And the Paint Goes On . . . and On, and On, and On

At the beginning of June, my husband took my daughter to Germany for 2 weeks to celebrate his dad's birthday, so since there was one less adult in the house AND my biggest helper of the kids was gone, I decided it was time to get serious about my painting project. (Once again, I'm NOT the sane person in this group.)

I felt the need to address the wall texture issues first. Part of my initial goal was to hide the bumps and gouges left by the incompetent "professionals" who rebuilt our house after a house fire (no, no, I'm not bitter at all). Even though I originally thought the paint would help do that, I could now see it wouldn't even come close. So I took my 3 boys and walked through the Home Depot paint department and searched for inspiration. I found it in the form of a can of spray texture.  I had no idea that stuff existed!  I went home excited about taping off a top line and bottom line to mark the outer squares and spraying texture on the wall. And I had a bunch of new paint sticks to replace the ones that had broken in sword duty.

Up to this point I had been planning on just painting one wall at a time.  Suddenly I realized I had better put squares across all 3 walls to make sure that I didn't have a square cut in half in some awkward position, and MIRACULOUSLY!!! I didn't. I fudged a little in one corner, and that is it!  But this meant I was going to have to be moving the great big loft beds back and forth to paint around them.

Since my husband was off in Germany, I felt that a phone consultation with one of my sisters would be wise before plunging ahead.  How glad I am to have done so!  I explained my plan to spray texture on the wall (keeping the square cardboard templates in place so that 1) I wouldn't have to put those little squares back up and 2) I would be able to see clearly where the small squares were within the larger square when it came time to paint).  I also thought (hoped) that the difference in texture would be cool.  And maybe even carpet-like.  By this point I was well into the Delusional Stage that we all suffer from when we are in the middle of a project - convinced that everything will turn out to be AMAZING.  Anyway.  My sister advised me to do some outdoors experimentation with both the texture and the paint to make sure that I would like the result.

One blast from the spray can and I realized that there were serious overspray issues and I needed to put up large sheets of paper or garbage bags to protect the rest of the wall.  And I was going to need to move the beds.

Which leads me back to those conversations that seemed trivial back in December.  You see, as my husband was putting the beds together, I said something like "Maybe I should paint before you put the beds up."  And he, knowing full well that I was at the coloring paper stage, just said "Hmmm."  And proceeded to build the beds.  Then, after he had the beds built and we listened to them creak and bump the walls whenever the boys climbed on them, he said "I think I need to bolt the beds to the wall."  And I said, "Not until I paint the border."  And he said "Hmmm."  Which I now realize meant "The discussion is over.  You haven't convinced me."  But at the time I thought it meant, "Bummer.  I really wanted to do that."

So none of you will be surprised that I spent 2 or 3 minutes, w/ my 10yo helping me, pushing w/ all of our might at those beds and they didn't budge.  I looked up between the wall and the beds and saw some blocks of wood wedged in that space, and decided that they were what was keeping the beds from moving.  I sent the 10yo to the garage for a hammer and set to work to pound those stubborn little blocks out of there.  After pounding away for minutes and watching one little square just kind of pivot oddly in place, I sent the 10yo to the garage for anything he could find that resembled a nail punch.  He came back w/ a chisel, which I intially thought was not helpful at all.  But as I pounded away some more and saw that little block of wood appear to give way I thought "AHA!  Finally!  Some women would have given up by now, but not I! I am about to finish this project!"  (See, Delusional Stage.)  And then, half of the wood suddenly split off and revealed: a piece of metal.  Something that looked suspiciously like a bolt, in fact.  It was time to call my husband in Germany.

Here is something I suspect might be odd: After 20 years of dating and marriage, I am still never quite sure when I am going to get easy-going Stefan and when I am going to get you-did-WHAT-Stefan.  When we chatted on Skype, easy-going Stefan was amused by my efforts to date and asked me if I had forgotten what he had said in December.  I said no, but did he hear what I said after he said what he said???  "Hmmmm" was his reply yet again, which this time I think meant "The discussion is over.  I am admitting no wrong-doing."  Or it could have meant "I'm very confused by this conversation and do not wish to admit it."  Or it might have meant "I'm hungry and here in Germany it's supper-time."  Whichever, he gave me permission to unbolt the beds, spray texture on the walls, and basically do whatever I wanted, and gave me some helpful tips about where to find the tools we would need.

