We're Painting Again: Part 2

Catch up with Part 1 here.

Within a week, we finished painting the built-in shelves and cabinets in my music studio. I'm very pleased with the way it turned out. We are not completely done with the project yet as we have to paint the shelves and doors, but that can and will be done outside of the house.

At the end of part 1, we left off at one coat of primer. We made the decision to put on two coats of primer and two coats of paint because this shelf was going to be used almost daily.

We had a little helper come in for a few minutes to assist us 😊

Still looking a little grainy and uneven after the second coat of primer. That's ok. Here's where good paint comes in and works its magic.

Already looking so much smoother after the first coat of paint. It was also way faster to put on. I was able to paint a coat in an hour by myself. 

This is the final look after the second coat of paint (and before I cleaned up...) 

I love the way this shelf turned out. It brightens the entire room and I'm still pleasantly surprised when I walk into my studio and have this bright white shelf next to me instead of what used to be brown. I'm not against wood altogether, but the original stain, finish, and grain of the wood just did not complement the colors we had chosen to use in the rest of the space. 

I'm really excited to finish the rest of the shelving, except all the rain we've been getting has put a damper on my progress. Ideally, I would need two hot and dry days to finish priming and painting. The plan is to put on two coats of primer and only one coat of paint, although I may put on a second coat of paint if everything dries in a timely manner. I would takeover the garage for two days, prime, flip, prime, flip, prime, flip, prime, flip, and then call it a day. Then, I'd do the same thing on the second day except I would paint, flip, paint, flip, paint, flip, and paint. 

On nice, hot Texas summers, I can recoat after about 1-2 hours. We...haven't gotten there yet, weather-wise. So the rest of our project is on a temporary pause until the weather cooperates and throws me some sun and heat. But I'm okay with that. 

Fortunately, the shelf is now a beautiful, clean white. Unfortunately, our wall paint looks a little peachy now...I foresee painting the wall in our future. Once I pile up the shelf with stuff, maybe it'll help tone down the white a little bit? 🙈

We're Painting Again!: Part 1

When we were first buying houses, one of our "must-haves" was no wood paneling. Unfortunately, this requirement wasn't met when we bought our house. Actually, a lot of requirements weren't met when we bought our house. So when we moved into our house, we hired someone and had the wood paneling painted.

There were two built-in shelves in our house we did not have painted in order to save money. One was in our breakfast nook and one was in what is now my piano studio. It worked for the time being because only the shelf was left natural wood so it was acceptable. But I would often teeter totter between thinking it was fine the way it was and wanting it to be painted to match the rest of the room.

With the Covid situation improving, I am currently getting ready to reopen my studio and have students return in person for lessons if they choose to. I was also in one of my moods where I wasn't quite happy anymore with the way the shelf looked.

Natural '80s wood glory. Finding a place to
temporarily put all of my piano music was a challenge.

Painters charge more to paint wood paneling because it's been stained and sealed. In order to get paint to properly adhere, there's a couple options:

1. you sand down the wood to remove the finish

2. you use really nice primer and paint (typically oil-based)

3. you clean the entire surface with a strong cleaner (TSP, krud kutter, etc.)

4. some combination of the above options

We never officially got a quote to paint this shelf, but my guess is someone would have charged between the $600-$1,000 range to prime and paint this shelf inside and out. My guess is it would have cost us more than average because a painter would likely choose to spray normally. However, because my piano is in this room, I would never let anyone spray paint. Even if they said they'd cover everything, I would not trust it enough to do it. And then they'd charge you more to paint it by hand because it's more work. So we chose to do it ourselves. 

It seems like we started this project on a whim, which we kind of did, but there's actually been years of experience and thought put into it.

- we painted our own kitchen cabinets and 6 years later, they've held up really well considering it's a very high-trafficked area of our house

- we found a better type of paint and primer since then that holds up better than the one we used in our kitchen

- we have leftover painting supplies

- now is the time to do it if we don't want my studio to look like a construction zone when my students are back

Prep is key.

It actually didn't look terrible after I wiped the entire thing down with
TSP and 20 paper towels. But I'm still painting it.
Also since we have plenty of masks lying around, it was great not to inhale the spray. 

First coat of primer.

I was laughing at myself because less than a month ago, I'd told myself I was done with home improvement projects for a while. Our various handyman experiences from last month left me exhausted. And here we are again...I told a friend we were starting this project and her response was, "You're just bored at home, aren't you?" 😅

Clearly, this past year has had such an effect on me.

