Everything moved so fast, spun us, and now it’s all out of order in my head, like these changing, de-changing, and re-changing seasons we’ve been watching out the window these past three months. We had a breech baby girl, a fitting start to a beautifully bass-ackwards kind of 2012.

We found out she was head-up at 38 weeks. After trying to turn her myself for a few days (headstands on the couch, giant headphones strapped to my belly), I let the pros have a go at it. But they couldn’t un-breech her either–and for a very good reason, as it turned out. The the cord was wrapped around her neck.

The c-section wasn’t what I’d wanted, but… who cares. Our Lena made it here safely. She was born February 23rd at 7 pounds, 6 ounces, 20 and 1/4 inches. A full head of red hair topped her perfect, pudgy, pink face. The picture of health.

Except…

When the pediatrician first examined her in the hospital, he found that sometimes, her hip “knocked,” partially dislocating. So at his recommendation we took her to see an orthopedist, wishfully thinking it was just to rule out trouble. But Doc’s hunch was right: Lena’s socket had not formed correctly around the head of her femur. She had hip dysplasia.

As skeletal abnormalities go, it’s the best possible kind. When you catch it early, you can take advantage of the brief window in which the bones are still forming. Two days after we brought Lena home from the hospital, she was fitted with something called a Pavlik harness. The specialist bound her in thick strips of Velcro and told us never to take it off, not even for bathing. She wore it for six. Long. Weeks.

Lena adjusted quickly. We eventually caught up. Nursing, bathing, changing, everything was so difficult, especially the first few days. We yearned to cuddle her and feel her skin. To not have access to your newborn’s itty bitty toes is a special kind of torture.

But, again, who cares. The treatment worked. It saved her from walking with a limp and developing painful arthritis in her thirties. It cured her–completely painlessly. We’ll always be grateful for that.

Even now, more than a month after she was unharnessed, I am trying to make up for lost time, snuggling her as I type with one hand. I am so sad to be going back to work this week, but the good news is she’s not going straight into daycare. Dylan will be full-time daddying all summer while he’s on break from teaching–he cannot wait. Lena is healed, and I am healed, and now, all we have to do is raise her in this beautiful home where we’ve been been building a nest for her for years.

Since I got pregnant, Mr. DIY Mess has been unstoppable. While I was busy gestating, he was nestating. In the past year, he’s turned this…

… into this:

And this…

… into this:

And this (second floor kitchen, from our home’s former life as an apartment building)…

… into this (walk-in closet with laundry!!!):

And this… (Dylan’s studio–creative mind at work, here!)

… into this!

(Don’t worry; he’s set up shop in the spare bedroom for now, and eventually, he’ll have the whole third floor.)

My man is superhuman, it’s true. What a lucky girl Lena is to have a dad like him.

I’ll probably be even worse about updating my blog now that we are embarking on the mother of all DIY projects. Lena is ours again, itty bitty toes and all, and right now that’s more than enough for us. We are head over heels and bass-ackwards, loopy in love with this girl.

Without further ado, meet the DIY Mess’ new resident, slated for move-in at the end of February 2012!

This, of course, is why all the radio silence. For the longest time, I was detoxing from DIY fumes and dust, which ruled out pretty much every project on the agenda, and Dylan was too busy with his teaching load to work on the house. Then all the sudden, we were pregnant, and summer was in full swing. Dylan and our friend A. spent weeks on a new round of demo and construction, stirring up all sorts of smells that my hypersensitive nose didn’t agree with—just as the worst of the heat hit. So there’s been plenty to blog about this summer, but I’ve been too busy gagging and fanning myself to do it.

I had no idea how to explain my blogging hiatus. I wanted a family so bad I was scared to utter a word about it before I knew it was possible. But that’s all over now!

I will soon post photos of Dylan’s remarkable progress on the DIY Mess, which is looking less messy all the time. But for now, I need to shout from the rooftops about this kid growing inside me.

