the bathroom remodel is over. well, kind of.

The bathroom remodel is done.
Over.
Fin.

We did it. AND (added bonus) we stayed married through it. AND (second added bonus) I didn't get murdered in the kill room. I mean, the death shanty is still around, alive and kicking, but I think I can trust him. Look, if he was going to kill me, he would have done that long ago. Like when I poured Orange Soda all over his khaki shorts on purpose. I was mad at him. And apparently really mad at his shorts. Anyways, he could have killed me then, but he didn't! WIN.

Back to the bathroom.

It came out, absolutely, positively, better than I ever expected.
And a little different than I expected.

First, we went with white cabinets. We wanted gray, we hoped and prayed for gray, but gray didn't go our way. We tried three different grays. They stunk. The problem, we ultimately determined, was my beloved purple tiles which made grays look baby blue and I don't need a baby anything bathroom. No thank you.

We had no choice but to turn to white. White is steadfast. White is perfect. White is pretty much fabulous.


We started with oak cabinets. Oak is grainy and woody all over. It stinks to paint over. It feels rough. It's porous. It's bad news bears. We (Chuck) did a lot of research about what to do with them. We thought about wood filler, but heard mixed reviews so we went with a ridiculous amount of sanding instead.


And primer that costs $60 a gallon.
I kid you not. That primer was exactly one dress from Nordstrom. It has all sorts of good things about it and it does a great job sticking to everything. For $60, it should clean my oven.

So we deglossed, then sanded. Primed. Sanded. Primed. Sanded.
It was my hell week.
Chuck is the anti-fun.


Everything we did we sprayed on because that's what works best and we happened to have a sprayer just laying around. We could have brushed everything on, true, but that takes about a hundred years.


For the actual white paint, we used Benjamin Moore's Cabinet Coat which also costs a whole Nordstrom Dress worth (that's like a hay penny except much more). This stuff is re-donk-u-lous (that's my strongest form of the word ridiculous). It is super amazing at leveling. Oh, do you not know what leveling means? I'm sure glad I know all about it. Leveling is how well a paint smoothes out after you brush it on. If you see lines, it doesn't level well. If you see baby bottom smooth, you're probably seeing Cabinet Coat.

Two spray coats of Cabinet Coat and me (yes ME!!!!) brushing all the frames -- I did something, celebrate, National Holiday -- and we were done.


Hardware. Love.


Faucets. Love.


Light fixture. Extra love because I found him all lonely in a clearance bin. Clearance bin means insta-love for a miser like me.


These cabinets are butter smooth.

That's how we made our bathroom. DIY like you wouldn't believe.
Here's the before and after.


Oh, and the "kind of" part to being over. I really haven't redecorated yet AND I haven't done my frame around the mirror. I'm ok with that considering we finished the remodel project at 10:45 a.m. Easter Sunday and the family arrived at 11.

But whatever. It still looks bomb.

how lucy thinks easter went down.

Truth be told, if we put Lucy on the "stand", kid would have no idea what really went on here during Easter. Plausible deniability. Ignorance is bliss. Lucy Bliss.

You really can't subject a two year old to seeing her "Dad Dad" rolling her "Sister" in a blanket while Mommy and Bubba are crying tears of happiness. She doesn't really get tears of happiness and always thinks we're sad and hurt. I'm pretty sure seeing  her "Mom Mom" grease a latex glove with butter would have caused an equal amount of confusion.

Hence, nap time was an Easter Miracle.

Pre-nap time, Lucy had what she considers to have been "Easter". And we'll continue to let her think that. She need not know what goes on 'round here behind closed nap time doors.

She knows that she looked stunning on Easter.



She picked out the girliest dress Tar-jay had to offer and was the definition of Bell of the Ball.


Six months ago she wore a tux to Thanksgiving Dinner. Now we're in a dress with a giant pink bow. Girl likes to mix it up. Love her. 

When she got to the house, Mom Mom and Dad Dad hadn't arrived yet so yeah, imagine trying to appease a Lucy when she can see hidden eggs and presents.


This was the face we got in response to let's just stay in this room for a while and wait until Mom Mom gets here. 

Finally, they arrived and it was time.


 She was amazing.


Clearly she's gifted in the "egging" department. Math and reading...please. Egg hunting. Now that's how my family judges success. 

Her Easter basket was also pretty typical.
By pretty typical I mean pretty typical of what we'd give Lucy for Easter.


iCarly sunglasses. Lots of candy. Hello Kitty band-aids. Gum (ie: the equivalent of a $100 bill to 2 year olds; might as well have been a gold brick).


And a skateboard.
Obviously.


And she's bomb on it. 



She also got a wheel barrel filled with candy. Chuck said it was for the April Candy Harvest. Of course it is.


And that's really it.
She ate. She went to bed. We "adults" were the ones that destroyed my house for a combined total of $47.94 in Easter winnings, destroyed all the evidence, put the furniture back, and were seated nice and quiet when she woke up as if it had never happened. Just like that.

this is a normal easter.

