Seven Lighting Specimens That Will Die on Craigslist

Sometimes, my mind is boggled. Like when we’re discussing political parties and my students decide that the two major parties in the United States are the Democrats and the Americans. Or when I see signs like this:

Ooooor when I am innocently scrolling through Craigslist and all of a sudden I scream in fright.

Behold: a recent round-up of seven lighting specimens that will die on Craigslist…because nobody will buy them. Unless they are going to play a cruel practical joke on someone.

1. Giant Greek Goddess. Stands at a towering 76” tall and basically a steal at a mere $550. That’s only $7.24 per inch. Says the seller: “I’ve never seen anything like it, but it must be worth a lot!” Yeah, okay.

2. Carousel of Non-Progress. I don’t know what to make of the giant protruding bulbs. They hardly seem kid-friendly. I wonder if it actually revolves around like a real carousel?

3. Moldy Beehive. This has been listed and relisted for over a year. It is like the song that never ends. And for some reason, the sellers occasionally increase the price. Maybe they know something about selling moldy beehives that I don’t. Admittedly, I am no expert.

4. Dead Orange Chicken. My friends and I went through a boa phase when we were in middle school. We probably would have wanted 10 of these lamps each.

5. Cookie. Don’t get me wrong. I like cookies. But not enough to decorate with them. (Rick does that every time he has a snack on the couch, anyway. HiRickIloveyou.) Besides, it would just make me want cookies all the time.

6. Question Mark. Because I’m not sure what this is supposed to be. Perhaps it’s modern art, you know the kind, where it looks like a blob and yet art critics stand back and find all sorts of deep meaning in it. Ah yes; now I see it. It is a poor farmer planting crops under the light of the yellow  moon, with a tsunami brewing dark and dangerous in the distance.

And last but not least:

7. Deer Feet. Real ones. BLEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Excuse me while I squirm. I’d never be able to function in a room with deer foot lamps.

Now, usually I can find potential in hideous unusual things if there is potential to be found. But I’m coming up short.

How about you? Anyone think any of these are salvageable? Who has cash to burn and wishes there were two of that first Greek goddess one? If you had to choose just one with which to start a bonfire, which would you pick?

Lessons from a Color-Blind Senior Citizen at the Paint Counter

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You all know the drill: it’s time to pick a paint color. Cue the internal groan. Trudge to the stack of swatches. Tape a bajillion on the wall. Come back and visit them in every possible form of light. Compare one to the next. Repeat 85 times because it needs to be *perfect* and this is, you’re told by countless experts, how to do it. Hem and haw and refuse to make a decision for weeks because you don’t want to waste money—and, ironically, time—redoing it.The life of a person who cares what their house looks like, right?

And yet.

There I was, standing at the paint counter at ACE Hardware, waiting for my gallon of flat Simply White to be ready. An older gentleman approached the counter with a coupon for a free quart of paint, and, when asked what color he would like, he replied, “Brown.” I smiled a little to myself, finding humor in his oblivion to the thousands of Benjamin Moore color choices laid out in a rainbow behind me, a rainbow that had sucked me in even as a child, enchanting me with its fantastically immense variety of hues. Just “brown”? What was that? He obviously didn’t do what every “How to pick the perfect paint color” guide tells you to do.

The worker kindly showed him that rainbow of swatches, instructing him to pick out which specific brown he would like. A few seconds later, the man reappeared at the counter with his chosen swatch, at which point he was informed by the worker that the “brown” he had chosen was not, in fact, brown.

It was purple.

So back the man went with the worker, who selected a few brown swatches from which the man grabbed one, thus ending the quest for “brown” paint. It took him mere seconds.

As I stood there taking in the whole scene, I thought how freeing it would be to have that kind of contentment about a paint color. To simply walk up to the counter and ask for brown, without taping half a million swatches to the wall, without googling images of said brown, without needing the perfect brown to be called something like Mink or French Press. Just brown. And to even be content with it not being brown at all, but purple.

And then I thought, Benjamin Moore carries nearly 3,500 paint colors, not including the shades blended for annoying customers like me who ask for it mixed at 50% strength. And dear old Ben is just one of countless brands of paint, each with their own versions of Mink and French Press. At what point did we begin needing hundreds of thousands of choices for our wall colors? At what point did things stop being just brown and start being Chocolate Truffle and Timber and Autumn Dusk? At what point did I decide that it was okay for me to spend a whole lot more than mere seconds agonizing over decisions that don’t actually matter?

