The Pinterest Incident

You know those pinterest projects you see online? You are like "WOW, that is so easy! I could totally do that!!" I have had many of those moments as we get ready for our new home. I have been somewhat......inspired.

This particular incident has nothing do with the kids. I can't even blame it on the kids, though I'm sure if you gave me enough time I could figure out a way to. This is all me baby...and Brewerman. Who was no help at all as he was laughing like a hyena. 

It all started with a kitchen table. I found one that could actually sit us all on the cheap, it just needed painted black. No problem right? I might even "distress" it oooooooo because that is REALLY easy when I am sitting on my fat butt looking at Pinterest.

I go to the local Sherman Williams store.

I want something that LASTS I say, oil based paint - he says! I buy, he smiles, I wince as I pay, then I leave. Of course I want to start RIGHT away so I get to sanding. This is easy! I am loving this. Psh, people pay hundreds for this and look at me, just kicking it out. Vanerellian stopped by and asks me slowly "You plan on doing all of this tonight?" I smirk, "Of course! Look at me! I'm so cool!" BLAH. 

Anyways, after sanding, I go out to paint. Painting looks so easy, and "is" so easy...if you are painting a 4"x4" canvas square. A dining table (with fancy schmancy legs with fancy schmancy crevices that I just HAD to have) is not. Throw in a bench and 5 chairs with a million poles each and someone should have just punched me in the face a couple times, I'm sure I'd be less sore.

As a painting novice I may have bit off more than I can chew. The round poles on the chairs were like torture devices by the time I got to the fifth gosh darn mother loving chair. At that point the only reason I kept going is because Brewerman told me a couple times that I needed to stop and do the rest the next day. Challenge accepted.

At one point I got paint on my arm, then the other arm, then I looked like a tattooed biker complete with face tattoos and a pissed off attitude. I dipped my hair in the paint lid can that I decided to keep in the middle of the floor like the idiot I am. I immediately went to wash it out, Brewerman told me to just let it dry first. I shrugged and went on my painting freaking way.

FINALLY I get done. Last f#$&*# bench is done and painted. My hands resemble cramped up claws, but it was done. 

Now time to clean up.

Wait.

Oil freaking-Based freaking paint.  

Hmmm...okay well paint thinner will have to be used for my biker arms. That worked well even though I was sure I just gave myself cancer. 

Now for a shower.

Wait.....remember that "dipped my hair in paint". Huh, that chunk o' paint is now holding half my hair in one giant dried up rubberish worm like...thing.

I go for shampoo....well that didn't work. F&*#$(& Brewerman. "Just let it dry." 

I immediately scream at him from the bathroom and we have a five minute discussion on paint thinner in my hair and if it will bleach. As the glob that is my hair refuses to give one last time I just tell him to go for it.

And that is where we went wrong, folks. Terribly...terribly...wrong.

B: "Cup your hand and I will pour thinner in it and just rub it in your hair."

N: "Oh god just hurry! My hair! Oh my god, my hair!!" 

B: "Okay here we go."

N: "Okay it's working"

B: "Holy shit"

N: "WHAT!?!? What!?! Oh god, am I a blond?"

B: "Oh my gosh, Natalie, look down."

*Gray streaks of watered down paint thinner and paint are pouring down me. Except it's oil-based...they don't go away!! I look like a bruised prostitue from the 20's complete with the rolls."

N: "GAAAAAH, Brewerman GET IT OFF!! What the hell!!?! I freaking TOLD you I shouldn't have let it dry. What is going on!?! AHHHHHH!"

*Brewerman is laughing his ass off.*

At this exact moment, paint thinner gets in my eyes from what once was normal hair and is now dripping poison and paint.

N: "OWWWW!! SOB *beep, beep, beep* I have paint thinner in my eyes!" *Wildly throws my arms in the air.*

B: "Shut the water off!!"

N: "I can't see! I'm dying!!"

B: "Oh god, I'll shut it off"

N: "Ahhhhhh my eyes!"

Brewerman starts laughing again as we realize the full amount of grey that is now splattered all over me. Then immediately stops laughing as we realize it is splattering all over our about-to-be-sold shower. I would have too but my eyes were swollen shut by that time.

B: "Oh shit. It's all over!! We have to get this off the shower! SOB!! Why does this always happen when we sell our homes!? Here!" 

Brewerman then throws paint thinner all over the shower and hands me a towel.

N: "Screw the shower, wipe me off!! Is it working? Dah my eyes! I can't see! Stop laughing you jerk! It's still coming! It wont stop dripping grey paint."

B: "Seriously Natalie, this is so freaking funny."

N: "If I could see right now I would punch you."

Finally I wash my hair in the bath 5 times and four more times including vinegar and olive oil and it finally stops dripping grey death. Brewerman is still laughing. Good news is paint thinner takes off years of grime in the shower so it's never been cleaner. My hair seems to not be too bleached but I still smell like paint thinner, and my hands are still cramped into creepy looking claws. 

Did I mention everything still needs a second coat tomorrow? I also just read that paint thinner makes your hair fall out and bleaches it down to the root. I am going to be one sexy lady. Freaking google..

***Sorry for the cussing. Not really. I may or may not be a tad high right now from paint fumes.***

When Parents Strike Back - Bedtime

As every parent this side of kingdom-come will tell you, bedtime sucks. I mean, yes, you could be more politically correct and say that it can be a challenge and we really have to work creatively as parents to help these little sweet angels get in a calm state of mind.

