Saturday was no exception as I arrived to find that neither mom nor Summer in their planning wisdom decided to gather the painting supplies--- or the paint. To make matters more complicated they had moved the under-the-bed dresser into the hall so that it blocked the doorway to the room in which we were to be working. The window air conditioner unit would only work on fan-mode unless you had the remote, which was in another room, in a box - somewhere - so we made do with a moderate breeze. A ladder was propped in the doorway as well and since it did belong to my father, asleep in the next room after his midnight shift, I knew I was in for a treat as I slid it down the side of the wall and then stopped and pushed the metal shelf off of my head, slid it some more, stopped and removed the shelf from my head again, until finally, after three tries it was in the floor of the other room.
"I swear I'm gonna come to your house at 3am and move ladders..." Dad said from his face-down cocoon in the bed.
Mom, Summer and I just giggled and went back to the other room. Mom had found a color in the reject bin at Walmart which can only be described as Dusty Rose Day Glo Puce-y Pink.
An hour later and Sis and I were sitting in the floor, dropcloths all around, painting Gillian's hand-me-down furniture a shocking shade of pink. I've just about finished the footboard I was working on when Summer stopped me.
"WellHOLLY!" she said. "Ithoughtyoucouldpaint! Lookatthat!" And she took her brush and swiped over the various drips and leaks I'd made with my .99 cent foamie brush.
"I can paint!" I defended and started smacking the brush around the piece of furniture.
"Andlookatthis!" she pointed out another globby mess that I'd apparently done.
"Gillian did it?" I said questioningly.
"Breaktime!" I said and ran downstairs to have my arthritic mother make me a sandwich.
Summer was still shaking her head at me when Mom happened to mention that she was still feeling good from the other day.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Your father tried to kill me," she said.
"Oh," I asked nonplussed. "How this time?"
"He couldn't tell which medicine was my Glucophage so instead he just gave me a Tylenol 3 plus Codeine along with my 600 Ibuprofen. I couldn't figure out why I felt so good but soooo tired!"
After painting a bookshelf (badly) a foot board (two coats - badly) and the dresser (not-so-badly) I decided to head back to see if Harry was thoroughly freaked out about his test on Monday. I try to help him but I don't even remotely understand the information to even know if he's telling me the correct answer. I usually just have to turn the note card around and say, "Is this what you just said - if so - it's right!!!"
"Come give me kisses! I'm leaving!" I yelled to my niece who was sitting on the bathroom sink in her panties.
"But - AUNT Holly - I don't want you to go!" She wrapped her skinny arms and legs around me and laid her tiny head on my chest, snuggling in to my cleavage.
So - I stayed. And was rewarded with her snuggling next to me while we watched "The World's Biggest Tea Party! LIVE!", a My Little Pony Special, and endured twenty minutes of Gillian Raspberries and spittle before I finally left my parents' home - soggy, flocked in pink paint, and with the knowledge that Dad may be trying to kill Mom and that I am not a good painter.
The latter of which disturbs me more...
Harry's taking his test tomorrow - send happy "Get a 94%" vibes our way - k?