Why Did I Think This was a Good Idea?

Sometimes, I swear, I think my kids are trying to kill me.

Is it my imagination, or is summer break just about a month too long? 

Last week I thought that I might trade my teenagers for something more useful, like a bucket with a hole in the bottom of it.

I REALLY wanted to inflict bodily harm when they whined in unison, “We have to paint the whole garage OURSELVES?!?”

First, “we” (meaning me, I) painted the whole house MYself.  No one helped me, with the exception of Lisa, who came and rescued me from impending snowshowers and my husband came out and slapped some paint on long enough to have his picture taken.   That was the Summer I heard my daughter tell a friend, “Dads don’t paint!  That’s a mom job!”

Second, I was going to help, model, mentor, demonstrate.  Painting is an important life skill.  Kids need to learn how to do it.  “We”, in this case, meant three people.

Third, we technically aren’t painting the whole garage.  Most of the east side is taken up by the wood pile and the chicken coop.  The north side faces the neighbor’s garage and is only partially accessible, thus only needing minimal painting.

This morning, I am pretty sure that my oldest tried his best to get fired from painting.  “Getting fired” is a trick I think he learned from his father and uncles.

I once heard my husband and his brothers explain to a soon-to-be-husband how he could get “fired” from doing laundry.  The trick is to do it so badly that the wife doesn’t allow the husband within the confines of the laundry room for fear that mayhem may ensue.

Now, my husband and his brothers are pretty liberated men and I KNOW their mother taught them to do laundry.  She would have hauled them all off by the ears had she overheard this conversation.  I’m pretty sure they were just yanking my chain.  I was crashing their bachelor party.  But I had second thoughts about the concept of “getting fired” from a job today when my son came in to say that he’s spilled “some” paint.

“Some” paint was a quarter of a gallon of oil based primer, splashed in the grass, the garden, and up the limestone retaining wall.  The painting that he had completed was splotchy, random, and drippy.  I took deep, calming breaths and reminded myself that everyone must start somewhere.

So instead of “getting fired”, my oldest became familiar with paint thinner and toxic spill clean up procedures today.  I had to be more specific about just what needed priming and what resembled an acceptable level of coverage.  I remind myself that this is just the west side of the garage, not the side that faces the street and there is a very good reason why we are starting on this less public side.  I taught my boys to cook.  I can teach them to paint.  “We” will paint the garage together.

It’s a good thing that we have another few weeks of summer left.  We’ll need all the time we can get to paint this garage.  Tomorrow I’ll go buy more paint and an extra gallon of patience.  Lord knows, I’ll need it.