I kind of wish I had swept the floor before I sat on it

It took me close to two hours to prime my dining room ceiling.

Dusting/Priming/Painting the ceiling is the most hateful job in the world. I'm not even kidding. I don't know how people do it without turning to alcohol.

Anyway.

See the little black spots? Those are holes. My little pot lights are going to go in there.

It's now 2:50. At this point I'm starting to reconsider my original plan to "quickly prime the dining room after lunch and then carry on about my day." Chances are fairly good that I'll have to pick up  my kids from school at some point, and likely this will still not be done.

Also, we settled on green. Actually, I picked out 48 green choices to ponder, Steven came by, threw out about half of them, told me to just pick something already, since they were all the same colour, waited until I narrowed it down to about four choices and selected one.

And then today I went to the paint store and picked the one I really wanted. Sorry honey.

With any luck this room will be green in the next few days.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

dinnertime/breakfast time woes

Suppertime is such a performance sometimes. Why is it so hard to get kids to eat their supper? Last winter I started cooking all these fun meals out of these healthy living cookbooks. There was pasta, cheese, cooked spinach (I love spinach in foods), stir fries, fun burgers, etc. The kids would see a hint of green and spend the next twenty minutes moaning and choking it down. That's the older two. The younger two wouldn't even pretend to try. Eventually I kind of gave up and went back to the regular five dinners that I remake over and over and over and just made sure to serve them with salads and veggies. Jordan eats. Tennyson whines about not liking noodles, potatoes or vegetables but usually we can bully him into eating his dinner. Who doesn't like any side that goes with beef or chicken? Seriously? Not liking pasta? Or potatoes? Or rice unless it's floating in sweet and sour sauce? Good grief. I'm so glad that their pickiness is so individual to each child. Tha
Read more

today's to-do's

Things to do: dust. As if. It's been on my list for weeks, I mean, days. prepare income tax stuff. Too bad it's all scattered within different piles of papers throughout the house, garage, back lane, trunk of the neighbor's car. sort piles of paper (see previous). cook carrots and sweet potatoes. Puree into a delicious paste to be fed to the baby and sneaked into my family's dinner. make dinner (or "supper", if I don't want to sound all hoity toity ). Add "orange puree" and "white bean puree" to the pizza sauce. Wait to see if husband notices. daydream of the day when Steven's scurvy clears up. pick up the big kids from school (it lets out in 8 minutes. I should probably go now). okay, going . . . . . . okay, back. You'd be pleased to know that although school let out only 8 minutes after I posted that last bullet, I first went down and switched my wash into the dryer and started another load in the washer. I remember, once upo
Read more

two things: one to do with running, the other with my fastly-deteriorating fashion sense

I've started running again. I'm not sure if I ever "officially" stopped, but I only ran twice in August, totalling about nine miles, so I kind of felt like when I restarted in September that I was, well, restarting. This is probably not even blog-worthy. It would probably be better served disappearing into the chasm that is facebook, but I need blog topics, so here it is. I once had a friend (coughcoughangelacough) who said that she didn't run outside because she was afraid that just maybe, she ran "funny," and people would see her. Being an awesome friend, I insisted that surely she didn't. I lied. I have never even seen her run. I have just recently decided that she does run funny. Wanna know why? (as if spell check didn't underline 'wanna') Everyone runs funny. Quite seriously, everyone . I prefer to run outside, because the treadmill sucks my will to live, and a mile or two in I turn into a sighing, eye-rolling teenager, o
Read more