My Dad is one of those guys who can fix anything. Anything.
He rebuilds cars, he fixes boat engines, he paints, he remodels, he lays carpet, and I when I was a child, I kid you not, he put an addition on our house by himself. Literally, all by himself. There was no architect, there were no subcontractors. The only help he ever had was for one hour, when a few of friends came over to help him heft the ginormous supporting joist in exchange for a couple of Busch Beers.Other than that, the family room was built el-solo.
It's funny how life patterns itself, because I also have a husband who likes to do things all by himself. Such as hunt, fish, wipe, and sleep when he pisses me off.
They do say you marry your father!
My father was blessed with a daughter who happens to be a whole lot of fun, but also a sh$%-a$$-cluster-$%^& of a mess. Thanks to the Mormon religion, I'm not an alcoholic. And thanks to the pure Grace of God and a Southern friend who likes to pop by unexpectedly, I'm not a hoarder. But I will admit, every time I watch that show, I fell really really bad for those people...like the hoarders are being wronged.
Because they are.
You can hear me desperately pleading with the TV waves. I'm like, "No, please, don't. Please let her keep the vintage jar of beans and the doll with no head. Please. They MEAN SOMETHING TO HER."
I also think my toothbrush has feelings.
Anyhoo, I'm a completely disorganized mess, and as such, I rarely finish a home-repair project beyond 90%. You can see 'em all over my house. Every room has a gem or two. And Jared's probably worse. Even if I do the first 90% of the project completely on my own, he refuses to participate in any portion of the final 10.
If I say, "Jared, I just ripped out this closet, re-sheetrocked, painted, stenciled, and showered it with pixie dust. Can you hang these hooks?" He'll go, "You got us into this mess, now you get us out of this mess. Where's my dog?"
Then I start hating him, and I consciously decide not the hang the hooks, because I want a constant reminder of how much he sucks ever time I try to hang my coat and it slumps to the ground.
(What's that? You need marriage advice? Call me!)
Anyhoo, my parents are rolling into town any minute, and I decided I absolutely had to complete two unfinished painting projects before my father sets eyes on my house and has to give himself a pep-talk about unconditional love. I had to:
1) Paint the ceiling in the mudroom, and
2) Paint the trim in the upstairs hallway.
The mudroom's done. It went fine. Actually, it's not done. There's a little hole in the wall, and it really needs a second coat of paint that it'll never get. See? Done. But the upstairs hallway? Let's just say it is, was, and will be the biggest painting oops of my entire time on this planet. And probably the eternities after.
This is the upstairs hallway. Not too long ago (in honor of Gracie's death if we're being perfectly honest), we put down new floors. Sweet old greyhound, she used to like to take long, giant pees up there just to remind us that she only kind of liked us. So, about forty-five minutes after she died, through my sobs, wails, and hyperventilation, I was like, "What's...sob, sob, cry...the budget...sob, sob, sob...for when I go...heave, heave, cry...floor shopping tomorrow?"
Very sad moment. Still tears me up just a splash.
So, we laid new floors, we replaced the trim, and we painted the walls. Only I was too cheap to buy brand new paint for such a small area, so I mixed some dark beige and some light beige and made just enough medium beige to cover the walls. And by the way, I know. It's a lot of beige.
So I painted the walls, and Jared put up the trim.
And it needed to be painted.
And two months later it still needed to be painted.
And one month later, when by dad was just about to visit, it still needed to be painted.
So I painted it.
But when I painted it, I got just a little bit of white paint on the wall. No biggie, I'd cover it up with my homemade medium beige.
So I did.
Except it wasn't beige. I'm apparently really stupid in dim places, because it was actually white. See?
I'm all out of my homemade beige. Well I wasn't out of homemade beige, but I was getting emotionally attached to the almost empty can, calling it 'Uncle' and stuff, so Jared threw it away. I never knew.
So my homemade color is gone, and I can't really waltz over to the paint store and go, "Whip me up one gallon of hocus-pocus medium beige," while I wiggle my fingers to make the scene look at magical.
I can't very well bring an entire wall and have it colored matched either.
My only alternative is to repaint the ENTIRE HALLWAY. And really, how long do you think that'll take?
I give it a year. I'm sorry Dad.
