Really now, how was I supposed to know oil paint didn't come off with soap and water?! Geez!
At least EJ and I had fun in the process! :-P
It's been difficult lately to separate anxiety from everything else I do. After applying for rafts of jobs, and following up fairly aggressively on any local contacts, there are periods when I just have to wait for something to happen--a contact to reach back out to me, a document in the mail, something of that sort. And now that we're getting down to crunch time fiscally, with the timing of the dock sale looming increasingly largely, I'm letting my frustration show more consistently. Like this afternoon. Though it takes a bit of telling to get there.
Kate continues to make progress on the nursery. I've now figured out where to put the remaining bookcase, which will leave only the piano and the filing cabinet. The piano could be a good thing for that room, with a little bit of music being good for the child. And the filing cabinet is benign enough, tucked in a corner...it just can't be black any more. However metal and brutal this baby might be--and we fear no art or music, from death metal to baroque to new age--having a big hulking black object squatting in the corner of the room isn't much of an option. We both like bright colors. Sure, the occasional red-eyed leering skull or set of crossed daggers is a neat accent, but straight black gets kind of monotonous, you know? Like listening to nothing but requiems, or reading nothing but Poe, for the rest of your life.
So we set about to paint the thing. Got some flat white Rust-Oleum last week, and a little sanding brick to roughen up the finish. Today, rather than take off somewhere around the Bay for a few hours, Katie wanted to stay in and take out her energies on the cabinet. So I sullenly got off my rear end and removed the hardware from the drawer fronts, and then helped her finish the sanding. And once I cleared out, she got to woik. And woik she did.
About an hour later, she called down, "Honey...I did something stupid." Wondering what she'd spilled paint all over, I walked upstairs with some trepidation...and saw her glove-white hands. Both of them, covered in white, from the wrists to the fingertips. "I tried to rinse the brush off, and, well..." she began.
I suddenly felt foolish for not having thought to explain to her the difference between water-based and oil-based paints, but...we all have our specialties in life. I guess I've done a lot more painting and remodeling in mine. So...water sure didn't work. Ivory soap didn't work. We didn't have any paint thinner, so I headed out (after lounging in front of the TV for a while) to get some. (Faxed off the app to the Alaska-based survey co. en route). I got back and gave her the can, and she went outside with a rag to dab off her hands.
Five minutes later Kate was back inside, asking me to open it. I tried. And tried. I squeezed the cap. I pressed down on the cap. I squeezed and pressed down on the cap, so hard that I was starting to bend the top of the can. It was worse than the drug bottles, the adult-proof kids-only openers. As I searched for a plumbers' wrench, growing more profane by the moment, Katie grew quieter and somewhat meeker. I think she realized larger forces were at work here than mere irritation at a bottle top.
The cat walked across the counter to inquire, and I dropped him roughly on the floor, nearly upsetting Kate's gift teacup and saucer. I tossed the jackets out of the closet digging (in futility) for my toolbox, safely buried behind several crates of books. Nearing rage, I found a screwdriver, popped the cap off, and handed it to Kate with an expletive.
For every reason, I need to get a job soon.
Kate continues to make progress on the nursery. I've now figured out where to put the remaining bookcase, which will leave only the piano and the filing cabinet. The piano could be a good thing for that room, with a little bit of music being good for the child. And the filing cabinet is benign enough, tucked in a corner...it just can't be black any more. However metal and brutal this baby might be--and we fear no art or music, from death metal to baroque to new age--having a big hulking black object squatting in the corner of the room isn't much of an option. We both like bright colors. Sure, the occasional red-eyed leering skull or set of crossed daggers is a neat accent, but straight black gets kind of monotonous, you know? Like listening to nothing but requiems, or reading nothing but Poe, for the rest of your life.
So we set about to paint the thing. Got some flat white Rust-Oleum last week, and a little sanding brick to roughen up the finish. Today, rather than take off somewhere around the Bay for a few hours, Katie wanted to stay in and take out her energies on the cabinet. So I sullenly got off my rear end and removed the hardware from the drawer fronts, and then helped her finish the sanding. And once I cleared out, she got to woik. And woik she did.
About an hour later, she called down, "Honey...I did something stupid." Wondering what she'd spilled paint all over, I walked upstairs with some trepidation...and saw her glove-white hands. Both of them, covered in white, from the wrists to the fingertips. "I tried to rinse the brush off, and, well..." she began.
I suddenly felt foolish for not having thought to explain to her the difference between water-based and oil-based paints, but...we all have our specialties in life. I guess I've done a lot more painting and remodeling in mine. So...water sure didn't work. Ivory soap didn't work. We didn't have any paint thinner, so I headed out (after lounging in front of the TV for a while) to get some. (Faxed off the app to the Alaska-based survey co. en route). I got back and gave her the can, and she went outside with a rag to dab off her hands.
Five minutes later Kate was back inside, asking me to open it. I tried. And tried. I squeezed the cap. I pressed down on the cap. I squeezed and pressed down on the cap, so hard that I was starting to bend the top of the can. It was worse than the drug bottles, the adult-proof kids-only openers. As I searched for a plumbers' wrench, growing more profane by the moment, Katie grew quieter and somewhat meeker. I think she realized larger forces were at work here than mere irritation at a bottle top.
The cat walked across the counter to inquire, and I dropped him roughly on the floor, nearly upsetting Kate's gift teacup and saucer. I tossed the jackets out of the closet digging (in futility) for my toolbox, safely buried behind several crates of books. Nearing rage, I found a screwdriver, popped the cap off, and handed it to Kate with an expletive.
For every reason, I need to get a job soon.
Ahh! Oil paint and paint thinner? Are you nuts? You're pregnant, not just fat! Keep those chemicals out of your house - and certainly away from Kate and Eva!
ReplyDeleteMuch love (and concern),Cor :-)
I do appreciate all the love and concern that comes from it! After that first day of idiocy it occurred to me to do a little research and I found this site:
ReplyDeletehttp://www.americanpregnancy.org/pregnancyhealth/paintexposure.html
Although they say ideally to have some one else do the painting, I'd already started and was not about to relinquish the project. So I've taken all the precautionary measures the site suggested since that first coat. You'll notice the site also states that occupational painting is thought to be more of an issue than a few days out of your whole pregnancy working on projects in the nursery, and even less of a concern after the first trimester.
So, I'm off to do the last coat now, with mask, gloves, and fans running!