... Of one of my dining chairs :/
Three days ago I had one of those awful, crisis- infused days of renovations. I started off the week with high hopes of making huge strides in the kitchen, knocking it out with such speed and awesomeness that I'd have plenty of time to dive into the craft room. it is still a mess of furniture piled in the center of the room with walls and trim begging for primer and paint. Not so. Here it is, Thursday, and not only am I squeezing in a poor excuse of a blogpost, but Im doing so with little to show for my efforts this week.
It played out like this, totally worthy of the reality/ sit com that is my life. I was in the kitchen, scraping the existing vinyl sheet flooring off the ground, because it was lifting and I didn't want to just add to the problem by layering. I hadn't really factored in the amount of time it would take me to scrape the adhesive away, and the amount of upper body strength ( that I most certainly do not have) it would require to pull all of the vinyl out. I was having to move appliances around as I worked, and in my enthusiasm pulled too hard too fast and left some gaping craters in the floor. Argh. This required the purchase of a patching compound before I could lay the new floor. No big deal, except that we are currently down to one car and I spend most days at home with no way to leave. Boom. Enter massive frustration.
In just the next room, my boys are snacking. My 7 year old is feeding my 2 year old an avocado. He is super excited about his very favorite food (also prone to flinging it, thus the help) and keeps climbing onto the table to get closer to the spoon. Despite my best efforts and constant nagging for him to sit on his rear, the inevitable happens. I am drawn from my flooring crisis by a loud crack and a silent baby. I run in shouting 'what happened?' over and over again to find him lying on his back on the chair that is obviously flipped backwards. I scoop him up, hush his now blood-curdling scream, inventory bumps and bruises, and lean over to reposition the chair. That's when the back completely fell out. On top of everything, he broke my chair?!
I moved the chair into the corner of the room and mentally noted that it was "un fixable" and would have to be replaced. Yesterday I finally made time to search the Ikea site for a replacement chair and was less than thrilled to find that my new chair would be another $60 (a huge hit to our reno budget) and that they didn't sell this color anymore. So, I set my mind on repairing it. With some liquid nails and some paint it will be almost as good as new, just a little scarred. And it will always be a reminder of this wacky season of life. That's kind of awesome.
Father instantly turned it into an afternoon devo. How many things, people, situations have I written off as un fixable? When in reality, the effort of repair is part of the process, and totally worth it. And the scar? It always tells a story. Let me be found mending, encouraging, loving, and pressing through. He is telling an incredible story with my life.
Also, when you wonder why I never blog anymore, keep in mind that I'm probably doing something ridiculous- fishing rodents from walls or stepping in drywall mud or falling between the couch and chaise lounge while painting trim. These amazing stories will all be yours to share soon.