Monday, November 16, 2009

Holey moley.

Guess what I get to do today?

Fix this.

What is it, you ask?

Oh, it's just your garden variety hole in the bedroom wall.

You know. No bigs.

Actually, this is the second time I have fixed this hole in Charlie and Henry's bedroom. The first time the hole happened, it was an "accident". (We have lots of those around here.) Someone had removed the doorstop on the baseboard behind the door one day, and then another day, someone flung the door open with...ahem...vigor, and voila! Big hole where the door handle hit the wall. Of course, that "someone" had to use some of his allowance money to pay for the patch for the drywall.

Lucky for Someone, I already have plenty of spackle, because I have boys. And once you have a boy, the doctor at the hospital says, "It's a boy," and they send you home from the hospital with a few diapers, a free can of formula, a jar of spackle and a putty knife while saying, "You're gonna need this." Which you do. About 10 seconds after your boy learns how to walk. I am very grateful that we're finally through the big, metal Tonka truck phase, because as fun as those huge yellow beasts are to play with, they MURDER your baseboards and lower walls. Murder in the first degree.

So back to the big, gaping hole in the wall.

I have no idea how the hole was reopened. Not surprisingly, no one around here knows either. However, my kids are insisting that it must be our fifth child, Not Me. I'm assuming that the once-again-missing-doorstop had something to do with it. I'm also assuming that someone opened the door with vigor. I'm further assuming that it truly was an accident, because there was no big drama associated with it. And usually if someone is to blame, I hear, "He did it!" and running footsteps to try and find me. (In the kids' defense, the hole didn't look this bad when I found it. I cleaned off the mangled bits of the previous patching and re-painting job.)

But I have no time or energy for assumptions. Yesterday I sent Bill to Home Depot for supplies. I forgot to have him pick up a new doorstop, so he will have to make another trip. A new doorstop is a must. I plan on installing one of those semi-permanent ones, rather than the springy coiled ones that twist out easily. (And yes, I do know about those plastic circles you can put on the wall behind the door to prevent it from happening again. Practical, yes, but not my thing. They're a little too industrial-looking, and if I put them up, it would be like inviting the kids to slam open their doors.) Besides, this whole shebang is relatively easy and painless to repair. And believe me, I've repaired bigger holes than this one. This hole? A challenge? Pshaw.

Hellooooooooo HGTV! New idea for a show, starring moi! We could call it, "How to Repair All the Crap That Your Kids Break or Damage, So That You Can Barely Notice It." Or if that title is too long, we could always call it, "Help. I Have Kids. Fix This."

I love decorating. It's one of my favorite pasttimes. I love picking out paint colors and all the other details - kid-friendly, of course. There are no Louis XIV chairs in this house. When we moved here, I chose a sports theme for Charlie and Henry's shared bedroom, and I decided to paint light blue and dark blue stripes on the wall. It was a long weekend spent with two cans of paint, a ladder, a level, a pencil and miles of blue masking tape, measuring out and painting 12-inch, perfectly even stripes. I honestly enjoyed it too. My life is so chaotic, messy and unpredictable that I found something very therapeutic and calming about having a room all to myself to paint stripes.

I know. A psychiatrist would have a field day with me. He'd probably say I need a rubber room with stripes. But hey. I like what I like. Some people get drunk. Some people smoke. I paint stripes.

But there's no time for wallowing around here.

I'm just going to fix it, lecture the kids about respecting the house, and move on. This is a house where four kids live, and it shows.

That's why I love it.

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