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My obsession with my home remodeling is spilling into every part of my life, which I’m sure most remodelers can relate to.
Nowadays, the evidence of my hard work is most apparent not on my walls, but on me. It’s in the bruises on my shins, the standard attire of my weeknight dinners with Scott (ratty T-shirt and shorts with paint on them), the drips on my toenail polish, the splotches of white under my favorite flip-flops, and even in my hair.
The idea for the subtitle for this blog came from a true story to my hair salon. Shortly after moving into the house, I decided that I shouldn’t neglect my “me time” and allow myself to put off painting for an evening to get a trim. So, I booked an evening appointment with my usual stylist, Steven, and settled in the chair with a drink and magazine in hand.
Just as he began the cut, he quickly noticed a few “gray” hairs in the back. He then laughed and corrected himself: no, not gray hair, it was a patch of hair with paint on it. I must have brushed my usual pony tail up against wet paint and couldn’t see that it didn’t wash out.
Oops. Guess I missed that one.
I keep telling myself it’s ok for me to look like a slob while my house is getting a makeover. At the end, we’ll both me more refreshed and ready for a social life again. However, I’m realizing that at this rate, I’m going to turn into what my house used to look like, and my house will be the one living her 20s in style (currently, she’s 28).
Hopefully, the master bathroom renovation (which God-willing will begin soon) will help to change that. I want it to have a spa-like appeal, even if it’s the smallest spa in the world. Even when I lived in an apartment, the bathroom was my sanctuary – full of soaps, scrubs, cotton balls and makeup. If I give myself an inviting place for pampering, maybe I’ll get back to feeling more put together.
Here’s a thought — maybe I can do both at exactly the same time. I can put a facial mud mask on while painting the trim, and buy an inexpensive (but plush) robe to put on when I’m in between coats on the walls. I can even put loops around the waist as a terrycloth tool belt! It won’t be cucumbers-on-my-eyelids relaxing, but it will be close enough, right? I could be onto a whole new line of pampering products for do-it-yourself ladies who still want to look glamorous while holding a nail gun.
Or, it could just be the paint fumes and exhaustion making me crazy. Fifty-fifty.