I walked away from the paint counter with my Simply White—because just regular off-the-shelf white was not acceptable; I had to have that extra ounce of black added to the gallon—and asked the Lord to not let me forget what I witnessed with the older gentleman. I prayed that I would have the same kind of contentment with the choices I make for our home, not constantly wanting to change or scrutinize or worry about them being “perfect.” I prayed for constant reminders that neither perfection nor happiness actually comes from the “perfect” color or chair or curtain fabric.  A fleeting feeling of perfection and happiness, maybe, but it doesn’t last. It’s not supposed to. This is just stuff of the world.

This is not to say that I’ve stopped caring what my house looks like. No, I have been blessed—and cursed—with a critical eye, and I doubt I will ever give up on trying to make our home beautiful. This house is a creative outlet and hobby for both me and Rick, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But it’s not just a matter of “finding balance” with things like hobbies; it’s a matter of prioritizing. Because I can balance a 16 pound bag of cat food, two gallons of milk, four shopping bags of cereal, and my man-eating purse all while attempting to unlock the house door, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea. Something will always demand the brunt of my strength. And which of those things wins when they all go crashing to the ground?

See, I want to pick my just brown and move on with life. This goes for every house choice, not just paint. At the end of it all, I want to be able to say a lot more than, “Well, I sure did have some great-looking walls in my house after I painted them 42 times each, and I once spent a lot of marvelous days staring at pages and pages of fabric options.”

Because let’s face it. That’s lame.

The new drill: it’s time to pick a paint color. So I pick one. And am content with it. And learn how love and thankfulness and joy look with those walls as the backdrop.

And with that, “just brown”—yes, even “just brown”—can be perfect.

How to Paint Herringbone on a Wall (and Live to Tell About It) *TUTORIAL*

I have a bad habit of taking forever to post about things. Just check out the “Favorites” listed in the right sidebar. Every one of those snippets begins with something to the effect of “Many eons ago before the world began.” (Maybe my bad habit is just discussing my tardiness in the beginning of my posts. Note to self.) Anyway, I’ve finally pulled together the tutorial for how we created our herringbone accent wall. Like I mentioned in the reveal post, our method was a bit simpler than the tutorials I perused as I tried to wrap my brain around this process. There was no trigonometry. Just simple addition. My English teacher brain likes that.

How to Paint Herringbone on a Wall AND (say it with me)…LIVE TO TELL ABOUT IT

You’ll need:

• painters tape (we used a combination of Scotch Blue 1” and Frog Tape 2”—the 2” wide tape is how we got away with simple addition and a simple layout)
• paint
• pencil
• patience
• peaches (It starts with P and I figured I had a nice little trend going there, so. Besides, peaches are delicious.)

1. Mark and tape your vertical lines. Start by measuring the width of your wall and dividing that width into equal vertical sections. The more sections you make, the more herringbone Vs there will be, and the skinnier they will be. I measured ours into 6 equal sections so that the whole design was centered on the wall, but you could be wild and crazy and do whatever you want. I’d recommend marking these measurements with pencil and then checking and re-checking your measurements BEFORE you put up tape and step back to find out the tape is crooked because your measurements were off. I am obviously not speaking from experience.

2. Mark and tape your diagonals. Don’t be fooled by the brevity of this section’s title, because this is the most time-consuming part—and also where the process got tricky and I almost gave up. Luckily Rick came home from work right about when I was about to have a meltdown and eat an entire carton of ice cream, and together we returned the ice cream to the freezer and figured out a good plan of attack. Basically, what you have to figure out is how deep you want your V angles to be.

I wanted somewhere between the top two, so I put up the first piece of 2” Frog Tape (beginning at the top of one of the vertical lines of 1” tape) and just adjusted it until I got an angle I wanted.

The next thing we had to measure was the distance between the left end of the tape and the ceiling so that we could replicate the same angle in the other vertical sections. For us, that distance ended up being 10”. (Again, this exact measurement will vary depending on how deep you choose to make your Vs.) I don’t have a picture of the next few steps but it looked something like this:

From here, you do a lot of measuring. But because we used the 2” Frog Tape, our measuring was simple. There was no need to confusingly tape off the alternating sections like we had to when we painted stripes in our bathroom. And there was no need for trigonometry or other mind-numbing calculations. Using the 2” Frog Tape was key here because it allowed us to easily create a 2” space (that would stay white) between each desired V. Each of our exposed diagonals (that would be painted navy) was going to be 2.5” in width. Therefore, to determine where the second piece of tape needed to be placed, we simply measured down 2.5” from both ends of that first top piece of tape and marked it off in pencil on the 1” vertical blue tape.

All of the remaining marks within a vertical section were made 4.5” from the previous mark (2” for the tape and 2.5” for the desired white space). As I was putting up the tape (Rick did all of the measuring/marking), I knew that the TOP of my piece of tape needed to line up with the pencil marks on the blue tape.

