Transforming My Hall Closet from Gross to Gorgeous

Before and after

My one-year-old rarely naps, so when she does, I get ambitious—and by ambitious, I mean destructive. A few weeks ago, during one of her rare two-hour snoozes, I decided to clean out a hall closet that had only recently registered to me as disgusting, when my sister-in-law opened it looking for the bathroom. That’s when I saw it through an outsider’s eyes: blue-and-white checkered contact paper on the floor, peeling wallpaper, and stacks of miscellaneous baby gear. In other words, kind of gross. 

After I started peeling the blue wallpaper. Notice the lovely contact-paper "flooring," stuck to a piece of plywood.

I really intended to just clean the closet out. But once I got started, I noticed the peeling wallpaper was more like falling-off wallpaper. So I started ripping it off in sheets—and only then did I realize that directly under the wallpaper was plaster. Crumbling plaster. This is part of the adventure of owning an old house: There’s no such thing as a small project. 

I'm kind of horrified I used to store my baby's diapers in here.

I didn’t want to burden my husband with another unexpected project, so I decided I’d have him teach me how to do a skim coat with spackling, hiding the horse-hair plaster. (Funny story: When I started finding tiny hairs in the plaster, I thought a balding man had long-ago been hired as a handyman, until I remembered that horse hair was a very old form of insulation.) But my hubs concluded that the plaster was far too uneven for repair. He kindly offered to take the closet down to the studs and hang drywall, giving me a fresh start—and a place to hang the secondhand baby clothes I’ve started selling online (check me out on the Totspot app: @thepinkflamingo). 

Demolition is under way!

I helped with the demo, which involved pulling down the horizontal wooden slats behind the drywall, and uncovering wads of newspaper from the 1930s. I even found a poetry lesson with handwritten notes—a discovery that reminded me exactly why I love old homes, even when they can be a pain to maintain!

I didn't find money, but I did find a super-old ad for underwear and negligees.

After all the demolition was done, Frank installed a new stud—one of the old ones wasn’t stable—and reframed the ceiling, adding a few inches of extra space and allowing for a light fixture (which involved running new wire from a neighboring fixture in the hallway). Next came the drywall—followed by spackling, sanding, and finally, painting—skills Frank learned from a childhood buddy who happens to be a professional dry-waller. 

More destruction in action!

Originally, I had planned to buy a carpet remnant for the bottom of the closet. But we realized the wood flooring hidden beneath the contact paper was in good shape—and after a quick sanding (Frank used a combination of a 60-grit belt sander, a 60-grit orbital sander, and finished with a 220-grit orbital sander and a little hand sanding), then a coat of stain, it turned out to be gorgeous. 

Isn't that floor stunning? 

We salvaged the original baseboards—although they’re a bit rustic, I liked the idea of preserving some element of the original closet. And lastly, Frank installed three closet rods to give me adequate space for storing my baby clothes. I love the final result—and am now considering “cleaning out” the linen closet down the hall! 

All loaded up with clothing!

Inside My New House: How I Added Style to My Back Staircase

Growing up, my house had two staircases, and my parents loved it: My sister and I could access our bedrooms without having to traipse up the front stairs (and make noise that could be heard in the downstairs master bedroom). So when I saw the back staircase in my new house, I was instantly excited, especially since it leads to the kitchen, giving me a direct route to the fridge when the need for a late-night snack strikes (hey, I'm breastfeeding!). 

One problem: It's a tight squeeze, since my house was built in the early 1900s, and there's no overhead light. These two factors conspire to make the space feel dark and cramped. In other words, these stairs seemed strictly utilitarian. Definitely not a design destination. 

But I loved the idea of having a place for Asa to sit while I cook, once she's a little older. The bottom step fits the bill, so why not make the whole staircase a kid-friendly space? (I feel a little crazy even considering this, since I just recently fell down these very stairs and fractured my sacrum!) 

Turning the stairs into a jungle gym is a stretch. But since Asa's room is right at the top of the back stairs, I decided to number them, so she can count the stairs as she walks to her room. I bought a cheap set of Helvetica cardboard stencils from Michael's, painted the cream-colored risers white, and finally, painted the numbers in gray to match the existing color of the treads. 

To bring light to the dark stairwell, I painted the walls a light blue, the same color I used in my kitchen.

Then I created a space to display the artwork Asa will someday create. I purchased two backless, glass-less frames from Hobby Lobby (they're often on sale for half off), along with burlap-covered canvases that fit the insides of the frames. I used E-6000 glue to secure the canvases inside the frames, spray-painted clipboard clips gold, and used the same E-6000 glue to adhere them to the canvases. The end result: the perfect place to hang a rotating gallery of Asa originals. 

