The Incredible Painter

You know how sometimes when you are in the midst of an event you instantly realize it will become a family moment in years to come? Well, such an occurrence happened to me about an hour ago. For months I have been painting every room of our downstairs. I have become quite the good painter, the tired painter, the I-never-want-to pick-up-another-brush-as-long-as-I-live painter, and today my oldest son described me as The Incredible Hulk painter. I got a little mad. What’s wrong with that? We all have to blow off steam, right?

I suppose I did more resemble a tanker of explosives hit by a grenade than The Little Engine that Could. But it really was the last straw. Room after room, sore knees and arms, blisters even, and finally I have come to the end of my summer painting stint. I had one long wall to go in the dining room. I had cut in already. (For you amateurs, that’s the brushwork around the ceiling, windows, etc.) The easy part was all that remained. But I was REALLY tired. It’s been two days of non-stop, except for sleeping, painting. Last night I Saran-wrapped my brush, gave kisses and was out. This morning I awoke, unwrapped the brush and took off. So at that moment in time I wanted to be The Little Engine that Could but I was The Little Engine that Couldn’t.

I took a break. I wrote. I got my mind off all things paint. An hour later I returned to the easy last wall. One roll of the roller and I go postal! (That’s probably not politically correct to say but you can all picture me, I bet.) I start yelling. I can’t believe it has happened. “What? What’s wrong?” Three of the males of the house were home at the time. What would be worse than what was happening would be to have any of them attempt to appease me. I do believe I screamed that everyone had better stay away from me. They did. All but one – the bravest of the bunch.

You’re probably wondering what happened. When I left my plastic paint tray for that hour of restful writing the enemy called Air dried the thin layer of paint on the plastic roller pan just enough so that when I began rolling the wall teeny little flecks of hardened paint colored my wall. This had occurred one other time when I was painting my first room here and it drove me nuts. I couldn’t find the source of the never-ending flecks. I blamed the paint, the roller. It took a long time to decipher the culprit.

I knew I had to act fast. I poured the uncontaminated paint back into the paint can and washed the plastic tray. About this time in my tirade my oldest asked if he could wipe all the flecks away. Yes, please. Although, perhaps I didn’t sound so sweet. Next he re-rolled the part I’d done but more flecks came to the party. Of course they did. The incipient air-made creatures! Already they inhabited the roller. I wiped the roller with napkins, poured paint into my freshly washed pan, and finished the wall. I now have a beautiful dining room although a bit of the love-hate-love relationship between me and the dining room exists at the present moment. I need some rest to see it in all its glory.

Afterward my son said, “Do you know you were shaking? Holding the roller up in the air and shaking?” I wouldn’t be surprised. It was then that he likened me to The Incredible Hulk going from mild-mannered me (Oh, wait, that’s Clark Kent, but same principle) to lunatic in the span of a few seconds. But the beast has now quieted, we made a memory and now I have a funny new nickname. He called me The Incredible Painter, right? That's how I remember it.

Have a great weekend, my readers. Stay away from paint. I know I will.

~ Maureen

Serendipity

For the past decade summer holiday weekends have come and gone. My husband and I sit at home at the end of them and wonder where the days went. This Labor Day weekend was different. Friday we went out with our boys and had a lot of fun. Saturday we sweltered in 95 degree humidity at a pig roast and had a ball. We ate, we visited, we watched our boys play in a cornhole tournament. Sunday brought a family picnic where I made a special point to talk to every single person. I mean - what's the point of having a family picnic if you don't talk to your family?

Yesterday my husband and I braved the dark skies to go to the county fair. We basically went there for lunch. Started out with a funnelcake, followed by a corndog, chocolate covered banana, washed it down with a root beer float. Next added a veggie to the gastric delight in the form of a buttered corn ear. Yum! Slushed that with a lemon shake. And then we went home. It cost a fortune but it's once a year.

For the first time in forever I actually hosted a little picnic after I went out somewhere in the day. That never happens because I am always a crazy person running around getting the house and food ready. I would never entertain the thought of leaving my house to have some fun. However, with all the lovely home improvements we have made to our home in the last few months I have gained much more confidence and feel much better in my home. It's a wonderful feeling.

Two hours before company arrived I whipped up a batch of chocolate chip cookies. That would never have occurred in past years. The day was leisurely and when company arrived we all had a good time eating and visiting.

My dad used to call it serendipity. You just don't know what will happen unless you try. So I tried and I succeeded in enjoying a very fun long weekend. Now it's back to reality and painting my dining room. Ugh! This morning I looked at every item in the room and asked myself, "Now where can you go instead of being in the dining room?" And then I lugged them all wherever. The dining room is the last major room which needs painted. Back to the grind but with happy memories behind me.

