Still an idiot...

This post is going to be short because my hands are cramping.

Oh? Why are my hands cramping?

Well, David took the children out to the Berkshires to see cousins and grandparents and I stayed home so that I could undertake any number of completely stupid household projects which have been plaguing my fragile psyche for the last year.

Remember about a year and a half ago I blogged about how I had just painted the upstairs floors white, but that I hadn't sanded the girls rooms first?

Well, that paint job looked terrible. The painted really hadn't grabbed, which meant that it was peeling and scratched and just looked awful, especially compared to the hallway which I did sand and has held up very well.

Today, armed only with a dull putty knife and a small finish sander I scraped and sanded the hell out of that floor. I had thought that I would just be able to sand the paint right off.

I have rarely been so wrong.

Maybe if I had an actual floor sander and not some dinky four inch sander which loses its paper every ten minutes the paint would have come off. Instead, I spent nine hours scraping and sanding and washing and then scraping and sanding again before I was finally able to get the floor prepped for paint and get a coat on it.

My house has never been so squalid ever in the history of my life.

Do not stop by. I will hide under my bed and pretend not to be home until you go away.

Yours in stupidity,

Shiny Red Idiot

Squalor, Mail and Junk Miracles...

I cleaned my house all day long. Every room. Every corner. Every bit of horror.

You know what part of the problem is? I have no closets. After spending a week at my dads house where there is at least one closet in every room and in most rooms, two closets, I cannot but help but feel horribly deprived at my lack of any real closets. For example, I have no place to store four extra boxes of tissues. I have to creatively find places for things and when space is this oddly allocated, disaster is bound to strike.

My other household problem is not exactly a problem, per se, more of a conundrum. My children, Rebecca particularly, do not have a lot of toys. The thing which they do have and which is completely out of hand, is books.

They are everywhere. Rebecca has eight shelves of books. Warrior Kitty, Harry Potter, Series of Unfortunate Events, Nancy Drew, Little House on the Prairie, The Lightning Thief- the list goes on and on. Many of these she has purchased with her own money, others we pick up on the cheap at junk stores and still others are gifts.

Lily's room is the same- endless shelves of books, all read again and again and dearly loved.

It's clear that I need a proper library. All of the books in the house could live in this room. It would have a fireplace and many squashy armchairs. Just think of all of the space it would free up in the kids rooms!

Sadly, this is not to be. I will continue to battle the book clutter until some sad day when my children move out. And then I will cry and wail and beg them to come back.

Would you like some good news after that bit of maudlin self-pity?

I found a place to hang the scale! It was worrying me a bit actually and so I knew I needed to find a useful place for it right away before it became a junk albatross hung round my neck, a shameful reminder of junking gone wrong.

Look! It has an actual function! A junk miracle! Speaking of junk miracles, I also found a use for my turquoise vegetable bin. It is housing art supplies. Take that junk naysayers!

Since I had the camera out I thought I'd also do a little show and tell. About four years ago, maybe even longer, I found a Tracy Porter quilt at Linens n' Things for $16. I loved it even though, strictly speaking it was not in my color scheme. For $16 bucks I picked it up anyway. Then a few weeks later I found a matching sham for $5 and grabbed that too. Then I put them in my attic where they mostly stayed. I'd pull out the quilt for picnics, but mostly I just admired it from afar and lamented that it didn't really work in my room.

Then, I painted my room blue and suddenly I had the perfect room for the quilt. It has two sides, but I prefer the back of it. At the end of the bed is an awesome red floral comforter that came from the junk store.

I have to share the absolute highlight of my day. I got mail! I love mail, but surprise mail in the form of presents from Julie is my favorite kind of mail of all!

Look at what that crazy girl sent me.

Hand made Mad City Chicks Soap and a washcloth! This soap looks amazing and smells even better. I cannot wait to not share it with my children tonight. Thanks babe, you are my favorite Mad Chick for sure!

So now, my house is clean and I secretly had ice cream for dinner. The day is done. All that awaits is my bath, my bed and Vincent D'Onfrio. What more could a housewife ask for? Besides closets of course!

Paint: A Journey into Madness- The Final Chapter

I woke up this morning battered and defeated. I knew what lay before me and I was weary at the thought.

I had to repaint my room.

Here is Robin's Egg Blue Port o John Blue:

The picture does not capture the complete badness, the wrongness, the utter horror of this color on a large scale.

This next picture shows both colors: Port o Potty Blue, with a swatch of Forget Me Not painted over it.

Are you getting a sense of the difference?

This morning I went to the Benjamin Moore store and bought a can of Forget Me Not in the Aura formula. I was praying that this would be a one coat job.

Once home I painted. And painted. And painted. And then I painted some more.

Finally, it was done.

So soft and soothing. You know what this project made me realize?

1. I hate painting.

2. Choosing colors is hard.

Remember when I was said, "In decorating, mistakes are made and it is part of the process."? It's true. Mistakes are made, but decorating blunders are the best kind to make.

