It’s been at least 8 years since I have painted in my living room and kitchen. It’s been even longer since I painted the ceilings in the upstairs. You forget a lot during that time period…like how hard it was to do the painting myself and how much the aging process can affect you..strength and ability-wise.
Nevertheless, it had to be done. I went to the store and purchased the paint and I didn’t let it bother me that those cans were a lot heavier than I remembered. I bought paint brushes and some roller pads and determined to do the job.
Painting the ceiling was definitely the worst. I don’t reach up over my head well; I don’t climb ladders either, anymore, so I had to rely on a roller attached to my broom handle. This allowed me to paint from the floor, but it did make control of the flow difficult. I would roll and roll and roll to make sure I had completely covered an area and then, because of white on white in questionable lighting, I would discover that I had missed spots. When I got done or at least I was finished, I took the paint pan out onto the fancy front steps my husband had built, tripped and slopped paint all over and you know what? That paint covered the new steps perfectly…and it wasn’t inclined to come off.
The living room and hallway were next. I took down all pictures and filled all nail holes. Then I did the edges. I hate edging more than anything…but I do know of at least one person who loves to edge because, they “love the challenge of it.” I say, if that is what challenges you, perhaps you should go out and trim the grass with a tweezers!
Once I got going with the roller, the painting went really fast. There was that unfortunate moment when I was bending over to get the bottom of one side of the hallway and got the bottom of my posterior with the wet paint on the other side! I also bent over too far and lost control of the roller as I stood up. My living room floor looked like it had the yellow measles! After crawling around for ten minutes frantically wiping up the spots, I proceeded to the last spot, taking the last bit of paint in the can. Celebration!
When I went to clean the tools, I tried to remove the paint cover from the roller and it would not come off. I tried to pull it off with a plastic bag over it. It wouldn’t budge. I gave a mighty pull, the bag slipped, and I ran my hand all down the paint cover, squeezing out a lot more paint, which poured over my hand, up my arm and into my sleeve. I looked like I had yellow fever on my right side for a week!
I gave up on the kitchen for now, so it’s just sitting there, prepared for painting but not done. My grandsons were visiting at my house and looked at the white, putty spots and the edging tape everywhere.
“Grandma was doing some painting,” I said, as they examined the kitchen solemnly.
“I think you should try again,” said the six-year-old seriously. “You missed a few spots.”
“Yeah, Grandma, try again,” echoed the four-year-old.
Darn kids. What do they know? I like the spotty look in the kitchen. I may keep it that way!