So this is how we started another house project and plan to finish hopefully within the next 3 weeks before my students come back. So far of the friends I've talked to, one is sad the wood is going and three are excited. Which side do you fall on? 

Stay tuned for the budget breakdown and final look!

Read Part 2 here.

A Slice of Time

When I think of losing my mother as an event, it's usually a sad and somber memory. It reminds me of how short our time was, the things I wish I could have changed, and the life we will never get to share with each other. But at the same time, I'm reminded of the wonderful memories and the people who were able to share them with me in the year which followed, fondly remembered as 8th grade.

1. 

I had a friend drop off a teddy bear for me at my house. She didn't come in or anything, just left it for me. She told me later she wanted me to have something to hug or hold when I was feeling sad. It was very sweet of her. She wasn't the emotional/sentimental type. She didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve. She was very hard to read. But she dropped off a teddy bear for me after my mother died.

2. 

A few of my friends made my 14th birthday very special. They decorated my locker at school because that was how friends showed their appreciation for you in middle school. It was the first and only time I'd ever had my locker decorated. They used purple plaid wrapping paper with gold ribbon. A picture of a teddy bear was glued onto it along with some fake flowers, and they'd written Happy Teddy Bear Day instead of Happy Birthday. They knew me so well, and although a little embarrassing, I really loved it. After taking it down, I kept it in my bedroom at home for several years because it was so special to see what my friends had done for me. 

3.

My dad hired a nanny that year. She picked me up from school and then prepared dinner for us while we waited for my brother. After he came home, she'd finish cooking and leave around 5:30. This way, I was never at home by myself. It was a little strange at first, having a nanny as a teenager. Unfortunately, it was short lived. She wrecked her car one afternoon on the way to pick me up. That was the last day I saw her because she wasn't getting another car and therefore could not fulfill her duties. Ironically, it worked out better (in my opinion) because I began to carpool with a friend, and I had about an hour to myself before my brother got home from the high school. Almost every Monday and Wednesday after that, I would spend the first 45 minutes at home talking on the phone. It was nice. Being home alone, talking on the phone with a friend, enjoying my freedom. I was still a straight A student and finished all of my work on time. But that was fun, getting to do something myself without needing to ask permission.

***

I don't talk to anyone on a regular basis from middle school anymore. Am I friends with some of them? Yes. And if I ever ran into them at the store or on the side of the street or by chance in another city, I would definitely stop and say hi. But despite the radio silence, they have a special place in my life which even my husband does not have the honor. They are the people who lived with me through this life-changing event when it occurred. They were the ones who would have AIM conversations with me after school. They were the ones who sat with me in the cafeteria at lunch. They were the ones who knew who I was when it happened, as it happened. And all of those moments are forever sealed in the capsule that is "the year after my mother died."

I don't wish to go back to the year after my mother died. Although fond memories, that's all they are. But these people. These people get to be a part of my memories. I hope they know how special they are for the memories they are a part of. 

If You Hire a Good Handyman

If you hire a good handyman, he's going to come over to see your project and give you a quote. You're going to have to wait six weeks because that's how far out he's booked. He has lots of good referrals so you decide to schedule in his next opening despite being a month and a half away. But that's ok because it'll give you time to order the doors and pick them up.

After 4 weeks of back and forth with the store, your doors are ready for pickup. You rent a Uhaul because you don't own a truck and then you and your spouse load the doors onto a hand truck and wheel them through the backyard to the patio. You're very proud of your hard work, and even your toddler says, "Those are the doors Mommy and Daddy carefully moved out of the big van" without you ever teaching her.

The doors we moved all the way to the back by ourselves.

When the day arrives for your new doors to be installed, he will start to uninstall the first existing door and frame carefully. You ask him to be careful with the trim because you want to reuse it if possible. He does a great job removing the door and frame. Unfortunately, you didn't measure the door correctly, and he forgot to check as an oversight. So your door is 4 inches too wide. 

Panicked, you call the store, ask them if they have the correct sized door in stock. They in fact do have two on hand, so the handyman graciously offers to drive the doors back to the store to do an exchange for the properly sized doors. 

An hour later, your husband and the handyman return with the properly sized doors. He continues to install the first door and finishes it at the end of day one.