They are rarely permanent.

They teach you what you don't like.

They give the internet an opportunity to feel grateful that their bedroom does not glow like a latrine.

Day Two of Paint: A Journey into Madness

8:00am Monday morning:

Wake up. Open Eyes. See the glow of Port o Potty on my walls. Squeeze eyes shut. Open them again.  Realize that I have not come to love Sweet Rhapsody. Curse bitterly.

8:10am Monday morning:

Coffee, breakfast and 157 emails from readers saying, "Told you so!" Contemplate angry responses. Resolve not to alienate readers.

9:00am Monday morning:

Drop Lily of at camp and make my way to Home Depot. Choose samples of colors to try at home. Feel optimistic.

10:30am Monday Morning:

Put swatches of colors on wall. They look like gray, silver, and barf. I am a color failure. Contemplate commiting color hari kari.

11:00am Monday Morning:

Arrive at Benjamin Moore paint store for more swatches and samples. Decide to pick up some red samples because really, what have I got to lose?

11:25am Monday Morning:

Stop at Amy's house where she tries to stage an intervention when I show her my red samples.

Amy: "Do not do this."
Me: "But red could be the answer to all my-"
Amy: "Stop. Do. Not. Paint. Your. Room. Red."
Me: Sniff dejectedly
Amy: "Take a break from the paint for now."
Me: "But!"
Amy: Stern look
Me: "Fine," I lie.

12:30pm Monday afternoon:

Try to calm myself by listening to Waterloo Sunset 300 times. Paint new swatches. Realize that red would not be a Good Idea. Curse Amy silently.

12:45pm Monday afternoon:

Paint a swatch of a Forget Me Not by Benjamin Moore that Amy had leftover from her house and which I dismissed out of hand last week for being too pale. Look at it. Fall in love.

1:00pm Monday afternoon:

Resist going to the paint store for a can  Forget Me Not. Instead watch for any latent Port O Potty tendencies which may lurk in Forget Me Not. Study it carefully. All seems well.

Continue to be suspicious of my new love of Forget Me Not.

Must. Not. Rebound.

1:30pm Monday afternoon:

Stop watching Forget Me Not so that I might focus on the squalor of my house.

2:10pm Monday afternoon:

For about ten minutes Sweet Rhapsody is not horrible. Then the light changes and I cringe anew.

3:00pm Monday afternoon:

Instant message to Amy: "Is Forget Me Not too minty?"

Instant message from Amy: "Shut the #$#% up! It's not minty at all!"

3:10pm Monday afternoon:

Am distracted by googling boil treatments for Amy a friend.

Lose track of time and forget to study Forget Me Not.

7:20pm Monday evening:

Forget Me Not seems lovely still and all of the other colors look like zombie vomit.

7:30pm Monday night:

Ice cream for dinner to be followed by almost certain nightmares of zombies wielding paint brushes.

Paint: a Journey into Madness or I am an Idiot

9:00am Sunday morning:

I paint a swatch of Sweet Rhapsody on my bedroom wall. Too blue. Too bright. Too too.

10:00am Sunday morning:

I visit two hardware stores and a paint store clutching paint chips in search of The One.

10:20am Sunday morning:

I sort through the chips and tape a bunch to the wall. None seem right. I reconsider Sweet Rhapsody.

10:50 Sunday morning:

Amy comes over and we discuss the options. Several lighter colors are discussed, but all would entail going back to the paint store and actually buying more paint. For some reason, this seems like far more work than painting the wrong color on all four walls.

5:00pm Sunday evening:

I begin painting. The first wall, in daylight seems reasonable. I carry on. Second wall is done.

Such a bright and playful color.

8:00pm Sunday night:

I finish up painting just as darkness falls.

I realize that my room is almost the exact shade of a Port-o-John.

9:pm Sunday night:

I begin instant messaging Amy. I compare choosing this color to having an illicit affair and contracting a venereal disease. Such is the panic and shame I am having about this color.

It is now 9:44 pm on Sunday night. This color is...well...I don't really have words to describe it. It's very green in the artificial light. I think it's definitely robin's egg blue, though I may have overestimated my affection for a color which can change so radically from a delightful burst of joy into depressing fair ground port o john over the course of a day.

Tomorrow will bring one of two things:

1. I will learn to love this color.

2. I will return to the paint store.

The only thing I know for sure is that there will be chocolate. It never disappoints.

Obsessed!

People, I could write an entire post about how tired I am. I could tell you about how even my finger nails are tired and that my eyebrows are just exhausted.

But I won't because that would be a very boring post.

Instead, I will tell you about my most current obsession.

Robin's egg blue. It's all I can think about for my bedroom walls.

Here's what they look like now (and have looked liked for at least three years which for me is a record!):



 


I've loved the creamy white of this room. It's been great- really!

But well, I feel like I need to move on and spend some time with other colors.

So much of the furniture in this room is white.

