Below Average and Above Average. Both are true.

On the Do-It -Yourselfer scale, I’d rate myself slightly below the average tool efficient male and about two standard deviations from a female contractor. Yes, I’ll willingly admit to a cultural gender bias. Perhaps also, if I’d discovered earlier in life my attention deficit issue, maybe I’d be less frustrated now--much less in the cumulative years of projects. Duct tape and glue guns are staples in my toolbox.

I go in cycles with my projects. Today I know why.

His furniture now gone, I have an empty room--ripe for wall paint and transformation. I can see the new dining room in my head, thanks in part to Pinterest. It’s gorgeous.

In my new room I want a sideboard. Because of the creativity of others (Pinterest), I realized I already had the perfect one in my garage. Our house, built in 1980, had the requisite wet bar in the living area. It was wasted space for us, so I had it ripped out and put out in the garage. It quickly became the storage place for the house overflow. Over the weekend, I spent hours unloading the accumulated stuff. That stuff is in the house. Again. In a non-permanent place. Arg. Some of the items will get stored in the pantry that will be built in the next few weeks. Other things will make the shift in the kitchen after it’s repainted. The rest of the stuff will be donated. I also took off the door robbed from the bar cabinet to cover a new opening made in the kitchen island. Now a have another dilemma. What do I use to cover that opening?

On Saturday night after I’d moved everything out of the sideboard, I got out my well worn electric sander. I may not be excellent at many things; but, I am an excellent sander. (Not sure who isn’t, but a girl’s got to feel competent, right?) I’m also excellent with scissors.

Sanding, by the way, is a therapeutic activity when you’re angry.

Years ago, I worked for an artist. She’d paint anything and make it spectacular. I base painted furniture for her. While I was waiting on coats to dry, I’d watch her paint. I learned enough that I could dabble at a few things and sell painted items at Giggles and Glamour craft shows. Susie taught me all the tricks to using her particular machine and was utterly gracious when my first items needed larger rosebuds or complete sanding for a redo. I worked at least 10-20 hours a week for her. That’s a lot of sanding and painting. I ended up buying a machine just like hers. It finally died a couple of years ago. I replaced it with a cordless painter. The first time I used it, I was awed with its performance. My inner paint snob wanted to take full credit for how skilled I was. Certainly, the machine was just partially responsible for the great end result. I held myself in high regard, until the second time I pulled out that blasted, new paint gun.

I ended up painting the project with a roller and a brush. Spilling the entire container of black paint on the uncovered part of the garage sealed the deal with brushes.

Fast forward to now. I want this sideboard to have the smooth, brushless finish that my black table and chairs had. Better equipped with self knowledge and how to make sure the paint bucket is firmly attached to the gun, I started early this morning with the goal of finishing the painting before bedtime. I didn’t even START painting until 12:20. So goes the world of power tools. It’s fact of Do-It-Yourself life that things break and projects take longer than you’d hoped. Part of the delay included time to email Ryobi to let them know how very disappointed I was with their lithium batteries and charger. Dad would have mailed the multiple copies of the letter to decision makers including the President, printed, and placed the a copy in his clearly labeled files. 

Battery dilemma solved I started painting. BLAST! It wasn't working well. School would be out in 30 minutes! The guy in the video didn't have blobs of paint flying out of his machine. When my language progresses to vulgarity, I require myself to stop. Even with a break for school pick up and some perspective, that wretched machine was still acting up! I quit for the day.

I was so disappointed with part one of the paint job. I, of course, had not tested the paint on a scrap of something or used both tips to see which I preferred. I wanted to finish. I also wanted something close to perfect. Hmmmmm……not good roommates, those two.

So, I’m sitting at volleyball practice realizing that there is far more chaos today than if I’d simply just left everything as is. I only love projects after they are successfully completed. I am impatient and careless and even when I’m trying my best, I can still manage to ruin something. My standards are often unattainable. 

But, I truly need to change things in this house to make it livable for myself. I want that room to reflect the change in my life. I get to choose about that stupid sideboard. I can slow down, do all the things I know I should do first, which may include wasting time and paint. Or I can be angry at some faceless man at Ryobi because both batteries were defective. I can snap at my daughter for expecting instant responses from me when I’ve got dripping paint on my supposed to be gorgeous sideboard! I can bark insults at people who can’t hear me, as I drive down the highway. I could probably find a legitimate reason to blame my ex for today’s frustrations.

However.

I’ll still have a poorly painted sideboard in the garage taking up the space that my car should occupy. I’ll still be the parent to a child I love more than I could ever have imagined loving. I can model rudeness and impatience to her as I yell at her for being impatient?! or while we drive to her practice. And truth be told, I could in one complicated thought actually find a reason to rationalize blaming my ex.  But then I'd be left with just an angry, frustrated me. And I'm left holding the bitterness and resentment. Rocks.

I'm chuckling right now because my mind immediately said to my heart, "ummmm, Lori you really have to thank him for helping you discover that you're actually good with power tools." Without intention, he helped me discover that I’m a competent, powerful woman who can assemble just about anything if given enough time.

Reassembling life at 46 10/12 isn’t easy. It’s chaotic. It’s getting even more chaotic as time progresses. The process requires losing what I didn't want to lose, getting rid of things I once loved, relocating some things that I know I need and am not sure where they’ll go quite yet. I’m tearing down walls and putting in new doors. I’m screwing up a lot. I spend many days wondering how I’m going to get from this place to the next. I’m tempted and often do sit around, scared to death. 

But.

I’m learning to be patient and gracious with myself. I’m still struggling with healthy outlets for anger and rage. I’m rediscovering that basic skills do matter and that there is great value in the daily, mundane tasks of living.

I also have a clear picture of the first dinner party I'll throw in my gorgeous dining room. Those guests will appreciate all the beauty of the night—beautiful surroundings, beautiful china, beautiful food, and most of all the beauty of sharing an evening knowing love was the motivation behind it all. 

In the meantime, I’ll find more things to sand, make up my bed each day, and know that even the people who will notice the flaws in my paintjob will laugh when I retell the story of how it happened and when I noticed that all the hairs in my nose were Sherwin Williams Extra White.

PS. I've already figured out what to do with the hole in my cabinetry. It will match the two barn doors that will be built to cover the new pantry and the old laundry room. Phase IV?