The first couple of ultrasound images came out all wavy because I couldn’t stop crying. We were both overwhelmed finally seeing for ourselves that there really is a lime-sized person in there, and it has arms and legs and a brain and a beating heart.

“I can’t believe how active it is,” Dylan said, watching our child wave and stretch and hiccup.

“Well, it is yours,” I said. “It’s probably bored in there.”

I mean honestly. Somebody give the kid a hammer.

The appointment was on the morning I hit week 12, which we’d decided ahead of time would be Tell The World Day. I was practically skipping down the hall, showing my coworkers the hazy, two-toned images of this little blob. It’s true, that’s about all you see in an ultrasound until it’s yours.

“Looks like an alien,” teased my carpoolmate. (Actually, she’d known for weeks—I’d figured I owed her and her upholstery fair warning that my stomach could blow at any minute.)

“Oh, I get it,” said the guy in the office next door when I pointed out the head, the arm, the teeny tiny little hand. “That’s why Dylan went on that long trip last month. Hehe.” (He was helping his parents with their renovation nightmares. Glutton for punishment, that boy.)

I’ve been scrawny all my life and was sure people would notice the second my navel started asserting itself. For weeks I’d been holding in my gut every time I got up from my desk at work, every time I waved hello to the neighbors. But when I tried telling people the news by showing them what I perceived to be my impressive profile, they were like, “What? Is something different?” Kinda flattering, I guess, but mostly disappointing. I’m gonna be a mom, and I want the world to know.

The neighborhood girls had my favorite reaction so far: tears and hugs and stories, stories, stories. “When I was pregnant, …” Someday I’ll tell stories like that, sitting on the steps of this home we made together, bouncing our little blob on my knee.

Recently I was invited to help promote Grant’s Real Stories, a contest that’s right up my alley. Scotland-based whisky distillery William Grant & Sons is looking for DIYers of all stripes to share stories and photographs of projects that could stand the test of time. The prize is a $10,000 a home entertaining makeover (!).

They had me at “whisky.” And the DIY-narrative bit? Lordy. Talk about two great tastes that taste great together. Er, well, I’m of course not condoning drinking Scotch while you operate power tools, y’all. Friends don’t let friends DIY drunk.

The contest is open through June. The five entries with the most votes will make the finals, and from these, award-winning master builder Karl Champley of DIY Network and HGTV fame will pick the winner. What follows is a little Q&A that he was kind enough to agree to do with me. I hope y’all enjoy it as much as I did. (Thanks again, Karl!)

DIY projects sometimes have a way of bringing families closer together.  Did you grow up in that kind of house? Any favorite stories along those lines?

My old man was a professional fighter back in the day so I didn’t learn many building skills from dear old dad. However growing up with little money, we all worked together at building a better lifestyle. From repairing the house to building a bicycle from scratch. My mother was the real innovator. Without her saying “Stan, fix those steps or we will fall through them,” nothing would have been completed. When I started my apprenticeship as a carpenter and joiner I soon realized my father needed all the help he could get.

When you are young you don’t realize the importance of working together on DIY projects, but as you mature, you soon realize how important that time with your family really was. I am very fortunate to have my mum and dad with me today and still laugh about the projects we did.

I think it’s even more important today, as there seem to be too many excuses for us all to be doing different things. If you are reading this and your daughter is texting her friends while your boy is playing video game, grab them both and build something together. Even if they resist, they will appreciate it later on.

You’ve done a lot of Habitat for Humanity specials for the DIY Network and HGTV. How about favorite stories of projects bringing communities closer together?

I have many. This has to be my favorite and most passionate part of my career. If you stop to help people out, you are ultimately changing their life’s path. Really, this is huge when you think about it. Especially for children. Some don’t start of with much of a chance and by getting them involved, you give them hope to build a better life. I have been fortunate to have helped quite a few and hope to keep doing it.

