Getting into a home-improvement project is kind of like childbirth — when you’re in the middle of doing it, you wonder why you ever thought it was a good idea, but it’s great when it’s over.
We moved into our home 18 years ago, and we have updated it through the years. We replaced carpet with beautiful hardwood floors, tile and in two of the three bedrooms, more carpet. By we, I mean we hired it done. My husband is an excellent painter, so he’s taken care of the updates to the walls, but we aren’t Chip and Joanna Gaines from HGTV’s Fixer Upper by any stretch of the imagination.
Last week, my husband started updating our gag-me gold walls of the bedroom and master bath. It was in style 15 years ago, but it’s way past time to paint. Yellow is my least favorite color.
I called in my longtime friend Alicia, a design goddess, and asked her opinion. She whipped out her handy-dandy paint chips, and in 10 seconds picked Agreeable Gray. I agreed.
I’ve been talking for years about wanting my oak kitchen cabinets painted, too. I’ve looked at decorating magazines and online sites to get ideas. Alicia said Agreeable Gray would work for that, too.
Another friend, Lori, gave me the names of professional painters she uses. As fate would have it, they had one week free, starting immediately.
Ricardo, the owner, told me we might want to sleep somewhere else the first two nights because of the oil-based paint fumes. Our older son and daughter-in-law and, more importantly, our 2-year-old granddaughter, live in the neighborhood and offered their guestroom to us and backyard to our dog, Rudy.
My husband and I spent hours packing up dishes and glasses from the kitchen and laundry-room cabinets, clearing the countertops and taking pictures off the wall so the painters could work. We found things we didn’t know we had and didn’t need. Why did we still have a water bottle, with his name painted on it, that our 29-year-old son got at field day when he was in fifth grade?
I woke up sick Sunday night — stomach-virus, sleep-on-the-bathroom-floor sick. So I was quarantined in the bedroom as the painters worked in the kitchen. At one point, I got up to turn the air conditioner on, and the smell of paint nearly knocked me down. I shut my bedroom door and stuffed a towel under the door. I had an intense headache as I lay in bed with the covers over my head to try to block the smell.
I staggered to the patio door off our bedroom to open it for fresh air. I saw all my cabinet doors lying on the patio table and propped around. They had little seed pods from our trees on top of them like sprinkles on cupcakes. I panicked.
With what little strength I could muster, I texted Ricardo. I told him I was freaking out that I was going to have tree trash embedded in my cabinets. “It is primer,” he texted back. Yes, but I asked, wouldn’t it also stick to the paint? I said, “I know you think I’m crazy, and I am.”
“They will dry inside,” he told me with no comment on the crazy.
I promised to trust him and leave him alone.
On Tuesday, I was well enough to go to work. My husband and I spent the night at my son and daughter-in-law’s house, and I took Rudy home to put in his kennel. He escaped into the kitchen and promptly put his paws up on the drying cabinet doors. If you live within 100 miles of my home, you probably heard me scream.
After four days, the project was finished. The freshly painted light-gray cabinets make the kitchen look beautiful and bright.
I wish I’d updated them years ago. And when I get tired of the look, I can change it. Paint colors, unlike children, aren’t permanent.
Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.