That bathroom was asking for it. The walls were the color of dust, the ceiling was peeling, and The Hub hated the shower curtain. It was time to revamp.
And it excited me no end because I love redecorating especially when I do it myself. Strangely, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment when I’m melting in a puddle of sweat while pushing around furniture or installing new shelves. I love breathing new life into old.
But first, a family meeting. The Hub and The Tactless Child wanted to paint the bathroom walls yellow. I wanted shades of blue and green. The One Who Spits wanted all the colors of the rainbow. So obviously, yellow won. It was the perfect opportunity to get some paint mixed to my specifications at the hardware store. I’d always wanted to do that, just never had the reason to until then. I picked a shade called sunburst and got a complimentary color – waterflow – for the window frame and door. I went to sleep that night planning my assault on the bathroom. How exciting is my life?
I started feeling creative energy mid-afternoon. So I gathered paint cans, paintbrushes, roller brushes, and got to work. I momentarily forgot that The Tactless Child and The One Who Spits were minutes away from waking up from their nap. Big mistake.
I was halfway through the first wall when a little voice asked behind me, “What are you doing?” The Tactless Child wanted to help. She picked up a brush and I put her to work on a low ledge. Seconds later, another voice announced, “I want paint, too.” The One Who Spits was up. He got the second brush and started on the wall while standing on the ladder. That was a double treat for him.
Things went smoothly for a few minutes. After doing all the ledges, The Tactless Child decided she had better things to do and left to do them. The One Who Spits kept at his task until the spot he was painting (his short legs limited his reach, you see) was more yellow than yellow. I put him down to wipe off some paint that had dribbled down the tiled part of the wall (good thing I got water-based paint). It was then that I learned never to take my eyes off a child with a paintbrush and some paint. While I was dealing with the tiles, The One Who Spits picked up my roller brush and proceeded to paint the toilet seat cover. He did this very fast and very quietly so that when I turned around he had already started painting the floor. I scrambled for my wits and pulled everything out of reach from The One Who Spits. He had accidentally painted over his toes, too, so I got him to the shower stall and scrubbed away. My focus was on his feet so I didn’t notice that The One Who Spits had dipped his right hand in the can of paint while I was blubbering over the floor. When I looked at his face, I saw Braveheart, only this one was in diapers and had yellow face paint instead of blue.
We didn’t finish the bathroom that day because of a nervous breakdown. Also, we ran out of paint and I haven’t had time to buy more – work stepped up. There is still a faint yellowish hue on the bathroom floor which, I think, will stay forever. So now, we are blessed with one of our bathrooms looking like a star threw up in it. Such is life.