.)

Anyway, I know people love arches, but I’m not a fan of the two that were added on to this house when it was remodeled in the 90’s.

So I tore the kitchen arch out, and then lived with it like this for some years…

I have no shame.

Let me just state for the record, this was a solidly built arch. These walls are 16” of masonry and there were several layers of ¾” ply as a support, and then two layers of a flexible fiber board (which was then skim coated) to make up the arch, and it was an epic pain in the ass to demo. Epic.

Also, to make things even more fun, even once I sawsalled the shit out of the arch structure, the underlying “framing” boards around the opening were not plum, level, square, or otherwise in sync with each other.

And there was a lot of mouse poop behind them…

A lot.

(Also that mummified mouse that I mentioned.)

Once I fully decontaminated myself and the kitchen, there was a whole lot of creative shimming required to get the sides straightened out…

Also, there was a whole lot of beer required, (and a sharpie) which will probably be evident to anyone who tears into this opening in the future…

I used my tried and true method of determining how many fasteners needed in the blocking…

Totally legit building practice. It didn’t fall… so it must be good.

Then I trimmed the whole thing in (on the kitchen side)…

And used some old barn wood as a fake lintel because I’m fancy.

I did prime the whole thing but still haven’t painted it (eight months later). Not mad at how it turned out… and it’s much better than having the tangled mess of metal/drywall/wood/mouse poop that was there before.

And since I was on a roll removing potential hazards from the kitchen, I decided to get this shit straightened out as well…

I purchased this range hood from Lowe’s that supports a custom-built cabinet. (Side note: A couple of years ago I asked someone in the store about kitchen exhaust fans that take a custom cabinet and the person looked at me blankly for some period of time and then told me they don’t sell anything like that. Then I went down a rabbit hole of trying to buy just the blower and build the whole contraption myself, so thank god for Daniel Kanter’s Instagram stories, because he used the exact type of unit I was looking for in a kitchen remodel last year and I was like, Ah-fucking-ha! I knew it existed somewhere!)

I did also have to purchase separately the stainless trim kit for the fan box, which wasn’t evident until I got the fan and looked at the instructions. (Given that almost all instructions are available online, browsing through the building specs first would have saved me some time.)

Then it was just a matter of–you guessed it– drinking beer and building shit…

I did have some help from the troops…

Some were less helpful than others…

Most of this was just figuring it out as I went along…

There’s nothing more fun than trying to install a range hood into a cabinet by yourself, while sitting on a stovetop burner that may or may not have accidentally gotten turned on during installation…

Despite the lack of amusement in my expression, I maintain that this is 100% easier than doing it with a partner. (Been there, done that, did not murder anyone with my tape measure, but I thought about it a lot. I’m just not cut out for that kind shit, you guys. I’ll take the burnt ass cheek over team work any day. )

Anyway, I built this thing with a removable panel on the face so that I can access the fan (and finish the duct work to vent the damn thing outside at some point.) So I had to get a little creative on installing the trim…

I love how much trim can change the look of something from “boring, weird box” to, like, “actual piece of cabinetry that looks like it belongs there.”

Here she is, all built and painted.

The green on the backsplash was not a design decision. I just like to roll on a coat of waterproofing membrane before tiling over drywall. Do you have to do it? Probably not. But also, have you ever seen a piece of drywall get wet? It basically just disintegrates. And tile thinset/mastic is… wet. At least a little wet. And you’re relying on the structural integrity of wet drywall paper to hold everything up. (By “everything” I mean the very expesive hand-glazed tiles I bought for this backsplash.) The waterproofing membrane seems like some easy insurance against tile-tragedy.

I purchased the tile for the backsplash some time ago. (Years? I don’t even know. What is time anymore anyway?) So when quarantine started I had literally all the materials needed on-hand to finish this.

It’s actually the same hand-glazed tile from Winchester Tile Company that I used in the tub surround of this bathroom. (But in white and subway tile sized… although I kind of wish I’d used the 4×4’s for this. Whatever, it’s too late, and I do like how it turned out regardless.)

Only took five or six years to upgrade it from this…

Listen. I’m not ever going to be bragging about how fast I overhauled a room in my house. I’m not even sure anymore if the point is to get it done, or just to have something to do when the world shuts down for a year…

Either way, it does look better. I’ve still got one more opening to fix/frame/trim, and then a ceiling to finish painting, and yes–eventually– there will be a floor.

I’ll get there.

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July 16, 2026
How To DIY Electrical Wiring

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Today we’re discussing the DIY electrical wiring basics! I walk through how to choose the correct wire and what is inside, as well as the connectors available. You’ll definitely want to check out the new, easy push in connectors and the outlets that make side wiring so much easier…. and more! Watch this video, quickly learn the basics and you can wire your next switch or outlet without the cost of an electrician!