Two quick stories:

1. When I first met the former president Jimmy Carter at a Habitat For Humanity build site, he was constructing an 8-foot wall. While he was nailing the studs to the plates I said “Hey, mate, if you don’t swing that hammer a little quicker we will never get this job done.” Within 3 seconds I had 4 plain-clothes secret service guys all over me. Mr Carter then realized who I was, gave his guys the wink, and then we all got busy. A great man.

2. I did a project with Dr Phil about fraudulent contractors scamming victims of hurricane Katrina. He and his team went after the contractors, and I, along with the DIY Network team, went to New Orleans to demolish and rebuild a house for a 78-year-old gal who otherwise would have had nowhere to live. She and her family experienced many conflicts over the years, and it was this building project that brought them all together. I remember looking into their eyes and seeing how saddened they were to have lost all of those years they were apart from each other.

It was 10pm one night when someone opened fire with 6 rounds on the same street. I was on the roof erecting the roof trusses under lights with our team as well as a few locals. We stopped for a minute and kept working as we had a heavy deadline to meet. When the project was finished we discovered that other homeowners in the surrounding streets were inspired about what we built and started themselves. We met some former gang members who thought what we did was very cool. They then started to rectify their own places, even though they didn’t have the skills to do it. Our perseverance brought this small community together.

What do you hope to teach your little boy about building a home he can be proud of?

We just finished building our modern green home. We demolished it when he was three. Lived in our garage that I set up like a studio where my wife, little boy, and I lived for 3 years until we finished it just three months ago. He just turned six. He is very lucky I think to experience this concept to creation. We sit by the wood-burning fireplace, and he still remembers when it was the only thing left standing from the original home. He has used every tool I have (except the circular saw). Under close supervision of course!

I think what is the most important to teach our little ones is to not be afraid of creating anything. It’s confidence. If they have that, they have the world.

Building our house took three years due to my shooting schedule and the fact that I built it entirely on my own. All the plumbing, gas, electrical, framing, everything except the fire sprinklers, HVAC, and stucco. I used the family car the stand the 28 foot framed walls. The little bloke thought that was cool. I taped the entire process as well so he can have record of it one day.

Do you like whisky?  : )

I do. A little. The reason being is because when you have a glass you are quite often surrounded with good friends, in a good environment or simply retired from the day. It’s your time at this point. My two favorites are Laphroaig and Grant’s Whisky. I was really surprised with Grant’s as its not expensive, however tastes like it should be worth three times the amount it sells for.

What interested you in lending a hand with this contest?

I like to inspire people to do their own projects and thought this is the perfect fit. I take my hat off to a lot of people that fix up their homes or simply get out there and build things for themselves without having the skills. I think they have guts to do this! This contest is simply a great reward to the lucky winner.

When I started to host the show “Wasted Spaces” that currently airs on HGTV, my producer and I kept asking our production company to give us the green light to build some wine cellars,  They finally agreed and it turns out they were some of the best episodes. They were projects to be proud of–great places to share a glass of wine or whisky with friends and discuss all the mistakes you made. :) Just make sure you finish the project before you have a glass.

Okay, folks. Check out the Grant’s Whisky site. Raise your glass–and click your mouse–for your favorite entry, or submit a project yourself. Cheers, and good luck!

Back when Dylan gutted the dining room in May 2008, he found a set of old pocket doors that have cleaned up beautifully–and they came with a little time capsule, to boot. Seems that ages ago, a crumpled wad of paper got caught on one of the doors and shoved back against the wall.

As we were cleaning up the demo debris, we found these treasures among the coal-dusty rubble: a few pages torn from an old issue of Woman’s Home Companion (no date, unfortunately); a Kaufmann’s department store catalog full of dapper fellas in Roaring Twenties suits (ditto); and an envelope addressed to the DIY Mess… and postmarked 1921. Which could mean:

This is the junk mail of our home’s original owners (!).

I had to hide these things away from myself until I could afford to frame them–they were crumbling apart in my hands–so I haven’t really gotten to look at them until now. And let me tell you. The wait was so worth it.