For those pesky pieces of top and bottom tape that touched the ceiling/floor versus the vertical lines (which means you can’t easily measure to the 2.5” mark), we just held up tape and eyeballed it until the angle seemed to match. This is where having a helper comes in handy (again).

3. PAINT AND PEEL AWAY THE TAPE! The fun part. The part where you cover your eyes, cower in a corner, and maybe wet your pants a little in fear of the whole thing not turning out the way you wanted it to. Sort of like the first day of middle school. We painted one half of the wall at a time and worked quickly, applying a second coat just a few minutes after the first (the navy was too dark to get away with just one coat, but allowing either of the coats to dry would guarantee a messy, peeling edge when we removed the tape). Within a few minutes of applying the second coat, we removed the tape so that it wouldn’t peel the paint away.

And presto, a herringbone accent wall that took around six hours to create.

I think it would have taken less time if we had 100% known what we were doing—but as it was, we had some trial and error, and obvious breaks for peach-eating and cat-petting.

Before and after of the room? Okay. (For more details on this room’s progress and updates, go here and here.)

We’re getting there. The only thing left before furniture is carpet. Orrrr we could just leave the floor as-is. It has sort of a rustic, shabby chic vibe.

 

So…is your mind numbed? Truthfully, it’s a whole lot easier to do it than it is to explain it. It’s like the time I gave Rick and his family “great directions” to my college (via a route I had driven hundreds of times) and they ended up in West Wang-Doo, which was, incidentally, nowhere near my college. Oops.

*Linking up to Thrifty Décor Chick and Home Stories A to Z!*

Curtains: The Only Thing a Newborn Really Needs (Obviously)

We are rocking this nursery progress thing. How do I know? Because in the two months since the room was painted, we’ve made and hung curtains.

Fabric from here

I know you are amazed at our speed and efficiency.

Really, though. A crib? Optional. Storage? Unnecessary. Diapers? Overrated.

But curtains? A must-have.

We are clearly 100% ready for the arrival of our baby girl. Soon-to-be parents of the year, right here.

In our defense, this summer has been a bit busier than usual…and we are waiting to set up the nursery furniture until the upstairs is carpeted so that we don’t have to move it all in and then back out again. And we have a list of exactly 46 things that need to be done before carpet can be installed. And by 46 things, I don’t mean 46 things things like “sweep the floor.” I mean things like “skimcoat the bedroom walls” and “install new trim.” You know, things that require a few more than 8 seconds of time on task and people who don’t take accidental 2.5 hour naps instead of cleaning the house.

I’m happy to report, though, that despite *someone’s* snoozing, 28 of the 46 things are DONE. The other 18 will be done in time to have carpet installed before school starts again in September. If I type it, it will come true, right? Here are the answers you may choose from:

A. “RIGHT Erin; you’re not delusional at all. But even if you are delusional, and the upstairs will never be done in that time frame, you can always have your baby sleep in a hammock hanging from that ladder.”

B. “RIGHT Erin; you’re not delusional at all. Let me come over with a fresh batch of brownies and finish everything for you.”

C. “RIGHT Erin; you’re not delusional at all. After all, Rome wasn’t built in a day.” (I will kindly excuse the poor comparison and largely misguided use of a cliché.)

Do let me know which answer you’ve chosen. ;)

Smile, I Made a Gold-Painted “Smile” Pillow

I participated in the following conversation last week:

Rick: Where did you get that from?

Erin: I made it.

Rick: No you didn’t.

Erin: Um, yes I did.

Rick: But it’s so perfect.

Erin: Thank you?

This was my first attempt at painting fabric, and I just used regular white fabric and water-based acrylic paint I had left from this drippy watercolor dot painting. I know some people have mixed the paint with something called fabric medium or something like that, but I didn’t. This is mainly because I don’t know what that even is, AND it was not in my immediate possession. Smile, I am clueless. And impatient.

Aaaand then I stuffed it with fiberfill from a deformed pillow that came with an old comforter. Sometimes things just have to be sacrificed in the name of cheap.

