By Heather O.
That’s the only explanation I can think of, really. Because instead of laughing at the fact that my child’s room looks like some sort of Baskin Robbin’s experiment gone bad, it made me burst into tears.
I’m not great at picking out paint. I try, really I do, and every time I do it, I stand in front of those beautiful rows of enticing colors, I get delusions of grandeur. Of COURSE I can pick out colors that will look pretty! Of COURSE I can make my house look like a picture perfect magazine. Home Depot says I can! They even say they will help! Never mind that the last time I tried to pick colors for my living room I ended up painting the whole thing three times by myself. Never mind that the third time found me in tears then, too, looking at the swatches spread out on my couch, praying, yes PRAYING to know which color would be best. (Desperate times and lots of paint fumes–bad combination, ladies). Never mind that we left about a thousand half used gallons of paint in the storage room of our old house because I’m such a complete dolt about these things. How can anybody resist the siren call of all those colors, and think anything but “Ah, I’m the master!”
Side note: Apparently, however, God is in interior decorator, because I ACTUALLY GOT AN ANSWER TO MY PRAYER and picked a color that I ended up loving. Isn’t the admonition “pray over your paint” in the D&C somewhere?
Anyway, we are trying to spruce up our white house, which was freshly painted all white right before we moved in. Freshly painted white looks good for, you know, about thirty seconds before your 5 year old decides to run through the dirt barefoot, enter the house unnoticed, and then repel down the side of the stairwell, leaving dirty footprints on the side of the wall. Incidentally, it took me forever to figure out how on earth he got those footprints that high on the wall, until I saw him repeat his stunt and his entire life flashed before my eyes as he flung himself into space with nothing but a flimsy stair rail and a little rope to keep him on this earth. Good thing he had a nice loud Tarzan yell to add to the drama of the moment.
Those footprints are still faintly there, by the way. Nothing says, “Ha, yeah right, I DARE you to try to clean me” like mud on a white wall painted with flat paint.
So we picked some colors, we taped the room, we painted away. We picked some different colors, touched up the room, and painted again. We decided to sleep on it, and when I woke up the next morning to a see what it looked like in the sunlight, I literally burst into tears as J said, “It looks just like my favorite ice-cream cone!”
So, we’re in need of a few decorating/painting tips, as I am apparently incapable of choosing colors for a child’s room without making it look like something you would buy from the ice-cream man. Of course, I guess another option is to just open up our own Baskin Robbins and call it good. Less work in the end, probably.
I’m off to buy more paint.
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