The next day, he installs the second patio door, which goes much smoother than the first one. He puts all the trim he removed back on and caulks around the edges. You can hardly tell it's been redone. When he's all finished and done, he gives you the final bill and didn't even charge you extra for the trip to the store. In passing conversation, you also learn he is now booking jobs 3 months out. 

He leaves, you clean up, and you proceed to paint the door, inside and out. Except you overlooked the weather conditions and realized you painted with oil paint on a cold, wet day. So the edges don't dry properly and were partially ruined.

At least the inside paint looks great. 

However, painting is really not that big of a deal to you, , and since you're doing it yourself anyway, you decide you will fix it later in the summer once the temperature rises to unbearably hot again and oil paint can completely dry in a few hours. 

And later in the summer when you finally get around to repainting a second coat on the exterior of the doors, you'll be reminded again of the wonderful handyman who installed these doors and how he was worth the 6 week wait. 

*inspired by If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Numeroff *

If You Hire A Bad Handyman

If you hire a bad handyman, he's going to show up to your house guns blazing and start cutting and drilling. As he starts cutting and drilling haphazardly, he will miscalculate, and rather than cut a nice circular hole in the ceiling, he's going to cut a few circles because he encountered some ceiling rafters. Since he had to cut a few circles, he needs to patch the drywall around the hole. 

As you realize how unprofessional this handyman is turning out to be, you realize you have to watch his every move and make sure he's doing what he's supposed to do because you seem to actually know more than he does about this project. When he gets on the roof, you get on the roof with him because you want to make sure he installs the vent properly so there's no leaking in the roof. As he starts cutting, he starts making you nervous because you don't think he actually knows what he's doing.

You ask him to watch a YouTube video because you've brought your iPad up on the roof with you. As he watches the YouTube video with you, he realizes the guy in the video is actually doing a good job. And then you teach him another trick you learned from This Old House. And he tells you he likes that trick and he's learned something new. (Oh dear...🤦🏻‍♀️)

And somehow you end up being this handyman's assistant on the roof because you decided to get on the roof with him to keep an eye. And his actual assistant is simply on the grass looking up watching. And because you only remembered to change into tennis shoes and are still wearing non-work pants, the caulking gun he placed on the roof next to you with a tube of tar sealant has leaked out and smeared on the calf of your jeans.

The handyman will tell you they're ruined, and in the moment, you're not too disturbed by ruining $10 Forever 21 jeans. But as the days pass, you'll keep thinking about the pair of cheap, dark wash skinny jeans with tar on them which you actually liked. So you do a quick google search, bust our your bottle of Goo Gone and an old toothbrush, and you scrub that spot. And after the wash, you hang them up to air dry in hopes the stain is gone.

But it's still there. So you change your technique. You place an old piece of fabric inside the jean leg, spray Goo Gone on the outside, place another old piece of fabric on top, and press firmly to blot out that tar as the Goo Gone loosens it. 

And lots of darn brown is starting to bleed onto the rags. So you're hopeful. And as you run it through the wash again and let it air dry a second time, you still see the slightest hint of tar.

But it's better.

So, you might see me wearing my cheap dark wash skinny jeans with a dark stain on the right calf. And if you do, you might ask me what happened. And if you ask me what it is, I'm going to remember that it's roofing tar. I'm going to remember that time we wanted to install a ducted range hood vent, and I'm going to tell you not to hire a bad handyman. 

*Inspired by If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Numeroff*

Wildflower Nostalgia

I was walking outside one weekend on a beautiful Texas spring day. I came across a small patch of wildflowers, and suddenly they brought me back to a memory from close to 20 years ago I had long forgotten.

I was in middle school at the time. I had learned how to press flowers, the amateur way, in a book. I had picked some wildflowers, the exact same ones as the photo, placed them inside a tissue, and pressed them in the middle of a thick, heavy book. It was a side profile press. The flowers were on top and the green stems on the bottom. After a few weeks, I took them out and glued them onto a bookmark. On the bookmark, I had written something in pink glitter gel pen. It was for my mother. 

I can't remember if it was Mother's Day or her birthday or another special occasion, but that doesn't matter. I glued the flowers underneath my writing and placed the paper on my dad's desk. I wrote him a note asking him to laminate it at work, and I left a small pile of change next to it. 

