Staining Concrete Pavers

Last year, I decided our family needed a professional looking walkway from the deck to the lakeshore.  A quick analysis of the budget showed that paying a professional was out of the question. Another quick analysis of the budget showed that purchasing pavers was also out of the question.

I  looked at the husband in despair.  And then I looked at the children in despair.  And then I started thinking.  And the husband starting getting worried.  And the children starting running for cover.

Why buy pavers when we could just make our own?  Quikcrete makes a concrete mold for pavers.  It's pretty simple.  Buy the cement and the mold.  Mix the cement.  Pour the cement into the mold.  Pat down the cement.

Thing I didn't consider: The reason 44 bags of cement are so cheap is because they're wicked heavy to carry and back-breakingly awful to mix.

The children and husband were in charge of hauling cement and mixing cement and pouring cement.  They were extremely grumpy and unhappy.  I was in charge of sitting in the grass and gingerly patted the cement into the mold.  And supervising.

Cost of material: 44 bags of cement and a Quikcrete mold. $124.68

Cost of labor: 3 general laborers and 1 foreman for 26 hours. $0.00

Despite the children's slight resentment at not being paid, we have all enjoyed the walkway very much.

Until this fall, when it occurred to me that I was a little bored with the way our walkway was bleaching in the sun.

The black cement coloring we had added at installation had begun to fade.  Our path was starting to look like plain old cement.

I looked at my husband in despair.  And then I looked at my children in despair.  

And then I started thinking.  

And the husband starting getting worried. And the children starting running for cover.

Time to add some color!  But on a budget.  

Home Depot sells quarts of concrete stain for $9.  By choosing three colors, I was then able to mix my own variations so I ended up with many colors.  I suppose I could have just bought more quarts, but it wasn't in the budget.

While I was mixing stains, the children were madly texting friends looking for invites elsewhere and the husband decided to go grocery shopping.  By the time I was ready for our project to begin, I was the only Fortin remaining in a 30 mile vicinity of our homestead.

 I started with a Redwood stain

Added a Dark Grey

And a Steel Blue

Then a Slate Green

     

And a Dark Brown

     

And finished with a Light Brown

About this time, the children returned from their hiding places with little comment of where they had been.

It was probably pure relief that my little adventure was almost over when they provided overwhelming support of the project.  They even offered to help, but I think they knew I was done.

A suggestion that the sidewalk was "too new" got me thinking that it was time for a little distressment.

So I took an almost dry brush of dark brown stain and swiped some of the more majestic colors.

I also added variations to some pavers, applying additional coats of stain in raised spots.

The husband then returned from his three hour trip to the grocery store and gave a big thumbs up.

The total cost of this project was $26 in stain and a few old paintbrushes.  The total time of this project was 3 hours with one person.

Eight Hotel Soaps Make a Bar

Beau-Hunkly reports to Westover Air Force Base one weekend every month.

He used to hang out at the Airman's club with his military buddies, enjoy off-base fine dining in Chicopee, and shop the PX for wardrobe updates.  To be honest, he might have been having fun, but it was kind of expensive.

When the Fortin Budget Bill of 2014 was enacted, it took a few months for him to adjust his spending, but Beau-Hunkly has finally straightened up and is flying right.

He steals the travel-size toiletries from his hotel room.

The first month he came home with his mini treasures, I was under-whelmed.

He dumped 2 ounce containers and small bars of soap from a plastic bag onto the kitchen table and then stepped back with hands spread wide.

"Tah Dah!" he exclaimed.  "Soap, lotion, and mouthwash, oh my."

I made him put them back in the plastic bag.  Later, I hid them in the back of my closet.  I was perplexed.

This went on for three months, until the bag was getting pretty full.

Then one morning, I ran out of hand lotion.  20 minutes later my hands were soft as a baby's bottom.  (Thank you large bag of travel-size pilfered toiletries.)

Next, I ran out of hair conditioner.  (Thank you large bag of travel-size pilfered toiletries.)

When we ran out of liquid hand soap last week, I shoved a bunch of minisoap into the container, added water, and told the kids that the luxury of soap from a pump was back.  (Thank you large bag of travel-size pilfered toiletries.)

This morning at 5:00 am, Beau-Hunkly was transferring small bottles of body wash into the empty container.  It gave him great joy.

He goes back to base next weekend so we can restock the plastic bag.  We're running a little low on the products we use most, but we do have a surplus of shower caps and shoe polish kits if anyone is interested.

Adventures in Vinegar

I work with a guy that makes his own cleaning chemicals.  From scratch.  And cheap.  He buys spray bottles wholesale.  He stores great big vats of vinegar in his garage.  He thinks his creations are an art form.

Bob cleans for a living, so he is able to apply his creative output to the stains, spills, odors and splatters of the apartment community I manage.  The hallways and common spaces of Riverside Village are his test kitchen and there is plenty of opportunity.

He reminds me of The Mad Professor when he talks about how much money he is saving the property with his natural cleaning supplies and how good they work, so I thought I would give it a try.