Check out my other electrical videos here!

Things I Used In This DIY Electrical Wiring Basics Tutorial:

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(Most of the links listed above are affiliate links. As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. Thank you for supporting me in this way.)

July 16, 2026
The Lake House: A 2020 Update[/gpt3]

If there’s a satisfying update to be had this year, it’s most likely because my mom has been making a lot of progress updating the Lake House, almost entirely without my help.

I did build the deck stairs, and one time wedged myself through this tiny hole to fix a broken hose spigot…

1.) Yes, that bigass boulder is a part of the Lake House foundation. And, 2.) I legit dragged my mom’s hair dryer through that hole with me… if you’re ever having a hard time loosening a threaded copper fitting? Hair dry it. And try not to feel like an idiot while you’re doing it. Good luck.

Other than the stairs and the hair-dryer incident though, all the credit for how good the Lake House is looking goes to my mom.

Here’s the house when we bought it 2 years ago…

The roof was about at the end of its life, so my mom hired a roofer to replace it. And, while she was at it, to create a new little porch with a gable roof:

The old overhang was starting to sag and get in the way of opening the door, and it didn’t provide much protection from the elements (for people or for packages.)

She also had a new front door put in. And a new garage door. And started painting the house and the garage.

This is what the garage looked like when we bought it:

The wood siding is old. Not crumbling (or being eaten by chickens, like some houses I know… ahem) but enough to require a lot of scraping and caulking.

And, also, (according to my mom) a very tiny paintbrush…

For real, I’m up on a ladder finishing up the other half of the front of the garage and my mom says something like, “I can’t believe how fast you paint” and then I look down and she’s basically using three hairs taped to a stick as a paintbrush.

However… she did get all the cracks real good, so you can’t blame her. See?

She’s still in the process of painting the actual house, but this is the color palette she’s working from:

I believe she gave herself an “end of 2021” deadline to have the whole thing painted, so, stay tuned.

There was also one new addition to her front yard…

This is a dwarf, self-pollinating (or self-fertile) peach tree. (Fun fact for people who haven’t been tending an orchard for the last decade: A lot of types of fruit tree require at least two trees to cross pollinate in order to bear fruit, but you can also find a number of varieties that will self-pollinate so you only need one.)

The only reason I originally put peach trees in my own little orchard was because peaches are my mom’s favorite, and they ended up being my favorite trees on the farm. So, I thought it would be fun for her to have her own fruit growing at the Lake House eventually.

All in all, the exterior of the house is looking great.

And (lucky for me) the interior doesn’t need a lot of work.

There was this little ledge between the kitchen and living room, that looked like this for the last year or so…

And when the guys were working on her roof, my mom mentioned wanting to put a piece of butcher block in this spot to make it more of a breakfast-bar/eating area. So they called up a finish-carpenter friend of theirs, and he had it done in a day…

And, I still have to finish the doors and trim for these built-ins…

And that damn mantel. But my mom has figured out how to make do without it…

I know I should feel bad about that, but, not gonna lie… I laughed. (Good thing my mother also has a sense of humor.)

But even without the mantel or cabinet doors, things are looking great at the lake house. In another year or two we’ll rebuild the deck, and then it will be nothing but floating from here on out…

(Ha.)

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July 16, 2026
Easy DIY Toe Kick Drawers | How To

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Looking to add storage space to your kitchen with DIY toe kick drawers? In this project, I’m showing you how I turn my hollow toe kick area of my kitchen!

Turn cabinets into hidden drawer storage! This is a great way to find more storage space under your cabinets.

Things I Used in This DIY Toe Kick Drawers Project:

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July 16, 2026
On Kicking Ass and Using the Right Measuring Stick[/gpt3]

Not only is it that time of year again (the one where we reflect on all the things we’ve done, and all the things we hope to do, while simultaneously being bombarded with “new year, new you” messaging, which is all just bullshit trying to get people to buy whatever weight-loss program/tea/diet crap is hip this year) but, it’s also “that time of year” during the actual weirdest year that many of us have ever lived through.

These are strange times. And recently, in talking about These Strange Times, I said that a sign of being an emotionally intelligent adult is being able to hold two opposing feelings in your body, at the same time, and still function. And, I don’t recall, but did I also mention that holding two opposing feelings in your body at the same time and still functioning… fucking sucks? Because it definitely does.

