It’s Friday. I’ve been out of the blogging loop for so long (yes, two weeks is really long in blog time) that I don’t know where to begin. I do know that a contractor just left my house after installing a new chimney and wood stove. I can’t wait to get burning and make my house feel like a summer day. I may even get crazy and take my crocheted gloves off tonight.
I’ve been thinking lately, and I’ve come to the conclusion that my love language is paint. Yes, I said P-A-I-N-T. While some girls get flowers and jewels, my husband brings me home rollers and brushes. The problem is that I kinda get excited when I hold that new, never before latex-laden brush
I’m not certain, but I think I may have a problem.
I’m stuck in a world of home-improvement and I can’t get out!
We finally tackled our bedroom closet. It’s a great space – I can actually walk into it, but we never used it. For two years the closet sat empty while our office sat filled with clothes and overflow of everything.
We’re insane I tell you!
First we thought we’d turn that closet into a bathroom, but then my husband started “fixing” the plumbing and we knew we should remain content with one toilet. He’s definitely an electrician and water doesn’t spark. Know what I mean?
As soon as we abandoned the master bath idea, I briefly decided to make the closet into a writing room full of inspiration and all things pretty (translate Target). However, I still had no-place to put my clothes. Ultimately we went with common sense and kept the closet a closet.
It’s the worst paint job I’ve done to date, but I got a wretched migraine about 1/4 of the way through. I’m just glad it got finished, because as soon as I spilled all the leftover paint on top of my daughter’s new sweatshirt, I knew it was time to stop painting and go to bed.
Someone recently cleaned out their stash of dress shirts and gave my husband a whole box full. Now he has more clothes than I do and that makes me feel like a female failure. Thankfully I still have more shoes.
I can’t believe I just showed you the inside of my closet. Sorry.
I was going to save these pictures of my living room for another day – a day when FringeMan finished hiding all the two-hundred stray wires that decorate one-third of the room, but I feel like I must redeem myself after showing you my closet.
These past few months, it rained so hard, I thought I should trade my paintbrush for a hammer and begin building an ark. My mudroom flooded, whole towns were submerged, and the furniture store took on water. Then they had a sale. As in every single item in the store got discounted to cost or below.
I thanked God for the flood waters and bought a new couch. And a loveseat. And a table.
My neighbor is shocked I bought furniture in earth tones. I was just tired of everything always look like a
Dr. Suess book mess even when it was clean. We had way too much visual stimulation. I also had old gold chairs with disintegrating cushions. I threw those out in early spring when gold dust began blowing through the house and covering every surface. By the time my anniversary came, we were down to the futon and folding chairs.
My painted floors are pretty, but they aren’t holding up. I’ve even forbidden shoes in the living room, but they still continue to get chipped. I’m not giving up my slippers too, so I am currently laying a new floor. Myself. They’re only vinyl tiles in a modeled brown (I think they call it stained concrete or something). I should be finished next year.
Since my daughter declared Friday night ‘Girl’s Night’, you’ll find me curled in a corner of the couch watching Jayne Eyre with FringeKid. FringeBoy has a party and FringeMan will probably work.
Before I finish this post, I thought I’d start a new list. You add to it. Okay?
You know you’re getting old when…
your kids get invited to parties and you don’t.