I enjoy throwing parties and making things pretty. As a result, I’ve amassed quite a bit of party-ware–from cake stands to bunting to table runners–meaning our garage and basement are packed with “stuff.” I try to get as much use out of this “stuff” as possible, meaning it’s free range to our friends when they need it. Recently (as we rummaged through boxes of junk to find treasures for a baby shower), a dear friend commented, “Your garage is like a Pinterest parade.” Compliment accepted. :)
A few weeks later, another friend asked if I happened to have a wooden high chair in my Mary-Poppins-esque collection. My response? Of COURSE I have a wooden high chair. (Who did she think she was asking? ;) ) I had recently acquired it from Goodwill for Emma Vance’s first birthday party (to make for cute smash cake pictures) and had plans to paint it sometime in June. The inquiring friend asked to borrow it for her daughter’s birthday a few weeks before E.V.’s party, which made me happy to get more use out of it. The planned paint color matched her theme as well, and the earlier party date meant it’d motivate me to get the project done.
HOWEVER, several weeks later, as June has begun to sneak up on me, there was the high chair, sitting all sad and still an ugly shade of 70s-brown in my garage. It was mocking me, and time was running out. Since today was so beautiful, I figured I’d stick E.V. in her baby pool and take advantage of the sunny skies to get the dang thing painted. I clearly overestimated my multi-tasking skills.
The 45-minute debacle started off well, with the dogs running around like wild animals and with E.V. happily occupied in the pool. I got a half of the chair painted (griping the whole way about how I should’ve listened to the many people who told me to spray paint the spindly chair instead of brushing the paint on) and was feeling good. The legs were left, so I plopped down with my brush and paint on the ground in between the chair and the pool. Not smart. It took about three seconds for our curious little lady to notice me, crawl over and hurl herself hands-first OUT of the pool and INTO the paint can–and then subsequently proceed to mush her paint-y hands and body all over me as she climbed into my lap. Sigh.
No wait–“defeated sigh” is more like it.
I did the logical thing and threw E.V. back in the pool to rinse off. Despite the unfinished project, I declared that pool time was over. I set her on a towel as I gathered our things to head back inside, but Emma Vance was too excited to sit still. She scrambled off the towel to chase the dogs, managing to crawl directly over the only pinecone in the whole dang yard in the process. Cue tears, scraped knee, hydrogen peroxide, ointment and Band-Aid. It was E.V.’s first real boo boo, and as a tearful baby clung to me, I cursed The Pinterest Parade. (Although the high chair did turn out really cute!)
|(Yes, that’s peach-colored paint on her thigh!)|