When we moved into our house, we affectionately patted the walls and exclaimed “We love the colours! Everything already matches all our stuff! We’re not going to change a thing!” And we really meant it, too. But then days turned into months, months turned into years, and we discovered that we kind of hated having a red living room, and we felt the builder’s beige in the kitchen was kind of blah, and the baby’s room green that covered the walls in my office did not feel appropriate for someone as creative and vibrant as I occasionally and desperately yearn to be.
So we painted. And lo, it was painful. I discovered that while I very much like having had painted, I do not like to actually paint, as it seems a task that would be far better suited to someone much taller and with much greater stores of patience and intestinal fortitude.
Regardless, we now have three rooms of chromatic awesomeness, due to the saintliness of Mike and the kindness of strangers. My cousins came to help us paint the living room in February, which was generous and wonderful of them, and our living room is now green, in a shade that I’d be lying if I described as incredibly dissimilar to the colour I hated in my office but which better suits the room in which we occasionally host guests and in which the dog spends great periods of time applying her fur directly to our loveseat than it does the room in which I spend all day typing while the dog spends great periods of time applying her fur directly to the carpet.
In May, we painted my office, and by that I mean that Mike painted it while I sat on the floor and whined and occasionally took a disinterested swipe at the wall with my roller. The end result is an office with walls the colour of the ocean on the days when you look at the ocean and say wow, I can’t believe the water here is really THAT COLOUR.
Yesterday we painted the kitchen, which frankly is a great relief, because when we were painting the living room we purchased a small tester can of the yellow we thought would look nice in the kitchen and proceeded to paint big swaths of yellow in a few random spots, just to test things out, since it wouldn’t be that long until we really actually truly got down to business in there, for serious this time, this weekend we really mean it. (Total amount of time elapsed between first patches of yellow appearing on our walls and the completion of the project: FIVE AND A HALF MONTHS.) Mike did most (all) of the prep work and most (all) of the priming while I did all (most) of the lemonade fetching and dog wrangling. Then Pam – who regularly makes the outrageous claim that she painting brings her great joy and satisfaction – came over to help with the last coat, in spite of the fact that Mike had taped the edges and in doing so seriously harshed Pam’s freehand painting accuracy mellow. At some point I stepped in a puddle of paint on the drop sheet and I fear my big toe will permanently be a lovely buttery shade of yellow, but I can safely say (since I did very little of the actual work) that it was well worth it.
While she was perched on a chair in the kitchen, Pam claimed she could see eleven different kinds of cereal piled in the living room along with the rest of the contents of our kitchen. The sad truth is that I found three more kinds after she left, bringing the total to fourteen different boxes. The bad news is that a lot of them are too stale to eat (I’m only one woman here and I can only eat so much cereal) but the good news is that next week we are heading to the land of plenty (i.e. the United States) and I can stock up on things like Yogurt Burst Cheerios and the many varieties of Chex we can’t get in Canada for reasons I can’t understand.
See, we were planning to go get our yearly fix of solitude and mosquito bites in Algonquin next week, and now somehow we are heading to NYC instead. I’ll post when I get back if the four of us don’t kill each other on the road (I googled “road trip games for adults” and the best suggestion I could find was a rousing game of “guess where my hand is” which leads me to believe that people expect adults to be able to entertain themselves while in the car for 10 hours, an expectation I fear I am going to be unable to meet) or if I don’t get lost on the subway and have to find somewhere to live in Brooklyn … which frankly would be a serious letdown since we just got our house the way we like it, it matches all our stuff, and we wouldn’t change a thing! Seriously.