Here are the magazine pages (clothing catalog to come in a later post). I had them mounted together in one big frame with glass on both sides so that each page is visible. This custom job did not come cheap. The original owners of this house–who might’ve aspired to afford “The Best Fine Car Buy In the World” for $1,285–would be appalled to know what I shelled out to preserve their castoffs. Well. One woman’s trash.

Ahem. Without further ado, I present: Beech-Nut Brand Peanut Butter:

Josephin How pincushions and sewing workboxes:

Flapper bags:

“Winter,” the first in a series of child portraits painted for Women’s Home Companion by Louise Cox (who was married to another magazine illustrator, Kenyon Cox):

And the Willys-Knight 88-4, a seven-passenger luxury vehicle from the company that would later build the Jeep engine:

Lately I’ve been fascinated by the twenties, drooling over the costumes and the architecture in HBO’s “Boardwalk Empire” and trying to imagine the world that the original owners of the DIY Mess knew. I’m especially curious about the lady of the house. (Did that big ol’ antique sewing machine in our attic belong to her, too?) Between chopping off all my hair and stalking dangly earrings and cloche hats on Etsy, I’ve caught myself longing to live in that era. Which is crazy. When this magazine went to press, women had only recently won the right to vote.

I am hanging these pages in my office. Let them remind me to do my damnedest every day to make my foremothers proud.

Próspero año y felicidad, y’all! A very quick update: We are not dead. We’ve just been busy. And broke. Since we had to replace our heater last winter, we’ve been racing to pay if off before the interest kicked in. So. Apologies for the five months of radio silence. We just couldn’t afford to do a dang thing to the house for all this time.

But things are looking up. After working extra gigs all through the fall, I was finally able to pay everything off. Look out, 2011. Onward! Forward! Up, up, and away!

This year, we resolve to make at least two new DIY messes:

1) Convert the second-floor kitchen—where we’re currently storing our clothes in the cupboards—into a proper walk-in closet … with a washer and dryer.

2) Turn the hallway bathroom—the filthy, dank, downright spooky one on the second floor—into a lavatory fit for civilized people. Or at least us.

We probably won’t get to do most of the work until the summertime, when Dylan gets a break from teaching, but in the meantime we’ll probably at least start chipping away at the demo.

You hear me, Spooky Old Bathroom? We aint a skeer’d. We’re coming for you!

Wishing everyone a very merry 2011.

–Elaine & Dylan

You may recall our fugly foyer, the unimpressive space that first welcomed us home in Spring 2008…

… and the stairwell, all caked in layers of dull, cracking paint…

… and how I heat-gunned and chemical’ed it until it was all a dried-up-boogery mess…

… and how I scraped and sanded it all down until my fingers were raw,

… and how Dylan spent Snowpocalypse 2010 constructing wainscoting…

… and a window seat…

… and how we cashed in seven years’ worth of saving from our spare change jar…

… to afford new ceiling tiles.

Oh, and did I mention that when I pulled all that disgusting, cat-pee-soaked carpet off the steps, I found a layer of linoleum, a la 1960s apartment store??!!! And how melting away that stubborn-as-hell adhesive nearly drove poor Dylan over the edge??!!! Blarg!!!!!!

Ahem. Well. Since Dylan finished his spring-semester teaching load, he’s been toiling nonstop to finish the room. It’s been magical; each day at the office, I’ve gotten iPhone pictures of his triumphs…

… and his bloody messes. (“Um. Sweetie. Do you think it’s, I dunno, maybe a little too cherry-ish?”)

He’s primed and painted and papered. He’s sweated and stained and slaved. And now….

Wait for it…

Wait for it…

Wait…

For…

It…

…

…

…

…

TA-DA!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know, I know, I know. It’s the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen. It’s so beautiful I want to lick the black velvet right off the damask wallpaper.

My husband is the coolest husband in the history of all husbands everywhere.