In many respects this has been both the best and the worst year of my life. Sometimes for the exact same reasons (which, for the record, is maddening.) And, also, for none of the reasons anyone else in the world seems to be happy and/or miserable. And, also, for none of the reasons I myself would have expected to be happy and/or miserable.

It is almost impossible to make sense of it.

But, when I really do the work of analyzing how I’ve felt, what mistakes I’ve made (and there were a few life-alteringly big ones this year), and where I want to put my time and energy… I’ve realized (again) that even when I’m not living up to my own expectations, the times I feel the best are when I’m using my own measuring stick to evaluate my achievements. And the times I feel the worst– the times I’ve been the most lost, and miserable– are when I’m judging myself using other people’s measuring sticks.

I’m going to pick on the diet/weight-loss industry for a second, because honestly? Fuck that industry (and anyone who tries to make money off people feeling bad about themselves.) This is the best personal example I have– the first time I became aware of the toll other peoples measuring sticks can have on my own ability to kick ass and do awesome things–but if discussion about weight loss or eating disorders is triggering to you, skip down until after the ***.

For most of my life–up until about 10 years ago– I would have told you I was largely oblivious to the diet industry or cultural messaging around body size or weight loss (mostly because I have an irritatingly bulletproof ego, but also because up until that point I always had a nondescript body-type. Not small enough or large enough to merit comment, one way or another.) However I also, completely unconsciously, bought in to all of that messaging. I equated less body fat with being “healthier” or “more fit”. When my friends suggested they needed to lose some pounds before a vacation, I may have mentioned whatever fad diet I’d heard about recently. I weighed myself every day as part of my routine, and ascribed a “good” or “bad” value to the numbers I saw on the scale. And I’m sure many-a-new-years-resolution centered around “eating healthier and exercising more.” (I even documented a weight-loss challenge one year on this very website once, which I am absolutely horrified by now. Those posts are gone, but it’s the thing I most regret ever putting out on the internet.)

Then, after the two years I spent living in a garage and building a house , which meant a lot of microwave meals and take-out (but didn’t actually have any real impact on my body-composition), I decided I was going to “get healthy.” (Because that’s what the messaging says, right? Regardless of how you feel and what you’re accomplishing, takeout and tater tots must be a diet that needs correcting.) So, I did what they say you should do. Researched diets, came up with a strict meal plan, and lost a fair amount of weight in a short-ish period of time. And then, all of the sudden, people started commenting on my body. All kinds of people… a lot of coworkers actually. Totally unsolicited. (You’ve lost weight! You look so good! What’s your secret?)

(Looking back on it, I often think, if no one had made any positive comments on my body during that timeframe, the “diet” probably would have worn itself out after a month or two. I would have taken on another big project, would have started eating normally again, and never would have thought twice about it. But, what happened instead was two years of full-blown eating disorders. the end result of those two years–a decade later– is a far more (physically and emotionally) stronger version of myself, but I still wouldn’t recommend it as an optimal path for personal growth.)

At the time, I felt like I was winning something. Like I’d figured out some secret to life. And the unsolicited, positive feedback from people was reinforcing that. So, when my body burned through most of its fat stores and was like WHAT THE FUCK, WE NEED MORE FOOD, (which meant more cravings, and less control over my carefully planned meals) I felt like I was losing.

So, in order to “win” and stick to my rigid eating (or not eating) regime I stopped going out with friends (because I couldn’t control my calorie intake at restaurants). I tried exercising as a punishment for eating (and, as a side note, was not capable of doing 5 push-ups from my knees in a row during this timeframe). I would take Tylenol PM in the evening to knock myself out so I would sleep through being hungry and it would be “okay to eat” when I woke up again. I took a lot of pictures of myself and my body as a “reward” for “doing well.” I mentally measured my body against every stranger I saw in the street. The first thing I did every morning (the literal reason I got out of bed) was weigh myself. I have, to this day, never felt worse about myself or had more negative self-talk, then those mornings where the number on the scale stayed the same or went up from the day before. (A thing I had never cared about before in my life!)

Also. I started getting horrible night sweats. My skin broke out so bad that in the last ten years I’ve done two rounds of Accutane to clear it up. My hair started falling out in actual clumps in the shower.

Also. My weight never dropped below the healthy weight on the BMI chart for someone of my (short) stature. My actual doctors complimented me on all the things I was “doing right”.

It never once occurred to me during that first year (the one where I was taking sleeping pills to knock myself out so I wouldn’t eat) that I had an eating disorder. Because I was doing everything right according to the diet/weight-loss industry, and I was getting positive reinforcement for it from literally everyone in my life, including medical professionals.

(Side note: The clinical term for this is Orthorexia. Basically “eating healthy to the point of physical and emotional detriment.” You can read more about it here.)