He pulled it out of his briefcase a few days later after he got home from work and gave it to me. I punched a hole in the top and ran a ribbon through it. I gave it to my mother as a gift soon after. She liked it, I think. I honestly can't remember the moment of giving it to her. But I know she kept it in her Bible as a bookmark. 

When she died, we put her Bible in the casket. The bookmark was left inside. I don't know what it actually looks like anymore, and I never will. 

I wrote a letter to my mother and left it inside with her. In the letter, I wrote about the big milestones I knew she would miss: graduations. engagements. weddings. grandchildren. Those are the big things. Those are expected. Those are what I could envision and think of as a young teenager.

***

Grief is different so many years later. It doesn't affect me everyday and my life doesn't feel "sad" because of it. I enjoy my children. I enjoy my life. But every now and then, all it takes is a small patch of wildflowers to bring me to tears. 

One-Up

 I was a formula baby. My brother nursed some (or maybe a year) from what I've been told, but I grew up on formula. Supposedly, my mother said it hurt too much the first time and she didn't want to do it again with me. I don't blame her. It's not the most pleasant feeling. 

Later as I got older, she'd second guess herself and wonder if I would have been taller had I been breastfed. Of course it would not have mattered because the genetics were already in my DNA. Breastmilk wasn't going to change that. I was just destined to be one of the shorter females in my family. 

When my oldest was born, I tried nursing her. I don't think she got very much. She screamed a lot at the hospital. Even the nurses found it a little strange. So they offered alternative feeding options, we asked for formula, and that's what my daughter drank for the first two weeks while my supply was coming in. By about two weeks, I could produce enough to feed her. Unfortunately, I didn't get to nurse her. I tried for a week or so. She would scream and cry and being a new mom, I did not want to deal with that solely for the purpose of nursing. So I exclusively pumped for her. 

It's not a glamorous job when you exclusively pump and stay at home with your child. I remember coming home from playing piano for my dad's choir, feeding her with a bottle because she was hungry, pumping because I needed to, and feeling starved because I was hungry and there were too many things to do and not enough time or hands to do it. On another occasion, I had scheduled two lessons with merely a 30 minute break in-between. During that 30 minutes, I had my pump on the kitchen counter and cooked dinner simultaneously because I hadn't had time earlier in the day. This was not something I ever wanted to have to re-live. 

It's a huge sacrifice to choose to exclusively pump when you can't or choose not to nurse. 

I fed my daughter expressed milk until about two weeks before her first birthday. That was when I ran out. We went back to formula for the remainder of the days before she turned one and switched to cow's milk. 

When my youngest was born, I tried nursing him. He seemed fine. He slept a lot at the hospital. It was quiet. He would just nurse for 5 minutes and fall asleep. I wasn't sure if he was getting enough, but he seemed to be okay. About 4-5 days after he was born, I started getting nervous at how yellow he looked. It wasn't extreme and the pediatrician even told me he wasn't worried, but it was past my comfort level. So I started to pump again and bottle feed. He could drink 3 oz in a bottle no problem so I knew he wasn't getting enough nursing. That's when I again, reluctantly, chose to exclusively pump for my second child. 

I produced about twice as much milk with my second child than with my first. It was a wonderful problem, but it took up a lot of our freezer space. I had practically an entire chest freezer and garage refrigerator freezer dedicated to storing milk. Truly, a wonderful problem. I didn't have to pump while cooking dinner, and for the most part, I was able to keep my hunger at bay when I needed to without reaching famished levels. It was a much better pumping experience overall. 

I stopped pumping shortly after 2021 started. I had taken on more students in my teaching schedule, my husband's work was getting busier, and I was ready to get my life back. I had more than enough milk to feed my son until his first birthday so I was willing to stop early. He turned one a few weeks ago, and we still have a couple months worth of saved milk to go through.

I'm glad my son got to be exclusively breastfed for an entire year. He's the second child, and oftentimes he is treated like the second child, so I'm glad I was able to do this for him. And I didn't want to have the same doubts my mother did, so I tried my hardest to make sure I'd never second guess myself in the future. That's why I kept pumping for as long as I did. And I understand breast pumps were not readily available or covered by insurance 30 years ago. Would that have made a difference in my mother's decisions? Maybe, but I'll never know for sure. And it doesn't matter. I'm not angry with her and I don't resent her decisions regarding how she fed me for the first year. 

But I did one-up her. And I think she would be okay with that. 💕