Shenanigans on Maplested Lane

Today is the birthday of one of my sisters. And so in honor of that I am taking a very lovely journey down memory lane.

Now I grew up in a household with four kids, limited space and the concept of sharing and hand-me-downs. Although fortunately being the oldest I was exempt from having to wear hand-me-downs. Instead I was the one who got to cast off my outdated clothing to someone beneath me. It was really the only privilege I could see that came with being the oldest.

But for the most part we lived in harmony and peace. Or at least we did when everyone was sleeping. During the day we could either be found playing together while carrying on at top volume or screaming at someone for violating a rule. Typically as the day wore on and we got bored playing nicely with each other, we would start to antagonize one another so that we could excite things with a physical altercation of some sorts. Usually it was for invading the sacred ground of someone else’s room or for not sharing the Barbie clothing. Or maybe just for not playing the game the right way.

And honestly you would think that growing up with that chaos would make me want to avoid having a large number of children. But the idea of a large family seems cozy to me. Don’t worry, I said seems. I understand that in order to have large family, you have to create the children through adoption or biologically and you also have to feed, clothe and house them. I think I would prefer to stick with my hypothetical family.

But at any rate, we had quite a few shenanigans growing up. And it probably wouldn’t hurt to mention that Ali was involved in quite a few of them. One of the activities that entertained us the most frequently was tossing Hillary out of our room. She would stuff her finger or toe onto the carpet just inside our doorway, and Ann and I would take this an invitation to drag her down the stairs or toss her down the stairs depending on our mood. This would go on for a while until either we got bored and simply locked the door to our room or until she found a pastime that didn’t involve carpet burn or falling down a flight of stairs.

A lovely example of our adult shenanigans 

There was the time that Ali and I spent hours tossing my Hillary’s stuffed toy into a tree to see if we could get it caught in the branches. And then throwing a ball into the branches to knock the toy out.  Only to repeat the whole cycle again. Now this might make some people question our IQ but it actually was a game of skill. Until my father came out and demanded to know just what in the world we were doing and to immediately knock it off before the neighbors start questioning their  child rearing practices.

Ali and I also came up with an elaborate story involving wolves and an abandoned field to scare Annelise to death. We got some sick sort of satisfaction out of tormenting her. Although why in the world she never questioned our oddly lacking in real world details story, I will never know.

At some point Ali and I also decided it would be a brilliant idea to mix all of nail polishes together. This resulted in one toxic mess. That also got on our brand new carpet. Needless to say it is impossible to remove bright pink nail polish from baby blue carpet. Annelise and I used this nail polish concoction to paint our barbies and make them more beautiful. However when our beautification did not turn out like we had hoped, we would try and coerce Hillary into trading one of her pretty barbies for our barbies with the bad make overs. So then we would have new barbies to ruin.

Not that I got away without torment. My sisters had me convinced that I had a tail for a good portion of time. Sadly that is not the case. I just have a deformed tailbone

 

Smurftastic

The dirty little secret that no one tells you about painting is that it is not as easy as it looks. Sure it is only so difficult to paint a small ceramic figurine at those little paint and fire clay shops, keepsake box or some other trinket. But when you attempt to actually paint something that is life size and not easy to maneuver. The tables are turned.

I thought it would be brilliant to buy some unfinished furniture and finish it myself. After reading several blogs on painting, I ought to be an expert. Everything looks so glossy and blemish free, that what could be easier? Spray a couple of coats of paint, followed by a clear glaze, and voila, you have a gorgeous finished product.  Well clearly these step by step videos and blogs do not show how long it took the demonstrators to become adapt at the art of painting.

First there is the whole act of getting the  furniture to a location where the paint will not get on anything worth damaging, and a place where the fumes will not kill your brain cells. Moving furniture from one location to another is not that complicated when there are at least two people doing the moving. Or if you are not easily beaten by five year olds in arm wrestling. My upper body strength or lack thereof, is embarrassing. This complicates moving furniture from one place to another. I am constantly having to place the piece of furniture down, to give my arms a rest. Or risk dropping it on my feet and crushing my toes. So after about 15 minutes I  finally get the furniture to a safe location : my back deck.  My rationale for risking getting spray paint all over the deck is that the wood needs to be re-sealed anyways….this will just prompt me to speed up the process. All though after this painting debacle, I am not sure I ever want to touch anything that requires brushing, spraying or sealing a wooden surface again.

I am finally at the stage where I can shake my paint cans and start spraying. Now I have diligently read the direction that are in size .10 font on the back of the spray can. And I have come to the conclusion that it is probably really not necessary to “vigorously” shake the canister for two minutes.  So I shake the spray paint for a good thirty seconds or until I get bored. Whichever came first. Big mistake. I start to coat the furniture with the paint only to be greeted by a beautiful watery black color. Perhaps I should have followed the suggested time for mixing the paint a bit more closely.

What I thought would take an afternoon has now turned into a two weekend project. And during this time I have gotten to look like a splotchy smurf. I even managed to coat my hair a gorgeous shade of blue. All of this has taught me that when something is expensive to have done by a professional, it is probably because it involves a good bit of attention to detail, and skill. And honestly I don’t have the attention span to become a skilled painter. One coat of paint is about all the interest I have in painting something. When that item requires four to five coats, I start getting pissed off.  Why didn’t anyone prepare me for this?

Also, anytime I see someone use painter’s tape on a commercial. It looks ridiculously easy. How hard can it be to stick some blue tape on a flat surface? The answer is incredibly hard – to get the tape to stick in a straight line anyways.