So I started unbolting.  Actually, I set the 10yo to that task while I taped away.  For those of you who think I was working the kid pretty hard, trust me, he wanted to be a part of things.  Looking after his younger brothers for me?  Making the occaisional pb&j?  Not so much.  Except for the last bolt, where I had to help and we got the wrench jammed in between the headboard and bed frame - and it sits there still - it was pretty uneventful.  Easy-going Stefan says he can get the wrench out whenever he wants to.   Or maybe he said "Hmmm."  I'm not sure anymore.

After the difficulties I had leveling the inner squares, I decided one big long level piece of tape was unrealistic for me to get up on the wall, so I decided to attempt alternating the sizes of the squares slightly.  (It's going to look so carpet-like!" my inner voice whispered.)  First I went around the room and used a piece of cardboard as my gauge to put a piece of tape the same amount above and below every other square.  Then I went around and estimated the halfway point between each set of squares, and put a piece of tape closer to the inner square template, above and below.  This was trickier, because I had to make sure it went exactly from one mid-point to the other, and that the top line and bottom line were equal.  Which of course they would be if they both went from the actual mid-point to the other actual mid-point, but I was estimating, so it was chancey.  Remember, I had just eyeballed my initial placement of the inner squares, so each of my inner/outer squares were slightly different sizes anyway.  But I had to make sure that they alternated between noticeably bigger and noticeably smaller.  My 10yo helped me tape paper above and below all of this marvelous taping, and I was ready to spray.

Deep breath.  The undo-able part.  I sprayed wall texture.   The fumes were horrible; I liked the look.  At this point, I started letting the boys sleep out on the living room floor and there was more than one night they fell asleep out there before I even realized it was 11pm and told them to go to bed.  I also invented a meal I was proud to call Yellow - corn on the cob and scrambled eggs - because naming it somehow made it more health-conscious, caring mom and less desperate, doesn't have time to cook properly mom - and served it to the boys something like 4 times in 2 weeks.  Clean laundry mingled with dirty laundry all over the house, and I made the kids wear the same clothes for at least 3 days in a row.  Good times.

We peeled off the overspray barriers.  I didn't hate it.  I was still deep in the Delusional Stage.  (It's going to look AMAZING!  And so carpet-like!)  And it is at this point in the project that I looked at my 5 paint cans and said to myself "I will just do a 5 block repeating pattern."  (I have no idea why I even tried to plan this project in the first place.)  I randomly grabbed the dark green color, placed strips of tape vertically from where the outer squares changed sizes, and went around the room, painting every 5th square green.  I liked it.  Weirdly enough, I started at one end w/ dark green and the other end came up: Green!  Amazing!  I didn't want to paint the adjacent color (beige or dark brown) while the green paint was drying, so I did cream next.  I really, REALLY liked it. 

Then I hit a small snag.  When I put strips of tape over the green paint so that I could paint beige next to it, the tape pulled off some of the green color when I removed it.  So I decided that I would have to do the rest of the colors with no side tape.  Just trusting my top-notch painting skills to go along next to the neighboring color without going over it.  I do NOT have top-notch painting skills, people.  But for beige, dark brown and dark blue, I was able (for the most part) to do this.  I also mentally added the step of going back and doing touch-up painting to my growing list of things this project required.

my facebook poll picture - keep the
inside color the same or not?

I peeled off all of the tape, moved the boys back into their bedroom, welcomed my husband and daughter back from Germany, and faced a decision: painting the inner square a different color (I mean, that was the only part of my original plan left, why stick to that?) or paint it all in with the color of the outside square.  I posted a picture on facebook and asked everybody to weigh in.  With the encouragement I received, I went ahead with my original plan.  I spent 2 days trying to figure out the inner color pattern (this looked like me just pacing in the boys' room and muttering to myself), and eventually came up with a repeat of 10 inner blocks.  The outer green squares, for example, alternately have cream and light green insides.  The dark brown alternates between dark blue and light green.  Cream squares contain either dark green or dark blue.  Etc.  I decided I wasn't fond enough of the beige color to use it further, and I did decide to bring in light green and light blue - although I ended up using slightly different shades than the ones already in the room.