We take our Easter activities very seriously around here.

Last year marked a huge turning point from where Easter went from relatively (though not really) pretty, kind of normal. We'd put our own twist on Easter egg hunts before, but last year, Fe just really took it to a new level.

It was going to be a tall order to top last year.
Naturally, Fe began planning this year's events in February. Perfection, apparently, takes about 9 weeks. Who knew.

We did Lucy's Easter egg hunt first thing, ate lunch, and then put her down for a nap. No one under the age of 18 should be able to witness what happened next. I'm still trying to sort through my emotions on what went down. Two year olds just aren't ready for this.

The rules for this year were similar to last year.
Everyone can find 10 colored eggs.
1 egg with your name on it.
An unlimited number of "animal" eggs. These eggs contain the "games". They are both terrifying to find and thrilling. So many mixed emotions.



Fe set the rules all cute and nice and normal.


Shelley was skeptical. And she had every right to be. Last year's Easter was like 'Nam. You can move on, but you're forever changed. You never forget. She didn't even dress up for Easter this year. After the "pudding incident" of Easter '10, Shelley stopped wearing her finest. No one can blame her.

Shelley was also seen visibly pre-searching the rooms with her eyes before the official "go", which is a strict violation of Fe/PK law. Next year, I will be bringing her down in a blind fold. Either that, or she needs a lesson in subtlety. Either, or.

The Fe/PK laws of Easter egg hunting have always been fixed and rigid. No looking around during rule-debriefing. No eggs hidden out of plain sight. No eggs in anything that needs to be opened. Fe and PK did a terrible job following their rules this year.

Case and point: They hid an egg in the toilet. Lid shut, egg floating. Had their not been a precious $1 bill in that baby, I would have flushed her down and let them pay for the plumbing bill (obviously to teach them a lesson that we don't break Easter egg hunt rules).

The entire hunt, let's just come right out and say it, I dominated this year.


Basically, what you're seeing in this picture is me practically running a clinic on how you Easter egg hunt. I decimated the competition. Fe said sometimes I take the fun out of games. I said it's not my fault I'm awesome.

In fact, I had to give pity eggs to both Shelley and Chuck in order to "even" out the totals and make things "fair."

This is me giving Shelley an egg.


This is Shelley realizing that I had hunted through my bag and had given her eggs with coins in them, not ones with bills. What? I need to look out for number 1. AND that bathroom remodel isn't paying for itself.

When we finished, we opened our eggs and counted our winnings.
I ended up with $17.83.


I am clearly #1.


Shelley was really happy for me coming in first.
She was just busting with happiness for me.


Chuck was the loser. He came in with $14.24. He's always so happy and such a good sport about everything. Lame.

Some of the colored eggs were filled with dollar bills.
Some of the colored eggs were filled with change.


This is the moment I realized my mother had raided her Operation Rice Bowl collection container for the money she put in our eggs. She's had this container for months on her kitchen counter. Today, she stole back her money. I said I didn't want her blood money. Shelley said to be quiet because we need that money. Her taking money from the Catholic Relief Fund is my favorite part of Easter. (for the record, she will be replacing all the money, this was just a temporary raid).

Once we'd counting our moo-lah, it was time for the "animal eggs".
Shelley went first.


Reading the description was enough for wettening to occur. I will not say who did the wettening. Just know that it happened because our Easter Sundays are amazing.

This is Pigs in a Blanket. Game number 1.
Roll your teammate in a blanket from the kitchen to the fire place. At the fire place, switch, and the other partner is now rolled back.

This was a timed event.
This was also a team event (Susie and PK vs Chuck and Shelley).


This is how my family room had to be rearranged in order to accommodate Pigs in a Blanket.

PK and I laid out the strategies in the living room before hand.
We take things very seriously.
We also know that winning isn't everything. It's the only thing.

We went for the grab and roll approach.


Highly effective.



Later (during the debrief session where more pants were wettened), Shelley said her favorite part was Dad slamming me into the couch, my body curling into the fetal position, and Dad's unflinching ability to continue to roll me without any hesitation. I was not fussed or upset by this at all. I would have done the same thing. Winning  is the target.

Dad and I ultimately won this event because Shelley and Chuck attempted to steal the Easter-spirit by cheating with a lack-of re-wrapping the second pig properly into the blanket. Fe had no choice but to DQ them. Good call, ref, because Dad and I had already decided to play under protest if the decision didn't go our way. This just saved time.

Next was Bunny Tails.
Use shovels to scoop cotton balls one handed. Hop to the fire place (one hand only on the cotton balls) and dump them into the bucket on the fire place. Team event: Shelley and PK v. Chuck and Susie. Head-to-head competition.


It started normal.
(this is our baseline for normal)

Then PK started shoveling cotton balls into his mouth.


So we all did.
Guess what? Getting cotton ball residue out of your mouths takes a considerable amount of time.