I can't help but imagine the beauty of all of that white against robin's egg blue.

I started doing some paint color research which only further inflamed my need for spreadable latex color.

House of Turquoise,  I love you. You have set my heart aflame. I may never recover.

Then, I went over to Cobi where there is an entire page devoted to shades of turquoise, aqua and blue.

This is Sweet Rhapsody by Behr. I love this color. Just the right combination of blue and green and true love.

If you're looking for me tomorrow I'll be the insane woman with the crabby children wandering the Home Depot color aisle babbling about blue and stuffing paint chips into my purse.

Feel free to pretend we've never met.

In which I am a freak...

Last week I had one of the most pathetic dreams of my life.

I dreamt about a table.

The past few times I've been to the junk store I saw a table. I kept being somewhat drawn to it. It had two pedestal legs and felt very solid. The top was pretty rough though- gouged and scratched. I looked at it and dismissed it- my mind was on finding clothes that fit, not hauling a table home.

Meanwhile, my subconscious had other plans. I think my subconscious was getting tired of the bubbles on the finish of my crappy Ikea dining room table because I had a dream, a dream in which all of my dining room table needs could be answered with this table.

When I woke up that morning I considered dropping everything to go get the table. Appointments be damned, my subconscious wants a table!

I have never felt like such a loser.

I chose to ignore the siren call of the table just to prove that I could. The table would float into my mind from time to time, but I had let it go.

Until Sunday.

On Sunday Lily, Nana and I went to the junk store and there was the table looking sad and needing a home. I inspected it closely. It was really well made, the right size for my dining room and only 24.99. After conferring with Nana I did the only thing a good little junkie could do. I took the legs off of it and brought it home.

Nice lines, huh?

Today I sanded it down and got on a few coats of primer. It needs another light sanding before I paint it white.


It's been a while since I've painted anything. Now I am back to having paint covered hands and arms.

It just feels right.

Two kinds of people...

Today I was up in the attic looking for a basket when I heard the most awful scream. I did not recognize the voice and since I was in the attic, the sound was quite muffled. We live near a park so I thought that maybe someone at the park had gotten hurt. I got back to looking for the basket when I heard it again, closer. I realized that the screaming, the something-is-horribly wrong screaming, was coming from downstairs. In that moment my mommy adrenaline kicked in and I flew down the attic stairs to find Rebecca shrieking in agony. I took one look at her and realized why. Somehow while rummaging through her sewing supplies she had gotten a needle jammed all the way underneath her thumb nail. It went all the way down, almost to the end of her nail.

"Don't touch it" she screamed!

I ignored her and deftly pulled it out and held her close.

It was horrible, hard core, serious pain. I gave her a motrin, put some ice on her thumb, wiped away her tears and granted her computer time.

Reader, the wailing would not stop.

The pain, the agony, the misery were all expressed. She held nothing back.

Several hours later she was still whimpering about her injury. Loudly.

It's funny, because in so many ways Rebecca is just like me. We are so alike in fact that I find our difference in pain tolerance shocking.

When I get sick or have an injury I am all stoicism. I will mention my ailment, perhaps ask for help, but I do not wail. Nor do I carry on. I suffer in silence. Because that's what the nuns taught me to do.

"Offer it up to Jesus." was the instruction of the meanest nun I ever knew.

So I do. Except I don't offer it up to Jesus. I just suffer quietly.

David had no nuns in his life so no one told him to suffer in quiet dignity. He too expresses his injuries with vigor. About his injuries, he has much to say. His injuries are many, his ailments vast, and so I was positively tickled tonight when I realized the genetic source of Rebecca's style of pain management.

She gets it from her daddy and for some reason, probably because I love her daddy so much, I enjoyed noticing their similarity to each other.

They are comrades in complaint, minstrels of misery and they are mine.

It seems unlikely that either will change. Maybe I could hire a nun to come and work them over.

It's probably easier just to offer motrin and some ice cream.

And I always have my ear plugs...

My craziest painting job ever.

One of the many problems that I had with our house when we first moved in about 7 years ago was the gigantic driveway. The driveway is long and narrow in front of the house, goes up along the side and then covers about half of the backyard leading up to David's office. In some ways having a huge black top is great. The kids have a big area for riding toys, hop-scotch and a wading pool. The down side is that is was unbearably ugly. The budget to rip up the driveway and replace it with grass was non-existent so I did what I do in these situations.

I stew.

I stewed, I obsessed and then I stewed some more.

Then I had an idea. An insane idea. An idea that only someone completely nuts would consider.

Readers, I painted fake bricks on my driveway.

It took two gallons of brick colored outdoor paint, 16 hours and knee pads. I am idiot so I did it in July in the middle of a heat wave. 500 square feet of crazy.

The funniest part is that most people think that it's real brick. Their brain says, "brick" and they never stop to notice that it's just paint.

Here are the pictures.









Now you know. Try not to judge me too harshly.