Two weeks of me squatting in the boys room with a child's paintbrush in hand, going around and around the room with a different paint color at my feet.  Two weeks of sliding those amazing yet very heavy loft beds back and forth along the wall.  Two weeks of thinking very deep thoughts like "Straight lines, straight lines, straight lines, oops, you'll have to go back over that spot.  Hmmm, that

color's going to need three coats. Straight lines, straight lines . . ." Yes, I decided to do the rest of the project free hand. And even though I ended up having to tape that little kids' paintbrush together w/ electrical tape to finish the job (note to self: buy the kids good quality art supplies in the future) I am so happy to report: IT'S FINISHED!!!  And yes, it looks very carpet-like.  :)

~Stephanie

I debated about getting the boys' beds made up perfectly for this picture, but ultimately decided we keep it real here on
moms-retreat, so why go all Better Homes and Garden now. :)

Swimming Lessons

Ahhhhhh, summer.  Lazing by the pool.  Or wishing you were lazing by a pool.  Except once you are a mom, there is the terror that is instilled in you by little old ladies (and maybe your mother-in-law) coming up to you in grocery stores to say "Never take your eyes off of them near the water, dear.  It only takes a second for them to drown!  My cousin's aunt's best friend's neighbor lost not one BUT TWO of her children because one jumped in to save the other and they both died."  Yes, I have heard this kind of thing from multiple people, even someone I barely know calling me up out of the blue when she heard there was a small pond on our property.  Then there is that article circulating on facebook (and I have kept it going several times myself, YOU'RE WELCOME FRIENDS) called Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning, or some other equally sleep-preventing kind of title.

Anyway, I spent enough nights lying awake sobbing until my hair was soaked while my husband snored next to me as I imagined my kids drowning (see, Sue, you really need to use your imagination more when you lie awake sobbing!) that when my husband said the kids needed swim lessons, I was able to put aside my incredible cheapness and sit down and write out a check to the local pool.  For 3 kids.  Ouch.

Now.  When you sign 3 or more kids up for daily swimming lessons, you get the corner on the market on Crazy.  I did swimming lessons last year, but did I learn??  Nooooooooo.  This year I thought "hey, this is one thing Stefan was very emphatic about last year, and it wasn't that bad, and this time I won't schedule guitar lessons that are 40 minutes away for the time slot that is 30 minutes after swim lessons are over so it will all be ok."  (Yes, I really do talk to myself like that.  Don't judge.  I'm the only person who listens to me.)  Wait, I actually *did* learn that my then-11yo-daughter WILL cry in public when forced to take swim lessons, and that the people at my local pool feel no compunction about staring at her AND AT ME (what's that about?!?! She's the one crying, look at her!  I'm completely normal.) when she does that, so I at least was smart enough (or beaten enough) to not sign her up this year.

All seemed like it was going to go well until about 7pm on the first day of lessons.  That is when I remembered that there were lessons.  Or rather, had been lessons.  At 1030 that morning.

Sigh.

OK, so we regrouped, and we made it to the second day of lessons 5 minutes early.  My sweet, serious, kind-of-a-worrier 10yo can swim just fine, but I knew he would fuss like a toddler if he was slighted, so I signed him up for an advanced class.  He went off happily and can now swim better than I can.  I made the mistake of telling him so, and after his first flush of joy and pride, I could see him start to worry about me.  I might have to listen to a summer of swimming pointers now.