It still needs a new light fixture, a window-seat cushion, vent covers, a rug, blah blah blah. But dooooooood. Can you believe this? I keep expecting some fancy-pants doorman to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to move along. This place can’t possibly belong to tramps like us.

At the altitude of ten feet, holding a giant metal ceiling tile overhead while balancing on a ladder with hubby, things can get pretty hot and heavy. And not in a good way.

“Okay,” he says. “A little bit toward me. STOP! A little bit toward you. WAIT! Right there. Don’t move, okay? DON’T MOVE!”

He reaches down to grab a hammer and a tiny box of nails balancing precariously on a rung a few feet down. I tremble, flush, whimper.

“You moved!”

I try to tell him he’s a son of a motherless goat–his supplies should’ve been at-the-ready. Nails pressed between his lips. Hammer tucked into his pants. Seconds count.

But all I can manage is: “Nails in your face! Hammer pants! BLARRRRRRG!!!”

More than once, he drops the entire box of nails on the floor, and I consider hanging him off the side of the ladder by his waistband. But then I reconsider. Someday, I do want to have children with this man.

It takes three weekends, seven years’ worth of savings from our loose change jar, and one generous gift card from Lowe’s (courtesy the Old House Web blogger contest). But dammit, we make it happen. We join the ranks of the ten-feet high club, adding a gorgeous tin ceiling to our foyer. We make progress.

[Sigh....]

I started a new job last week. Just as I was realizing I’d had it with freelance writing and was ready for a change, my dream job—an editing gig at my favorite local publication—opened up and welcomed me in. I can’t believe my luck.

It’s funny. You’d think that living and working all this time in the DIY Mess—a place that embodies uncertainty, upheaval, and financial burdens—would’ve compounded the stresses of self-employment. But not so.

As I’ve torn apart and painstakingly put back together this dingy old Pittsburgh house, I’ve thought about all the letdowns it’s seen. Its first owners were a wealthy family that lived among fine wainscoting, stained glass, and floral wallpaper. But gradually, this grand Victorian home was raided for all its baubles and hussied up in cheap, slumlordy finishes. By the time Dylan and I came along, it had been prostituted for 50 years.

This house has seen seven major American wars, the Great Depression, the great flood of 1936, and the fall of the steel industry, once the lifeblood of this city. Just knowing that has helped me through this difficult time in publishing.

Magazines have cut my pay, but this house has never broken a promise to me about the worth of my labor. I’ve given it my knotting muscles, grinding joints, and singed skin, and it’s grown more beautiful, airtight, and strong. I’ve depended on it to keep me from falling apart, and it’s done the same.

Hi, strangers! After a long holiday hiatus, I’m back in the saddle and thrilled to announce that I’m a new contributing writer for The Old House Web! I’ll be posting about two articles per month, and perhaps more if time allows. I’m super psyched!

A few people have asked if I’m going to continue with this little houseblog in addition to OHW. The answer is a hearty “Hell yeah.” I’ve decided to devote this site to essays about our DIY journey and photos of our progress (latest pics here, BTW), whereas my OHW stories will focus on the nuts-and-bolts of renovation and restoration. (Check out my first article, “4 New Uses for the Tiny Clothing Closets in your Old Home,” here.)

Speaking of my obsession with organization, I’m fixing to clean up this disastrous DIY mess of a blog and ditch this bleeping iWeb template once and for all. A redesign is sure to be a time vampire, but dammit, I’m sick of envying all the cool kids with their cool blogs that accommodate fancypants stuff like italics (ooooh!), categories (ah!), and more than one photo per blog post (*wistful sigh*). Once I’ve got everything ironed out, posting should be a lot easier, so hopefully I’ll manage to do it more often. This every-other-month business is just pitiful.

Hope you’ll forgive a little more radio silence while I figure all this out. Looking forward to catching up with everyone soon, perhaps using a few fancy, italic letters. (NO MORE SHOUTING! YAY!!!)