Yesterday my mission was to paint, specifically walls. More specifically, all of the walls that exist in our bedroom and our spare bedroom.
Here’s what happened: When we first moved into this house in February, I don’t think the walls had been painted in at least thirty years. They were scuffed, dirty and pockmarked with holes from all of the other people who had inhabited these rooms before us.
The living room was in the worst condition and is also the first room you see when you enter the house, so we tackled that one right away. I desperately wanted to paint the rest of the house but I wasn’t sure if we would be here long enough to warrant investing that time and effort and money.
And then BOOM, “We’re probably going to be here another year at least” says Adam. Obviously, as evidenced by my passive aggressive list, I wasn’t very happy to be receiving this information.
But after a few hours that unhappy started to turn into really, really happy.
I FINALLY HAVE A PLAN! A timeline! For the past 4 years I have been living month to month, never sure if we were going to be in this town to see the next season change.
The number of times I’ve avoided planning something or getting involved in something or starting something because I wasn’t sure if I’d be here is off the charts.
This might not seem rational, but it’s how I operate. I don’t like uncertainty. And so, even though I would certainly choose to live somewhere else if it were left up to me, at least now I KNOW that we are settled, for at least a year. With this knowledge decisions can be made, I can PLAN, I feel somewhat settled and I feel happier than I have in a long time.
And so I painted! I decided that Sunday I would paint both of those rooms to completion if it killed me (and it nearly did). It was exhausting, Adam thought I was crazy, but I had been staring at those busted beige walls for six months and hating them every time I did. It was time.
SO! A little before and after for ya:
I’m really in love with the idea of grey as a neutral, so I chose Chinchilla by Martha Stewart. It’s a really soft grey that morphs into shades of lilac and blue depending on the light. I absolutely adore it and really, anything is better than band-aid beige.
Incidentally, and hahahahaha TOTALLY unrelated to my weekend activities, here is a list of helpful tips about what to do if you accidentally spill half of a can of grey paint on your carpet after ignoring your husbands suggestion to use a dropcloth (hypothetically):
1. Panic. This is a necessary step, it will give you the rush of adrenaline needed to complete the next seventeen tasks in record speed. PANIC I tell you!
2. Thank goddess that your husband is distracted in another room by pizza and back-to-back episodes of ‘How I met Your Mother’.
3. Run to your laundry room and grab the entire stack of dog towels, run back. But make sure you run quietly so you don’t arouse your husband’s suspicion - he knows you never run. Ever.
4. Use one entire towel to sop of the top layer of wet paint.
5. Mutter “OhshitohshitohshitohshitohSHIT!” several times under your breath as you see the magnitude of your mistake.
6. Use another entire towel to frantically rub at the stain, now (fittingly) the size of a paint can, on your cream coloured carpet.
7. Get a few cups of hot water. Pour onto the affected site and rub frantically some more.
8. Use another towel to blot.
9. Repeat several times until you run out of towels and have to go scavenge more (QUIETLY) from the dirty laundry.
10. Rummage through your cleaning supplies until you find a half-empty can of Spot Shot. Douse the entire area in the thick salvation of chemical foam.
12. More hot water.
13. More blotting.
14. MORE PANIC! Reply “Just moving some furniture!” in a bright, steady voice when your husband asks why you’re breathing so heavily.
15. More Spot Shot.
16. More blotting.
(At this point (hypothetically) the spot should have disappeared enough to bring your blood pressure somewhere near the normal range.)
17. Casually drape a tea towel (the only remaining item of clean, absorbent cloth remaining in your house) across the damp spot.
18. Never, EVER admit to this. EVER. Even if your husband reads the list on your blog and asks you about it. HAHAHAHAH I thought you didn’t read my blog Adam? Now YOU’RE busted too! OH MY GOD THIS IS ALL HYPOTHETICAL! Hahahaha oh man do I tell tall tales! Where do I GET these crazy ideas? Hahahaha (PANIC).
So yeah, unevenful weekend! Nothing major to report! No reasons for spouses to gloat or say “I told you so” or anything. Just thought I’d make that clear.