~ Maureen

God, What Do You Want of Me This Day?

The past two days have been quite peaceful and one reason exists for this lovely outcome: I started writing again. It may sound silly but throughout this remodeling project which began in May my primary focus had shifted. I no longer wrote. My excuses were many. No place to write free of drywall dust and noise. I could not gather my thoughts. I had no words in my head. Well, that last one turned out to be a lie because since I told myself that I would write I have miraculously pulled words from my brain each day. And it feels good. Writing is now my primary purpose. Every time I try to go away from it, consciously or not, God gently nudges me back. And thank You, God for that!

I give credit where credit is due. Without the little pushes from God where would we all be? Left to our own devices I shudder to think what our familes' lives would be like. We kicked God out of schools - can't pray - separation of church and state, don't you know - and look what's happened to our schools. If God is not welcome why should He stay? Don't get me started on all the ways our great country's so-called leaders have shoved God aside. If we feel unwelcome somewhere do we stick around? If we are made to feel like the outsider we find somewhere else that welcomes us.

So it is with God. He gives everyone plenty of time and resources to look his way. He's waved red flags right in front of my face many a time. Sometimes I listened; sometimes I didn't. And whenever I didn't listen I suffered in some way. We all do. The smarter ones realize it and do something about it.

I wish you the peace and quiet to hear God's voice today. Ask Him what He wants of you this one day. It's going to be something that you can handle. I promise. Give it try. It's as easy as "God, what do you want of me this day?"

~ Maureen

Smell-o-vision

Hello Everyone - that is, if anyone is still checking my blog! It has been over a year since I have written. Many reasons. None of them really all that great. But here I am again. In cyberspace with you. My site is in need of an overhaul. I know that. The other blogs associated with this site are hopelessly out-of-date. Don't bother clicking over there unless you're in the mood for retro fun.

I have had one of those "Why did this have to happen to me?" moments and wanted to share.

First of all, me and mine have been living through a complete remodeling of our first floor. And we are doing the work ourselves. So far we have demolished our kitchen and bathroom and put up new drywall. We have only one bathroom. Truth in disclosure compels me to write that someone else did do the drywall. However we are all so sick of living in an unfinished house we can hardly stand it.

About three weeks ago we saw light at the end of the tunnel and are now on the downside. New kitchen, new paint, new windows, new carpet. Which brings me to this afternoon. I have been a bit of a slug lately. I am tired of painting. The painting belongs to me exclusively. Why? Because I don't trust any of my men to do it as neatly as I do it. Not conceited - fact! So this afternoon I tell myself I must paint. Another day cannot go by without my painting something.

I get the supplies and settle in the bathroom. And I do mean settle - all more-than-120-pounds-of-me (Writer's license, don't you know!) I choose to paint the woodwork on the floor all around the toilet. It's the most difficult and I am going to tackle it. So down I go onto the floor. Sometimes I paint with my left hand because that's the hand that can reach whatever spot needs slathered with paint.

And all the time I am doing this I smell pee. Why can't the grown men in the house have better aim? I mean really! This is a brand new bathroom. Let's step up - literally and figuratively. I continue in my contorted fashion until my paintbrush finds what I will call a short curly hair. I wanted to puke. On I went careful to paint as neatly as I could. The linear feet of painting was less than 11 feet but it took me at least an hour.

I struggle up and go into the kitchen to check my dinner. It's all burned up, billowing smoke inaugurating my new kitchen. How freaking special! I have not been cooking very long in my new kitchen and never once have I remembered that I now possess a range hood with an exhaust fan. I think I'm going to make a sign. Maybe that will register in my brain. "You have fan, Moron. Use it!" So I turn on the fan and open the windows. And I look at the 12 burned up brats that really are a favorite of ours accompanied with sauerkraut that's been simmered in the pan drippings. No pan drippings here. Chunks of carbon.

I simply give up. There may be a Plan B but I'm not instigating it. Pizza Hut $10 carryout sounds good to me. Hubby can do that. I come in here to complain to my friend Julie via e-mail. Everyone should have a Julie friend. I don't know what I would do without mine. As I write to her I think of you, and want to share my ridiculous tale with you. I nearly forgot my password it has been so long since I've written. I finally remembered it and was good to go. The fingers are typing, the smoke is filtering out of my house. But from where is that strong smell of smoke emanating? Oh, it's me. My clothes and my freshly cut and washed hair all reek of smoke. But at least I don't smell like pee!

~ Maureen