According to talk show segments everywhere, our bedroom is supposed to be a "sanctuary." A "getaway." An "escape." Well, that pretty much described every other room in our house except our bedroom. This is what I'm talking about...
Guess which side of the room is whose. Granted, it could've been much worse, and 10 minutes before I straightened it up to take pictures, it was. But the clutter, piles, and disorganization, not to mention the mosh tosh of mismatched furniture didn't feel like a sanctuary to me...maybe more of an asylum.
So I did what women with zero design talent do. I turned to Pinterest. And it didn't take long to find a bedroom that looked like actual grown-ups lived there and I thought that'd be pretty cool.
So it was off to choose furniture and match the paint color, which turned out to be called Ground Nutmeg and that felt very grown-up when I proudly handed the sample cards to the paint desk guy..."As you can see, we opted for the ground nutmeg motif with Chantilly lace trim." I sounded more mature already.
Well, once you have the furniture and paint, it makes no difference that it's 8 days before Christmas and your house is in full on holiday upheaval. You start rippin' sh*t up and by 7pm on Friday evening, we were elbow deep and fully committed, like it or not.
And Ron decided he did not.
I was in charge of painting the white crown molding trim...sorry, Chantilly lace...and by crown molding trim, I mean the old brown chair rail we removed and raised 3 feet. Voila. Crown molding trim. Hey, part of maturity is deciding we ain't goin' into debt over this crap. So I was lathering Chantilly lace over top of the original stained chair rail trying to decide the line between tastefully-distressed and got-tired-of-putting-coats-of-white-paint-over-brown-stain, when I glanced back to see how Ron was doing with the ground nutmeg and found him sitting on our bed trying to get a treat out of a dog kong. This picture was taken at the 8 minute mark. It went on for 3 more minutes after that.
But he got the treat out, so check that off his bucket list.
He finally started painting and announced, "It looks like poop."
No it doesn't. You just need to put it on thicker.
Off to Walmart he went to buy a paint sprayer, accidentally held it backward, and painted his chest. He looked down at himself and said, "It still looks like poop."
No it doesn't, because Pinterest wouldn't do that to me. Now put it on the walls and stop screwin' around.
By the end of the weekend, our walls were done, most of our furniture was put together, and we were down to the bed. But when the box springs wouldn't fit into the frames, he admitted that he actually bought 2 single frames with the idea to design his own super tall mega bed. Soooo...2 single bed frames and countless stacks of boards and screws later, our bed is almost as tall as our bedside lamps, my feet can almost reach the top of my hutch, and the dogs are forever banished to the floor because they can't jump that high. Hell, I can barely climb up there. And thankfully we removed our ceiling fan last summer or decapitation during sex would become a probable threat.
But the bedroom is done. Maybe not exactly Pinterest worthy, but it certainly meets my amateur standards and I'm quite happy with our little getaway.
I don't even care that I thought Summer's tail was covered in dried diarrhea before realizing she'd rubbed up against the wet paint on our walls.
I mean, so what if our sanctuary is done in shades of poop and white...
if Pinterest says it's on-trend, IT'S ON-TREND, DAMMIT.
if Pinterest says it's on-trend, IT'S ON-TREND, DAMMIT.
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