In the second year of this (incidentally, the first year I lived on the farm), because my body was trying every trick in the book to get me to eat enough to support my energy levels, the orthorexia became full-blown bulimia. (Although I also would not have told you I had an eating disorder at that time either, because you have to binge/purge at least once a week for 3 months for it to be a diagnosable condition. And I knew the “rules” so I deliberately only ever toed the line of having a diagnosable condition.)

This, I believe, was the first and hardest lesson I have ever learned about using other people’s measuring sticks.

Because here’s the truth. Literally every person who was not me, was telling me I was “winning”. I was measuring up, according to the ruler they were using. Because I took up less physical space than I had before. Because I hit a certain number on the BMI chart. Because they found me aesthetically pleasing (when being measured against… what? A lot of photoshopped magazine covers?)

Here’s the other side of that truth. I was failing in all the ways that actually matter to me as a person. I felt physically weak. I had no energy. I wasn’t connecting with friends. Almost all of my brain power wasn’t going to projects or exciting things, but to counting calories, or the immense amount of willpower it takes to not feed a body that is begging for food. My body was falling apart.

Because I was using other people’s measuring sticks.

My body has done all kinds of things in the last 10 years. I let myself eat until I stopped obsessing about food. I took a year away from gyms because I could only go in with stress and the mindset of losing weight (when it turns out the actual best part of gyms–for me– is finding fun new ways my body can do strong, impressive shit and also finding really good drinking buddies. Something I’ve learned since.) I haven’t stepped on a scale in a decade. I started climbing, and summiting mountains. My body is above the range that the BMI chart states as “healthy” and my actual doctor tried to have a conversation with me about it. My body does not conform to conventional aesthetic standards, and is above the healthy BMI range, and I am strong as shit. The last physical challenge I took on in January of this year was a 30 hour endurance race in which I did not sit down for 30 hours, racked up 36 miles of orienteering in the mountains while also solving brain puzzles (including a rubix cube… blindfolded) and at the end of that event I ran two miles (faster than I’ve ever run two miles in the last decade) and also did 50 military chest-to-ground pushups inside of a minute. Above the healthy BMI range. And guys, it’s not just muscle… my body has a lot of fat. Which is totally cool. Apparently, it operates best that way when it comes to my own measuring sticks (i.e. being strong as hell, capable of doing kickass shit, and able to physically take on any challenge farm life throws at me.)

***

Also, when the pandemic hit (and even before that, after I had a death flu that knocked me out of commission for weeks in February, and that I don’t believe I fully recovered from for a full six months) I didn’t have the extra energy I usually have for workouts and climbing. I didn’t have a hiking adventure or a big endurance event on the calendar to train for. And so I didn’t. I used the energy I had for other things. My measuring stick wasn’t about physical strength or the next big physical challenge (or even the next big thing to build on the farm). My measuring sticks became about finding work that felt more meaningful to me. About managing my mental health. About supporting the people I love who were taking on incredible challenges in their own work and personal lives.

And even owning those measuring sticks–my own measuring sticks–I failed. A lot. Sometimes I lost sight of what was most important to me. Sometimes I just had to bear down and grind through projects even though I didn’t have the energy for them, and I was one cranky asshole because of it. Sometimes I felt bad just because I wasn’t getting the adrenaline rush of climbing mountains or doing some other incredible physical feat. Sometimes I didn’t take the time to reach out or make genuine connections with the incredible people in my life because I wanted to wallow instead.

But (and here’s the key) at least when I felt like I wasn’t “measuring up”… it was because I wasn’t measuring up to my own stick. To the things that really are important to me, in this time and this place. And I think that’s okay… that’s the kind of thing that will make me better, stronger, and more aware of who I want to be in the future. (Instead of just tired and hungry and miserable.)

And, incidentally, when I sat down to write about “measuring sticks” it was not my intent to write a 2500 word essay on the eating disorders I had a decade ago. And, also, I have tried to tell that story no less than a dozen times in the last decade and could never get it out, because it feels like a story that needs to be told correctly, and I never knew exactly what that meant.

Which is a weird thing about stories. Sometimes they simmer inside of you for years, until one day (15 days after contracting covid–I’m fine, btw–and trying to write a story about measuring sticks) the words just come to you.

This isn’t about bodies and how they look, but about what we do with them (because your body is, in fact, the only vehicle through which you will do all the awesome things you do in the world.) And, during this time of year, at the end of the strangest of years, when we’re all trying to figure out what we want out of 2021, I hope the words that come to you are: When I set goals for myself–when I look at who I want to be in the future–am I using my own measuring stick?

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July 16, 2026