Seriously, I don’t know why I didn’t think of this sooner…instead of buying the sometimes-pricey bags of fiberfill from the craft store, buy the old ugly pillows that are on clearance because nobody wants them. And then destroy them, which technically should have been done before they ever hit the stores and/or homes in the first place. This one would be a perfect victim, for example:

Source

On that note…some things that make me smile lately other than the thought of burning that pillow:

• Feeling my baby do gymnastics at all hours of the day.
• Spending time with my brother who is home from Arizona for a bit.
• Watching my dad beam with absolute pride and excitement as he directs the orchestra of Les Miserables…of which I am a (mostly) willing participant on the French horn.
• The hilarious comments of the 5 and 6-year olds at summer rec arts and crafts (“I can see seven germs on my desk!”).
• Watching Rick have three potential job prospects within two weeks of finding out that his pharmacy (at a long-term care facility) is going to be outsourced…and all within four days of applying for said jobs. That whole deal isn’t over yet--and definitely didn’t begin with either of us smiling--but we’ve cast our anxieties on the Lord and He is so clearly already showing His faithfulness. :) :) (That deserves TWO smiles.)

What makes YOU smile lately?

Stamped Packing Peanut Painting {Easy Art}

Making this art is easy. Saying the name with which I’ve christened it….not so much. I won’t recommend anything foolish like “say that 5 times fast” because you and I would both regret that and you would be embarrassed.

This simple 8x10 packing peanut art is officially the first decoration for baby’s nursery and was inspired by a giant bag of packing peanuts that I found in my parents’ basement. All you need to make your own is paint and…packing peanuts. You really only need a few, although I found it helpful to have one designated for each of the five colors I used.

On an unrelated note, having a baby makes me want to swath our entire house in bright and bold and color. Byebye, “grown-up” neutrals. Did this happen to anyone else?

Also, packing peanuts come in different shapes, but the ones I used to create this painting are shaped like figure 8s. Some are shaped like an S (which could also be cool) and some are shaped like turds. If you have been secretly pining for a turd-shaped stamp and real turds are in short supply then make those your go-to variety of packing peanut. And also invest in some prunes. Okay, this just got really gross and weird. Forget I said anything about turds.

No matter what shape you choose, you simply dip the packing peanut into your paint and stamp away to your little heart’s content. Like I said, easy. Kids could do it! While blindfolded! Using only their pinky toes!

I plan to test my theory when baby is born. Surely infants are even capable of this level of crafting.

I’m actually 27 weeks now, but who’s counting? I definitely didn’t know that yesterday was 13 weeks from my due date. And I definitely didn’t know that Sunday marked 3 months until my due date. And Rick definitely doesn’t have a countdown on his computer at work. No, nobody’s counting. We’re actually not excited at all.*

*Biggest lie I’ve ever told.

Would you stamp with packing peanuts? Have you ever stamped with anything unusual? What are you *totally not* excited about these days?

In other exciting news, I cleaned our windows. {Homemade Glass Cleaner Recipe + Printable}

Um, what? Cleaning windows is exciting? Why, yes. Yes it is. Especially when I’ve never cleaned them. Ever. Not in any of the spare minutes I’ve had while dwelling in this house for the past two and a half years. I’ve clearly had more important things to do.

But I was relaxing in the living room the other day (like I said, important things happening around here) and noticed just how mortifyingly disgusting the windows were. There’s just something about smeary slimy dust and slimy cat nose residue that is not entirely endearing. “Welcome to our home; here is a cat booger for you to contemplate.”

To fix this problem, I followed the recipe found here for homemade no-streak glass cleaner, plus added a couple drops of blue food coloring to make it more official. Or something. Rick asked me why I didn’t make it pink. He said, “You had a chance to have pink cleaning products and you didn’t take it?” He’s right, of course. I blame my pregnancy brain for this unfortunate oversight.

Pregnancy brain didn’t totally conquer me, though, because I thought to make a printable for the spray bottle so that I know what the heck is in it, and a recipe for the back so I remember how the heck to make it again. And I will be making it again, because it was cheap. This whole bottle cost basically, I don’t know, twelve cents? Basically, I’ll never buy Windex again. (No smart comments predicting that this is because I don’t ever plan to clean the windows again.)

Right-click to save the file for printing!

Right-click to save the file for printing!

Quick print + packaging tape=instant waterproof label.

Also, it works. Cleared away the grime and left no streaks behind. (Ooh, catchy. That could be the slogan for the product.) To prove my point like an infomercial, I’d show you a picture of the cloth after I wiped off the front of one window, but you’d judge me. And never come to my house again. And wonder how two people could possibly get so much dirt to cling to their windows. It’s an art form, probably. So you’ll just have to picture the grimiest, blackest cloth ever, then multiply it by disgustingest squared, and know that’s what came off of our windows.

What household chores do you procrastinate on? Do you have any go-to homemade cleaners that work? Please share the link if you do—I want to phase out some of our other cleaners, too! To be honest, with our snazzy easy-access windows, cleaning windows doesn’t appear to be the worst chore ever, so it’s a mystery as to why I’ve waited so long. I much less prefer tasks like cleaning the shower. Blergh.