The Adventure of Painting the House

Yesterday, we began painting our 120 year old clapboard house. When I drove up around lunchtime after running the kids to swimming lessons, I was horrified and thrilled to see the work our painter had done. There was very little paint left on each of the boards. The house looked like one in a picture during the Great Depression.

Because the porch was such a mess of water and paint chips, the kids and I ate our lunch inside at the kitchen counter. Facing the kitchen window, it was strangely dark because the outside shutters had been closed to allow the painter to strip the paint behind them. We could hardly hear each other from the noise of the power washer.

When my daughter and I took my son to his room for his nap, the shutters in his room were closed as well. Both the kids thought it was "so cool". It made his room even homier than normal. "Ultimate cozy" is the word we use. We piled on the bottom bunk and read a story. i could barely see to read. Cozy alright, but the kids loved it. I was excited to see something so small could still thrill them. Maybe they aren't completely spoiled yet after all.

When I put the kids to bed last night, I had to close my daughters shutters as well. I left her sitting in her bed, reading a book with her bedside light on enjoying the new effect to her room.

Then I took the recycling to the curb. On the way back inside, I noticed a bubble of paint that would no doubt be scraped soon. I couldn't help myself. I peeled the piece, then another and another until my husband came out to ask if I would be sleeping outside.

Funny how a simple paint job to the old house gave us all a little something different. Well, my husbands thrill was spending a load of money. Something he doesn't enjoy unless it's on a new big t.v. When I emailed him yesterday to tell him the house looked like something from the 1930's, he reminded me that the painting would make us poorer and the economy was in a state close to the Great Depression. Oh, he's such a downer.