All of this cost me less than $100, and now, my staircase feels like so much more than a pass-through space. 

Inside My New House: The Living Room

My living room.

As soon as I walked into my house, I knew it was the one: The grand staircase, the crystal chandelier in the foyer, and the columns surrounding the living room are the type of elegant details I knew I wouldn’t find in a newer build. Constructed in the early 1900s, the house is a late example of the Second Empire style, complete with the characteristic mansard roof. Perhaps in keeping with the architecture, the previous owner had decorated the interior with heavy antique furniture and thick, dark-colored drapes. I decided to forgo historical accuracy in favor of brighter, lighter decor, built around my trademark blend of new pieces and time-worn antiques.

The living room, as the previous owner had decorated it.

I knew I wanted mint-colored walls, but I didn’t want my living room to look childlike or cartoonish. After buying far too many paint samples, I settled on Breezeway, a Behr color that has all the coolness of mint, without any of the confectionary undertones. 

My first big purchase was the chairs. I’d seen spool chairs in magazines, and fell in love with the intricate shape of the legs. I’m notorious for buying uncomfortable furniture, and didn’t want to make that mistake again. So I splurged on the deep-seated Behnaz Chair from Thomasville. Able to choose a custom fabric and wood finish, I selected a sumptuous velvet—a welcome dose of warmth in a cool room—in almost the exact same color as my walls.

Next, I began the hunt for a rug. A classic Oriental rug would be the obvious choice for an older home, but I wanted something a little more modern. Thus the zebra print. It was meant to be: The rug was sold out everywhere online, but I found the same rug, brand new, on my local Craigslist.

Although the rug is advertised as having gray stripes, they’re actually closer to beige. At first, I was concerned—I tend to go matchy-matchy, making sure every pop of color is exactly the same shade. I decided to override this impulse, selecting the slate-gray curtains (made to look like dupioni silk) I’d originally had in mind. To keep this from looking like a mistake, I chose a blue-gray tufted velvet sofa—the color picks up the mint in the chairs and the gray in the curtains, while the velvet material mirrors the fabric of the chairs.

I bought a bolt of geometric Schumacher fabric on Ebay, and made the throw pillows for the chairs. The fringed gray pillows on the sofa came from Pier One, while the geometric-print pillows are Vera Wang (a Marshall’s find!). 

I already owned the final two big pieces: a 1940s cabinet as my TV stand (a Craigslist purchase from college), and an off-white tufted ottoman I’d purchased at Marshall’s for our previous home.   I added the glass and silver side table for a touch of modernity, then flanked the sofa with two tables in a dark-wood finish similar to the chairs. The white ceramic lamps—a thrift-store find—mimic the curves of the tables, while also bringing a sculptural element to the space. 

For the longest time, the wall above the couch remained blank—I was uninspired, and didn’t want to purchase one of those generic “paintings” from HomeGoods. I wanted something with significance that also made a statement. When I found a booth selling vintage postcards at an area antique store, I knew I’d found my answer—I dug through box after box of postcards, searching for twelve that featured places significant to our life (e.g. Lehigh University, where Frank got his M.B.A.; the park in Allentown where I took wedding photos; a bridge from my hometown). 

One problem: Postcards are tiny, and my wall is huge. I like the simplicity of small pictures with large matting, so I bought square silver frames from Ikea—another modern element—and matted the postcards two to a frame. The entire installation cost me under $100. 

A few meaningful accessories rounded out the room: a coffee-table tray embroidered with the courthouse and city hall just a couple blocks from our house; a silver tea set from Frank’s aunt; a white ceramic horse I bought at a market in Thailand; and a wooden box Frank purchased in Egypt. (I like knick-knacks to have a story, which is why I almost always purchase home decor items when I travel.) 

The final result was exactly what I wanted: a restful space where Asa can play, Frank and I can relax and enjoy a movie, or my friends can gather for a Bible study. That is, a space both beautiful and functional. 

Inside My Apartment: The Bedroom

I'm not afraid of color. In fact, as a general rule, I dislike white walls. However, I wanted my bedroom to feel like a relaxing escape, and white walls, when paired with white bedding, have a soothing, spa-like appeal. I left the paint color untouched, but to break up the monotony (and in homage to my profession), hung pages from a 1954 dictionary on the wall behind my bed. Then, I incorporated cool-colored accents throughout the space: green crystals hanging from the candelabra over my bed, a green coral accent pillow on my bed, turquoise cut glass candle holders, and a green patterned chair.  

My bedroom, annotated. (Click on the images to make them large.)