(Will's room--the before picture. Pictures of Will's now insanely but beautifully orange room to come.)
I'm sick. Will's sick. Jack is sick. My husband is sick, but he won't admit it, because he never admits that he's sick. I think that I've mentioned before that a couple of years ago he ended up in the hospital because of his stubborn refusal to admit that from time to time he doesn't feel so hot.
So no one went to the mountains. And I had to watch the Super Bowl. The good news: My husband painted Will's room, which means that I didn't have to. I was ready to do it--not only had I bought the paint and brushes and drop cloths, I'd also purchased plastic coveralls, plastic gloves and plastic shoe covers. I really am too messy to be allowed near paint (I told this to my friend Louise, who actually said, "Really? You don't seem like the messy type to me"--and this while she was riding in my car! Look around you, woman! Lovely person, that Louise, but her powers of observation are not too keen).
But with the family grounded at home, my husband offered to help paint Will's room. We started out together, him sanding and scraping and spackling, me standing around in my plastic white coveralls looking like an Oompa Loompa. But after a bit I started feeling whoozy (at first I thought it was the fumes from my plastic white coveralls, but it turned out to be the bug Jack's been carrying around since Wednesday) and retired to my bed, much to my husband's relief. He is a kind man, but you could tell it was killing him to have me anywhere near a paint can. Really, I'm a disgrace.
So Will's room is painted a robust orange, and I will post a picture when we get the furniture moved back in. Orange is what Will wanted, and it's beautiful, but potentially it will make us all insane. It's very bright. Very bright. Insanely bright. But quite cheerful, so there you have it.
Okay, feeling a bit whoozy again. Must lie down. Have a lovely day!
Your Tiny Hand Is Frozen
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