It occurs to me while writing this tale of failure that this blog has never been just about furniture or fixing.  It’s about life.  Stay with me – even at the age of 40 I have to continually be reminded of the same lessons- which points to the fact that I am either incredibly stubborn or just plain foolish. However, I’d prefer to think that maybe I’m not that unique and that WE as humans are a never-ending work in progress. The end tables I managed to muck up seemed no exception. I recognized something else about myself: when I feel like I don’t have control over my life, I seek to control other things. Anais Nin said exactly that: “When I cannot bear outer pressures any more, I begin to put order in my belongings. I get satisfaction from perfect order in my papers, in my clothes, in the house. I carry this to excess. As if unable to organize and control my life, I seek to exert this on the world of objects.”

With that Part 2 of our story begins on a Sunday morning. The very next day after the DIY disaster took place. Our heroin Brooke, despite her enthusiasm and good intentions failed miserably at revamping her Nana’s bedside tables. You can catch Part 1 here.

Let’s review:

Remember Peanut the Skeptic? It’s almost as if he knew what would happen…

Sunday after the kiddos left for the day, Peanut and I hit Home Depot (A/K/A Mom’s favorite store EVER). We took the unexpected sunshine coming through the windows as a symbol of hope and set forth with a prayer and a plan to purchase some seriously gritty sandpaper to clean up the painted mess Mommy had made. Peanut led the way because let’s be honest, he totally called it and my DIY card had been suspended temporarily. If I can’t paint something this basic, should I even be allowed to drive? I justified taking him into Home Depot because at that point he was required for emotional support. In fact, we decided that he should be project manager.

We returned home, resigned to attack again but this time with more determination.

The sandpaper I used for the detail work kept coming unclipped from the hand sander, and the electric sander was much too powerful for the corners and detailed cabinet fronts. (Word to the wise: an electric sander not used carefully can take CHUNKS out of wood.) To say this frustrated me would be putting it lightly. Neither seemed to work really well and I was too stubborn to return to the Depot. So I went on vacation instead. Wait, what? Yes. I needed more than to control my surroundings with paint and projects, I needed a damn vacation. And sun. We were on a record breaking gloom streak in Seattle, so the cranky wasn’t just about the sandpaper.  I placed this project on hold for a couple weeks to allow myself to get “centered again.” I booked tickets to Texas and visited my very best friend for the first time in years and it was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Back in town, it’s back to business: My time away allowed me time to gather up my “give-a-shits” again. I promptly purchased Bulls Eye 1.2.3. Primer for All Surfaces, Rustoleum Painters Touch Ultra Cover in Semi-Gloss White and a couple of mini rollers for smooth surfaces.

Below we see progress involving primer, paint and…

finally, finally the finished product.

(…and one very proud warrior princess.)

Now listen here, readers. Do not judge the photo below. The bedroom where these tables reside required some “special effects” to create a warmish feeling that does not yet exist in reality. I think though that we’re headed in the right direction…now to address light fixtures, crusty carpets and mismatched wood tones.  The room just like me is a work in progress.

If there is anything I’ve learned through this project that I can impart on others is that you cannot rush paint nor perfection. As they say, “Rome was not built in a day.”  In nearly all things, you cannot rush, you cannot force.  You cannot forget to make sure your paint has primer and expect great results. Some things require time and patience; both of which I’ve always been short on-but I’m working on that.

It’s been ages since I’ve blogged, and we’re not going into it. I’ve moved, jumped into a new career path and embraced single kick-ass mom status with all I’ve got.  Let’s just say that in order to do life well sometimes you need a little therapy. For me, one form of therapy has been rehabbing vintage furniture. I love it and happen to be pretty good at it, or at least I thought I was. A long stretch of dark and wet Seattle weather had me desperate for both distraction and some form of joy.  What resulted was what my boss would call a “learning opportunity.” Following will be this month’s DI-Don’t.

This weekend, while I waited for the rain to stop long enough to get the Christmas lights off the house (it’s been rainy, OKAY!?)  I decided to refinish my grandmothers bedside tables. My beautiful grandmother left behind a few pieces of furniture and these were passed on to me after years of use and the unfortunate combination of time and neglect. The finish on these babies was non-existent in some places, allowing moisture to creep in. Despite the charming cigarette burn marks and my penchant for restoring furniture rather than painting it, I decided instead to do a combination of restoration and rejuvenation. Let’s get to it:

This is this the beginning of our tale of woe:

 

So you can see how there was massive room for improvement. I happen to like my finishes like I like my dog; more of a medium tan with some accents. Look at his face! I love that you can read the worry in his eyes. Is she really going to attempt this in a weekend?

Yes Peanut. She is.

Let’s talk supplies. I used a fine sand paper, and went with the grain (duh). The borrowed sander made the process much faster and before long I was on to Murphy’s Oil Soap.

Mid-oil soap massage and cigar (homage to Nana) my contractor who was there at the time walked past and said, “You’d better wipe those off well or the moisture will mess up your paint job. It’ll crack.”

In literature, this is what is called “foreshadowing.” Never one to turn down a trusted professionals advice, I began thoroughly drying the tables and brought them inside to sit in the warm house, going as far as adding a space heater to cook out the moisture.

What I should have done was waited until the next day to paint. Being that prudence is not a strength of mine and overachievement always the goal, I soldiered on. Do you know what you get when you combine impatience, hubris and cold wet weather?

CRACKLE PAINT. As in, “Hey Pioneer Woman-did you do that shit yourself? That’s purdy.” My beloved boyfriend bless his heart, asked me if I did it on purpose. Said it looked cool. I haven’t decided how to address our stylistic differences yet, but knew that I needed to address the error of my ways immediately if I wanted storage for us both.

It’s back to the sanding board, and I’ll be starting my Sunday with prayer and a  trip to Home Depot. I’ll keep you informed about how this saga ends…stay tuned!