Next up:

Golf. Tootsie pop and a chocolate egg. This was an individual event, timed (of course) with a set distance we had to "golf".


But that's not all.
We had to be chugging nuun the entire time. Apparently, you need optimal hydration for Easter games.


Dad was the clear winner.
Totally unfair. The man is a golf genius. I could have won a McDonald's eating contest hands-down. I told Fe that next year, she needs to play to all our strengths.

The last event.

Udder toss: Fill a latex glove (udder) with water and grease with butter. Egg toss with your partners. Shelley and Susie vs. PK and Chuck.
.
It was intense.


Shelley and I lost, but I think PK and Chuck cheated. I don't know how, but I'll prove it alright.

So, that was Easter. It was a little bananas around here. Somehow, Lucy slept through the entire spectacle which I think is an Easter miracle.

It was great, really, but Fe forgot to bring prizes for the winners of each game and I said this oversight was really going to hurt the Yelp rating I give her for her Easter event. Disaster. I guess it was still a pretty amazing Easter because really how many Easters have you had where you laughed so hard you cried,  you rolled your Dad in a blanket across your family room floor, and had your Mom steal (er, borrow) money from a collection dish? That's what I thought.

But that is just a typical Easter at the Allison House.
For realz.

Happy Easter.


Happy Easter
from our house to yours!

I'm working on editing the 372 pictures from our Easter Extravaganza and sorting through my feelings on what just took place around here. Fe really took it up a notch from last year, which was already bananas. If you don't recall or haven't read about last years, you should probably do that now so you are up to date on your reading come time for this year's post.

i'm just gonna say it.

I have a huge mouth. Literally. A huge mouth.


Shelley's friend took this picture on my camera tonight and I DIE-d at how big my mouth looks in it. It's roughly half the size of Lucy's entire face. You know how your nose and ears keep growing throughout your whole life? I'm reasonably sure that my mouth is growing twice as fast as anything else. I swear it's bigger than it was in college and I definitely didn't get married with this mouth.

I've never had a "caricature" of myself done at Disneyland or some vendor on the street a la the opening credits to the final season of Full House (went there. And you know what I'm talking about too, so don't judge). I just feel like, if the purpose of a caricature is to exaggerate your features, then really, there's only two possibilities for how they'd draw me. Either exactly as I am (with my already exaggerated mouth) or like this:
Incidentally enough, this is exactly how I feel walking around on a day-to-day basis.
Mouth and body. It's kind of like mind and soul, only not.

it's like being held hostage. basically.

I am so tired of cabinet painting.

There's this constant mess in the house that I really can't do anything about. I can't clean it. It needs to stay there in order to paint. It is literally driving me up the wall. I'm distraught and not overreacting at all.

I feel like Trading Spaces and Sell This House did a darn right poor job of preparing me for what painting cabinets was actually like. Mind you, they paint cabinets crappy and we'z paints them baller style, but whatevs. Those shows take two days. This has not taken two days. Actually it has. Two days plus two days plus two days plus two days plus two day (someone let me know what I get to 12).

Chuck finds my whining all very ironic as in I'm not really doing much of the cabinet painting (I'm doing what I can do, which is mostly lend moral support) , but... like I keep telling him, I'm entitled to my opinion (just like I'm entitled to most everything else). And I'm entitled to share my opinion often and loudly.

Here's a fun little fact for you: In high school, I was voted "Whale of a Whiner". Unanimously. I know. I counted the votes. All 150 of them.

Chuck says make that 151 votes. He'd like to cast a retroactive ballot.
Chuck also says that I should stop whining about winning whale of a whiner because something about it's only proving points.

But anyways.

Projects like this. They just wear on you over time. I mean, don't get me wrong, there's nothing I don't love more than boiling my tortellini next to a bottle denatured alcohol, I'm just a little tired of the house being a disaster.


And there really is nothing I can do about it. Not until we're done. There's no point.


I'm also a little tired of Chuck treating his paint sprayer with more love and tenderness than I see, but that's just splitting hairs. "I can't leave the paint sprayer in the garage at night. It'll get cold." Says the same person who stole all the covers from me last night and left me uh'shivering, thank you very much. 

And there's all these piles of things everywhere. Little stations of painting remnants.


This is just one picture of evidence in a long line of piles in our house.
I can't pick it up, because why pack it away when we need it tomorrow? Or heck, late tonight.

And all the while, it's just boring routine, same old same old, each day one long continuous cycle of painting and sanding. Sand. Paint. Sand. Paint. Sand. Paint. Sand. Paint. That is not a hyperbole. That is doing a project with Chuck.


I know way too much about painting cabinets now.



And way too much about tack cloths.


I know that I think he's a little obsessive.
But I know more that it's all worth it because when he says he's going to do something, there is no half way. There is no quick and easy way. There is no good enough "Susie" way.

It will be worth it. It will be worth it.


We're just all looking forward to this being over.
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