I might have mentioned that in the past few weeks, Watson and I managed to change the kids’ former playroom from this:
Into this:
But our plans didn’t stop there . . .
The next step was to fill half the living room with the contents of the kids’ formerly-shared bedroom.
Artistic shot of a major mess.
This revealed several primitive wall-drawings that Watson swore had some kind of link to the Lascoux Cave Drawings, though I’ve personally never wanted to attack Palaeolithic artwork with a Magic Eraser and I sincerely doubt it would be as difficult to remove mineral-based pigment from rock as it was to scrub graphite and ink from laytex-based paint:
Can you see the unicorn?
Watson was in charge of painting the yellow walls an extremely pink pink—seriously, these photos do not do it justice—which she did with the air of a seasoned perfectionist and a collection of absurdly small brushes:
No joke—this is the brush she used to cut in.
She wielded them with impressive speed, though, and it only took two days for two coats, plus drying. It would have gone a lot faster, but Watson had several “helpers”:
So. Much. Spatter.
THIS is how Janie rolls . .
I helped, too . . .
This was the point where Sunny said, “Hey! We’re almost done!”
Watson said the optimism was breathtaking.
Once the paint was dry, the furniture was rearranged, the books classified, divided, and distributed and—once the kids left the house for a couple hours—the toy bins were sorted and parceled out according to contents.*
We’re pretty proud of the results, which are, believe me, several shades pinker that shown, and include a special nook where she can sit and read or play dolls, or just, you know, hang:**
I only hope Sunny will make herself at home in her new room, just like her big sister:
Except, you know, not.
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*We have one bookcase left over—a minor miracle—and I’d better move it out of the living room, soon, before it starts collecting stuff, as every relatively flat surface of the house seems to do, and blocks the TV forever. Then again . . .
**Yes, there’s a bed, too, though we still can’t get her to sleep in it past 3:30am . . .
Earful of Cider 