Hello, My Name is Lucy Ricardo

...at least, this week it sure seems to be! Let me start at the beginning - I've been painting - a lot. I've been working on a mural in one of the children's rooms at church, re-painting the faded and peeling sign in front of the church, and painting my living room. Yes, all of them this week.

Paint is always an iffy undertaking with me. I'm not always aware of my surroundings when I've got a paintbrush in my hand. I'm also not the most coordinated of all people. Put those things together, and you've got the makings of an "I Love Lucy" episode. Let me just start with Wednesday.

Wednesday, I not only managed to get paint in my hair, but I also forgot the fact that I was wearing an apron to wipe off paint, and wiped it on my non-paining jeans. At least, they were my non-painting jeans. That afternoon, I went home and started on the living room walls, still wearing my painting apron, but also now wearing the real painting pants. In the evening, Jonathan came home, and like we always do, we greeted each other with a hug and kiss. Now, Jonathan has a good pair of painting Dockers.

We won't even discuss every time the paint decided to drip anywhere that the dropcloth was not, including the area rug. Moving on to yesterday...

Yesterday, I was determined not to have a repeat of the day before. Well, it wasn't. It gets better. Yesterday, I started out with the primer. This primer is said to stick to anything and everything, and doesn't come off, which is why I got it - I was tired of sanding the previously un-painted window frames. Realizing what kind of a day I'd had the day before, I thought it would be best if I didn't work out of the open gallon can. I could already visualize the white primer oozing all over my hardwood floor... So, I decided to pour a little bit into a small can with a handle. All was going well, until right at the end, when my hands seemingly went rogue, and decided to flip the gallon can over, landing the primer on me, the counter, the sink, the cabinets, and the tiled floor. I'm freaking out, trying to figure out how to get it all up, as it's practically drying on contact, and even a razor blade won't even scrape it up. In a sheer stroke of brilliance, I grab the acetone I use to remove my nailpolish, and am able to clean up pretty much everything. Moving on, I carefully begin to prime and paint...

As I'm painting, I decided to throw caution to the wind and go ahead and work out of the gallon can, leaving the paint-covered lid on the dropcloth. You can guess the rest - I take a step, pivot to my next position, and realize, as I have my sock-covered foot on the wood floor, that it is also now a paint-covered foot. You have GOT to be kidding me! As I stand on one foot, I reach down and grab the paint-covered sock, flip it inside-out, find a dry spot, and quickly wipe off the paint from the floor. Clean. Whew! Oh, but it gets better...

I've managed not to make any huge mistakes for a couple hours, so I'm happily painting around the top on the walls, standing on my ladder. I step off the ladder to go get something, and promptly immerse my entire foot - RIGHT IN THE PAINT CAN!! MY WHOLE FOOT!! I begin to squeegee my foot against the inner rim, all the while muttering to myself, "This can't really be getting worse..." I throw away my second sock of the day, wipe off the bottom part of my now VERY painted pants, clean up around my ankle, and go search for another sock. Upon his arrival home, I tell Jonathan of the latest adventures, and he calmly replies, "Did it ever occur to you that maybe you shouldn't be painting today?" I don't think I'll tell him about the big white brush stroke I found this morning on the back of the couch....