My 4yo is full of bounces, charm, smiles and daring. I was pretty sure swim lessons were going to be a breeze with him. What I wasn't prepared for, however, is that the instructors sometimes take their eyes off of my precious baby boy. Have they not read Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning?????  Yes, I was that mom that stood at the side of the pool prepared to dive in if need be.  For just one day, anyway.  I was gradually persuaded that my little guy would live if I sat down by the realization that, thanks to my husband's DNA, he's quite tall for his age, and as long as he remembers to put his feet down, will probably survive the occaisional moments of inattention from an otherwise very good group of swim instructors.  In fact, my bold little guy went down the huge slide into the deep pool TWICE at the graduation ceremony on the last day.  Yes, he was caught by an instructor, but those instructors let them go under before they catch them!  (Can you tell that my mama-heart is still beating a little fast over that?)  There was also the small issue of the hypothermia that the poor baby suffered from within 15 minutes of entering the water every day.  I mean, he was shivering so badly he couldn't even keep his hands clasped above his head when they had to show their "long arms"!  Driving home every day in 90+ degree heat with the heater blasting in the back seat did nothing to lower my crazy level, I can tell you.

Which leaves my 7yo.  Who looks like a born swimmer.  Really.  He looks like Michael Phelps.  His arms are gi-normous.  His elbows come above his head, for crying out loud.  He's solid muscle.  But therein lies at least part of the problem.  He is indeed SOLID.  And he seems to maybe possibly probably OK definitely lack the ability to do more than one thing at a time.  So last year, he was a full head taller than everybody in his swimming group, and the only one who looked like he was getting towed through the water sitting up when the instructors tried to get him to lie back on the water in preparation for learning the backstroke.  Every now and then the very patient instructors (who also apparently were devoid of a sense of humor since I never once saw them even cracking a smile at my weird child) were able to get my son to put his head back into the water.  And then, I kid you not, his legs would stick straight up into the air.  Even I, as his mother, was laughing.  And also wondering if I could just drop him off somehow so nobody would know I was w/ him.  ;)

OK, so, this year I was prepared.  I was not surprised that he was still in the same lesson group, only now he was with the kids who were infants last year.  (I mean, really, how are moms sending their itty-bitty babies into these dangerous places with limited oxygen under the supervision of strangers!?)  He was now a head, and shoulders, and a bit of torso above his classmates.  But he still possessed the same stubborn determination not to let the instructors drown him i.e. get his head wet that he did last year.  Those little kickboards that other children can hang onto and stay afloat while they kick?  Oh not my kid.  He NEEDED those instructors to keep a hold on him or he was going under.  Like a stone.  I consoled myself I was getting my money's worth in life preservation even if he wasn't learning to swim.

Then, on the second-to-last day, he came home and said in a very resigned voice, "Well, those people kept telling me to blow bubbles and put one side of face in the water and then the other, and I could tell they were just NOT going to be happy until I got my head wet, so I did it."

I admit it.  I laughed out loud.  Right in front of him.  And I was proud of him (and told him so).  A small step compared to my other kids - maybe most kids - but a big one for him.  And on the last day of class, when he actually got stretched out straight in the water horizontally and did about three kicks w/ a kickboard way out in front of him (instead of under him) and didn't go under, well, I went way past proud.  I'm amazed.  And hopeful that this newfound ability will stick w/ him until we go back for Round 2 next week.

So.  It turns out I'm not that crazy after all.  Or maybe I should say not yet.  Because I'm pretty sure they didn't really work on the backstroke this week.

~Stephanie

Ah, the joys of boys!

Ah, the joys of boys... When they reach a certain age later on in elementary school, they begin wearing a new fragrance.  It is called the "swamp smell."

I have found that it doesn't matter if you live on property with a pond or on a property without much nature at all in a congested area.  This smell seems to inhabit boys coming from different families, cultures, and places.  It is also clear that they must be proud of this smell.  

The gasps and sighs when given specific instruction every. single. time these boys head toward the shower is a clear indicator that they actually like the swamp smell.  It is as if even the thought of soap causes them to shudder in fear of that kind of clean smell coming in contact with their body.  It seems that this soap insults them and wounds them deeply.  

(To be fair, the fragrance actually changes slightly when a shower has been taken without the use of soap.  This is called the "wet dog smell."  It might be worse since it is just a plain waste of good water.) 

Neither smell is appealing to the average adult human, but for some strange reason these boys wear these smells proudly.  It's a good thing that as mothers we can love them regardless of their smell.  

~Michelle