Nine Kids and Painting

I am impulsive. I don’t think of it as some massive character flaw, honestly, it’s a gift. I wouldn’t be who I am today, with the fantastic life I have, without the gift of impulsiveness. My husband is the opposite of impulsive. Information that shocks no one, I am sure, since this is the way things usually go. The jump-into-the-deep-end gal ends up with the think-through-every-possible-outcome-ten-times guy, right? I decided a few days ago that I needed to paint my kitchen cabinets. In my mind, I would go to the store, pick out a good color, bring it home and go to town. After all, I had already pinned several dozen inspirational color ideas to my “kitchen” board. What more do you need?

My husband and I have been married for a whole seven years. For the majority of those seven years, we have rented. We purchased our very first home less than six months ago. It is an absolute DREAM home. Log cabin. Land. A creek off to one side. Secluded. There are a few updates we are working toward to make it ours. The carpet must go, obviously. We need a livestock fence ASAP. A handicapped-accessible bathroom is high on the priorities list. My husband wants to gut the kitchen and make all his dreams come true.

Some of these things must happen before other things. Since we have three children who are full-time wheelchair users, our priorities have a natural hierarchy. That means, the kitchen remodel is not super high on the list, much to my husband’s dismay. He is a good sport though, and a fantastic dad. He gets it. I have been staring at our current kitchen for nearly six months now and I figure a fresh coat of paint might make it a little more tolerable, at least for a while.

Four days ago, I share my winning idea with my husband who is not as gung ho as I am. Interesting, I muse. That’s ok. Once I’m finished later this afternoon, he will see my vision in all its glory and get excited about the fresh face.

I wake up at seven am on the dot every single morning no matter what because my body hates me. Ryan will sleep for the rest of his life if he were able. I had already been awake, mulling over my thought when I gently woke him to tell him I was going to go get paint. Barely conscious, he somehow communicates to me that WE will go to the store and do something called “buy samples” then come home, paint some places, let it dry, then decide which color we want. I was kind of in shock.

My husband is an intelligent man, so I was willing to give him the benefit of doubt. I still thought it was a huge waste of time, but I did agree to a “for better or worse” situation. I guess this is the “worse” they were talking about. We round up the children, get ourselves ready, and nearly three hours later we head to town. I was still dreaming of the slate blue beauty that awaits me.

Our first major setback happened at the Lowe’s counter on what we will refer to henceforth as “Day 1”. They could not make the paint samples we wanted. They were out of the base paint or something. So, no samples. For a split second, I was naively thinking he would give up on this entire nonsense and just let me get a gallon of what was clearly the best suggestion, mine. I was wrong.

Being the fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants queen that I am, I offer an alternative plan. We take home a ton of the tiny little block paint sample cards, tape them together on our cabinets, then make our pick. He agrees, but probably only because he knows I am crazy. Happily, we head back toward the boonies with entirely too many paint sample cards.

I was still thinking we would successfully choose a color that day and I would still manage to pull off getting these cabinets painted that evening. I had to adjust the plan running through my head and resolved myself to staying up late to get it done. I may even have to push myself to stay up past ten, I thought. It would be worth it, I tell myself, still picturing the delight that will be my blue-grey glory.

After this point, the story becomes a bit sorted. I can’t clearly remember what happened or in what order. I just remember spending hours, days, staring at the paint samples we had taped to everything. My husband kept picking deep blue. Nothing near the slate blue in my mind. I’m talking blue. Nautical blue. Royal blue. BLUE, y'all. He hated all my suggestions. If I even remotely liked it, it was off the table. It’s kind of a running joke, but we are so very different that we rarely EVER agree on small things.

Day two comes and I am scrambling for a new plan. I am still determined to get these cabinets painted. We have a local hardware store called McCoys. Thankfully they sold paint, so off I go to find more color options. I brought home another dozen little cards. We go back to the mats. He picks out a deep, bright blue. I’m in the other corner with my trendy grey-blue hues. It is getting later and later in the day. Now our kids have started taking sides. Things are getting heated. It is no longer about paint. It’s about who loves which parent more.

I relent. I just wanted to paint my kitchen guys. I decided that anything is better than the orange-brown we had. I concede. I will just go get the fiesta blue my husband likes. Clearly, the Latino part of him picks out paint colors. I can get down with it. Better or worse right? I love him. I want the cabinets a different color.

Before he had a chance to change his mind, I was at the store purchasing a gallon of paint and all the tools I would need. Someone was supposed to feed the children in like half an hour, so I also grabbed some chicken to go with sides I could make at home. I am hoping that would buy me time to get some painting done that night. I can do this. I was dreaming of waking up the next day to a new, bright, better kitchen!

Things did not go as planned. I painted a considerable portion of the kitchen, between throwing food at people, making an epic mess. Here comes my husband. He pulls over his office chair, sits down, and quietly begins to just STARE. Hands clasped beneath his chin. Eyes unwavering. Brow furrowed. Oh boy, I think. He hates it. I mean, no shocker, it’s hideous. Eventually, he tells me to stop painting. We will find a better color. This one isn’t going to work.

Day Three. Now I have the employees at the local hardware store roped into my drama. I kid you not, I went up there five separate times and purchased four different paint samples, in addition to the countless swatches I stole. Day three was rough. Day three we got nothing done. Day three the arguing got a teeny bit louder. I needed a decision and I needed it NOW. This kitchen was starting to look like that scene in Sleeping Beauty where the fairies are fighting over dress color and everything in the cottage was falling prey. Only ours was just different shades of blue.

At one point we were cackling hilariously at a joke Ryan made. He said compromise is just the answer that makes everyone unhappy. I still think that was funny. True and funny. Another point we decided to just split the cabinets. I get the top, he gets the bottom, we will paint our sides the color we want. I’m so glad we moved past that point. Though I was thinking, at least it would be a great conversation starter during dinner parties. Hey! Let me tell you why our kitchen looks like it has Dissociative Identity Disorder!

Finally, after the chaos of dinner day three, an agreement was made. I won. We picked the color Ryan has affectionately dubbed “Hill Billy Cracker Barrell Blue”. Guys. Sign me up for pretty much anything Cracker Barrell is selling. If that’s the color of my kitchen I am not mad at all. I have been fantasizing since my childhood about growing up and being rich enough to buy whatever overpriced thing strike my fancy in the gift shop.

I put the children to bed and got to work. I was pretty much dead by the time it was finished several hours later. I spilled paint on the floor a few times. I made a mess on the carpet, which was regrettable. I rolled into bed feeling accomplished though. I did it. It was done. I couldn’t wait to wake up to dry paint the next day to see what we really had.

I am overjoyed with the result! I am happy to report my marriage survived, my husband actually said he likes the color now that it is dry. After this, I’m not sure how we will ever make progress on something like picking out new flooring or deciding on light fixtures. The future may need a professional moderator.