But that's a freaking lie people. You don't get kids in a calm state of mind. They are never calm. For that matter they are never in one single state of mind for more than two minutes at a time unless they are hard core fake-crying to get their brother in trouble. Oh what is that you say? Your kid falls asleep without your help? He walks up to you, tells you that he is ready for bed and to please come help tuck him in because he is just exhausted?

Pshh. You, my lovely friend, got straight up purely - lucky. I hate to break it to you, but it didn't have a darn thing to do with your awesome bad ace bedtime parenting skills. Sorry. You'll know when you have #2 and they throw a screaming fit every time you whisper the word bed. You start off in that calm state of mind land. You end up 2 hours later with a twitch in your eye and kids who are still not asleep.

Bedtime just sucks. It especially does so now that the boys are sharing a room. Giggles, whispers, random loud THUMPS followed by screaming or, much scarier....silence.

We threaten, we beg, we warn, we offer rewards, it's the same. It's always a fight.

So we have started to get creative....oh no, this isn't a "parenting advice" type blog. We have started getting creative purely for our enjoyment. I mean, we've tried everything and those two little terrors angels aren't sleeping anyway, so might as well provide us a little late night entertainment.

We like to sneak up on the boys when they think we don't hear them. It's quite humorous. We have died laughing from hearing some of the stuff they say when they think we aren't listening. We have also scared the living shit heck out of them a few times when we wait quietly at the door for just the perfect moment to run into their rooms screaming like monsters. Hey, it's fun! Plus as parents, we have to get payback somewhere.

Oh don't worry, much to our horror, it usually backfires on us as they think it's stinking hilarious after they finally wipe the pee out of their pants.

This though...this is my new favorite moment. I'd even go as far as to say it's truly a testament of our parenting awesomness. This happened tonight about 30 minutes after we put them to bed. Brewerman and I are sitting watching TV and we hear the boys, who are in bed asleep giggling like hyenas.

Brewerman sneaks up to their bedroom door that is slightly cracked and quietly listens.

Lil'Dude and Lil'Guy are giggling and bantering back and forth about who is a baby diaper and who is stinky underwear. Then Lil'Dude starts oh-so-elegantly burping which Lil'Guy thinks is just a hoot.

Brewerman waits for just the right break in conversation and lets out a little "fart" noise with his mouth.

Lil'Guy: "Ha ha ha, Lil'Dude, did you just fart?"

Lil'Dude: "No, I burped!"

Lil'Guy: "No, did you just fart and burp??"

Laughter and giggling ensues.

Lil'Dude: "No way man, I just burped, did you fart?"

Lil'Guy: "No!"


SILENCE.



Lil'Guy (whispering now): "So Lil'Dude, did you fart?"

Lil'Dude (whispering back): "Shut your eyes!!"

Lil'Guy (still whispering): "Why? Whose at the door? Go check."

Lil'Dude: "No."

Lil'Guy (no longer whispering): "Oh! I'll go check."

Lil'Dude: (Silence)

Lil'Guy proceeds to get up, sees Brewerman's silhouette at the door and runs back in to bed to immediately feign sleeping.

Then Brewerman hears Lil'Guy in a quiet defeated voice: "It's Daddy."

Anyone want a beer?

So I mentioned Brewerman is a brewer of beers. Well, most men I know that brew beer grab themselves a Mr. Beer kit and have a fun little time brewing. Not my guy. Not even in the beginning. Skipped poor Mr. Beer all together.

Sorry Mr. Beer, I'm sure you're a fun guy and all.

This will be a good time to tell you that my lovely hubby doesn't do things half way. If he is into something he needs to have the best and be the best. If he isn't (like the whole "smoker" phase) it goes away quietly in the middle of the night never to be mentioned again.

Well. You may think we always have beer. What you say? Oh, okay a LOT of beer. 36? 48? Oh no. Right now we have 176 beers right now in our home.

But don't think you are invited to come over and get drunk every weekend. While Brewerman does share, he grumbles when he has to too often. He insists said beer will be gone shortly so he tends to horde. To his credit, 96 of those beers are to be taken to Kansas this Thanksgiving (where both him and I were born and raised) for my family to test out.

So I guess that makes him downright Santa Clause. Believe me, he thinks so.

He also brews with all grains, meaning he doesn't use extracts. A lot more work. I will say it's like making your own icing vs buying premade. To which he'd say "Exactly hon!" Then turn around, roll his eyes, and sigh while thinking not only how many ways that it's not only NOT the same but totally and utterly disrespectful to all things beer.

He has a lot of tools for this. They are in his closet, in the garage, in the kitchen. Just don't touch them. Or move them. Or for goodness sake don't use the thermometer to check chicken. I didn't get pics of said tools because frankly I have no idea what each ones are for.

These are the two fridges we have in our garage. Beer Only. Taps? Oh yeah.

His closet. 96 beers here, 3 kegs next to those.Yes it's a mess. No I don't care. His closet.

Or Beer Pantry?

More appropriate since there is more beer than clothes! Ha! I crack myself up...

So next time you come over - have a beer! Try the good stuff, and have more than one...have six! Tell my hubby I said so and enjoy the plastered smile you get on his face all while giving me the evil eye. Just be sure you like craft beer. This aint beerwater, I mean Budweiser.

Pics while brewing to come.