You Really Put Your Foot In It Now

I love a freshly painted room, with rearranged or new furniture and decor.  I love the feeling that I just stepped off the set of a reality makeover tv show, and that my old room has transformed into something spectacular.  I also happen to be pretty good at painting.  I can trim a ceiling and baseboards in nothing flat, and painters tape?  Puh-leaze.  That’s for amateurs.   

Years ago, I was taught by a family member who was a painter by trade, that the best way to paint was to buy quality tools from the outset and that would save me time, effort and money in the long run.  Quality, in this case, equates to pricey.  But, I figured, he must know what he’s doing since his business is quite successful, and I gave it a shot.  I bought lambs wool, high nap rollers and the finest paint brushes.  And what happened?  He was right!  

The first room I painted with my new tools spurred me onward and before long, I was painting every single room in our first home.  After that, I became the “go-to” painter and painted a lot of rooms, in my homes and in my family members’ homes.  

In my current house, I have lived for close to 2 years with the previous owner’s gashes,  holes, and damage because I didn’t really have the time to repair the walls myself.  A couple months ago, I finally had the walls repaired so I could paint them myself.  My house was a shambles as I tried to squeeze in work, a social life, and a mini-vacation.   I finally buckled down this week and started in on the project.  I got the first three walls finished, and finally got my house back to a semblance of normal.  Last night I just stood smiling and enjoying the finished product.  I love my new color.  It lightens my house up considerably.  I love the freshness of it all.  And I relish the fact that I now have no giant gaps, holes and damage in my walls anymore.  But, it did not come without some issues.  

On Tuesday, I deftly painted sections of my ceiling trim at a time, perched precariously upon a ladder.  As I climbed down the ladder to move it and repeat the process on the next section, I focused on each step to ensure no chance of me falling…and I stepped right into the pan of paint. 


In the past, I would have been shocked, outraged and generally ticked off, trying to find someone, anyone to blame for my misfortunes.  But the moment I stepped into that cool, velvety liquid, I looked at my painted toes and instantly saw the ridiculousness of the situation.  

And I Laughed Out Loud.  

It felt good!  It’s been so long since I’ve been able to laugh at myself very much, because there hasn’t been much of myself worth laughing about.  But I tell you what…it was as refreshing and uplifting as the new color on my freshly repaired walls.  I coudln’t miss the parallels to my life.   

I have been putting my foot in “it” for so long now, that I was getting used to the darkness and dreariness of “it.”  But seeing the light, joyful color as it dripped between my chubby toes, I thought, “well isn’t that a nice change?!” 

I am determined to laugh at myself more.  Because I hope there is more to laugh at in my soul.  There is only one bad thing about the paint…

It definitely looks better on my walls.

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Divorced. Mom. Friend. Writer. That’s who I am.

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