My experiment started with window cleaner.  Cleaning windows hasn't been my thing in over four years, but it seemed like a good place to start.  It's spring, after all, and all the good housewives wash their windows.

I mixed and measured and transferred the liquid into a spray bottle.  Spilling half of it on the floor was not intentional, but my hardwood was glowing by the time I got it all cleaned up.

I headed for the first window, but quickly realized that since paper towels haven't been in the budget for at least 5 weeks, cleaning the windows was going to be difficult.  The non streak formula only works if you wipe the glass clean after application.

As I headed back to my kitchen laboratory, I began to realize how bad vinegar smells.

Son II was making a sandwich.  "It reeks, Mom." He said between mouthfuls.  " I can't eat in here." He took his plate to the living room.

He was right, the kitchen smelled like a pickle factory.

"I will persevere!" I shouted after him.

I started in on the homemade grout cleaner - vinegar, baking soda and a splash of lemon juice.  Bob told me the secret is to let it sit for 15 minutes, so after I applied it to the bathroom floor, I returned to my kitchen.

"Gawd, Mom," Son II told me.  He was back in the kitchen eating peanut butter out of the jar.  With his finger.  "When are you going to stop?  It smells disgusting."  

"I won't stop until it's clean," I tell him.  He smiles from behind the gallon of milk he is chugging.

I mixed up a shower head cleaner compound while trying to breath through my mouth.  Was I getting a headache from vinegar fumes?

I stirred and shook, and then I read the final direction.  "Pour liquid into plastic bag and attach to shower head with a rubber band."

By the time I got that sucker tied up to the shower head, the mixture was all over my shirt and hair.  In my haste to wash the vinegar out of my eye, I stepped in the grout cleaner so my socks were now soaked with vinegar.   Smelled awful, even with a splash of lemon.

I decided it was about time to launder my pickle factory clothes and call it a day.  I remembered Bob telling me that adding vinegar to the washing machine is a natural freshening agent.  Good.  Call that final experiment #4.

Freshly showered and smelling much better, I sat down on the coach next to our beloved dog.  She gave me a big wet sloppy kiss.  From the smell of it, she has been drinking vinegar from some spill I didn't get cleaned up.

The Passive Aggressive Thermostat War

In 2013 we installed a wood burning stove insert into our fireplace.  We felt it was a brilliant way to save some money on heating fuel and create a romantic ambiance in our living room.  The children felt it was a brilliant way to work them like wood-carrying slaves for our own personal warmth.  Poor overworked children.

Somewhere along the wood burning journey, however, perspectives have changed.  

Maybe three men splitting wood creates unnatural thoughts of lunacy, but the male posse of the Fortin household has decided we should never turn on the furnace again, saving millions in home heating oil.  Budget $200/month to $0/month achieved.

My desperate pleas to supplement, not negate, the furnace are met with mockery.  They are all on board the free heat train as I sit stubbornly at the station.

But it is cold some mornings. Like 52 degrees cold. I feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder and they have no sympathy.

"Stop whining, the sun is out."

"What would Dave Ramsey say?"

"Didn't you grow up in Minnesota."

"Budgeting is about needs versus wants."

"If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen."  This is my personal favorite, because it is normally directed to me when I am standing in front of the open oven door warming my hands.

Consider it passive aggressive, but freezing to death in your own house calls for extreme measures. I turn on the furnaces when no one is looking.

Quietly, stealthily, I push the thermostat to heat, jack it up to 75 degrees, and quietly walk away.

I get caught, I get scolded, I get chastised for being a wimp.  But it usually takes at least an hour for someone to notice, so I have won my warmth.  Momentarily.

There are worst things in life than thrifty kids and a husband who chops wood in the dark.  

My two cents:  turn the thermostat down two degrees in March and call it an end of winter adventure.

Revenge of the Prunes

The doctor told him to eat more prunes.

For the sake of annomitity, I will not disclose who got this advice at his physical last year.  I won't even divulge why the advice was given.

But a whole year has gone by and the big container of prunes, purchased with noble intentions, remains disregarded, neglected, and uneaten in the far reaches of the cupboard.

I found them while searching for chocolate chips.

So I chopped up the whole container and added diced prunes to the Sunday afternoon cookie batch.

Most times, cookie day results in multiple visits the the kitchen by multiple members of the family.  They come not to help make the cookies, but to steal batter, lick the mixer, and get first grabs of the finished products.  

The prunes changed everything.

"That's disgusting," Son One mutters as he walks away shaking his head.

Son Two smells my concoction and drops the spoon back into the mixing bowl like the cookies have plague.

Even the dog wants nothing to do with the prune cookies.  She suspiciously watches a prune chunk dropped on the floor, but won't go near.

I am trying to justify to Beau-Hunkly my theory of waste not want not.  He seems to think it is better to waste in this case then Not Want any cookies.

I champion on with my prune cause.  Battle on, under-appreciated former plum.

It works.  3 dozen cookies disappear before they are generously deemed "hardcore."

My two cents:  Dig around in your cupboard for forgotten ingredients and get creative.  It's like finding a quarter on the ground.