I’m channeling The Property Brothers, and that perky, creative couple from Fixer Upper. Everywhere I look in our home I see DIY projects and I’ve taken the plunge, enjoying The DIY Zone. It’s been a blast, even though I haven’t actually done a demo project. (Is it wrong of me to really want a sledge hammer?) My time line for getting ‘er done is when I can fit in a project between my family’s schedules.
The big idea for my latest project was to completely redo my daughter’s bedroom. Anna had picked out a new bed and paint color for her walls. First I’d scrape the acoustic popcorn off of her ceiling then repaint the ceiling and walls. I’d done it before, so it should be easy, right? I could envision the end product in my mind. Love It or List It would always be a love it situation if my vision would go as planned.
When my daughter called this past weekend to say she would be home again on Friday, I started her bedroom ceiling. Spray the ceiling with warm water, scrape, catch the debris in a bucket, and repeat. A little up and down the ladder, and Bob’s your uncle, the job is done. I just didn’t realize that I had entered the room of doom that would turn my flip into a flop.
It took a freaking ocean of water to remotely get this repainted popcorn from hell soft enough to begin to scrap. Some of it flew off in chunks, somehow getting plastered inside my shirt. My arm muscles were aching after what seemed to be the 40th trip down the ladder to refill the spray bottle. I wanted one of the Scott brothers to massage me and tell me it was going to be alright. A Wanna-be DIY lady can dream, dammit, because the dream was much better than the reality. I was covered; head to toe in “popcorn dust.” The room was hazy. My mask was clogged, and I had visions of my family finding me frozen and statue like with a bucket in my arms. That bucket was full of yucky, wet, chalk-smelling, white goo when I hit the floor.
The ladder tipped, sending me, and the scraper flying. Somehow, the scraper arched in the air and landed in the bucket. The bucket launched itself, as though ghosts of DIY celebrities past were trying to teach a novice not to be quite so confident. It landed firmly upside down on my head, bounced, and plopped on my feet, covering my shoes and the carpet in sopping wet popcorn sludge. I’m not sure what sounds came out of my mouth as I held my head, but I’m pretty sure it was close to speaking in tongues. All I know for sure is that my eight-year-old son ran away, fast. The big reveal, when the dust settled was a room splattered in ceiling popcorn, and one very spotted lady. No one could come into the room without pushing the muck more firmly into the carpet. Taking my shoes off became a test in how not to further spread the ceiling blob. I was covered, and there wasn’t a Property Brother in sight.
Today is Tuesday. My daughter will be home on Friday to a completely NOT
done room. It took two days for all the goo to dry before the room could be vacuumed, and wiped down. Anna’s room will be clean with a partially scraped ceiling and old paint on the walls. Her new bed will be freshly made and I’ll even spring for some fresh flowers in a vase. This time my DIY project isn’t on schedule. I thought I could redo a bedroom in five days since some of the HGTV programs show totally renovated houses in thirty days. I’ll give it another go later. I would rather enjoy the time I have with my daughter when she is here. In the meantime, I have a power washer and a chain saw, and I’m not afraid to use them. Sounds like a HGTV/Lifetime Horror movie in the making.