I'm a big fan of paint. In fact, Will and I have painted some room or wall or something in just about every place we've lived, no matter if we rented or owned. You have no idea the self restraint it took me to live in our last house for TWO YEARS without painting a single thing. And I only resisted because they specifically asked us not to, which sucked. Normally I paint away and, if necessary, put it back before leaving. Sometimes landlords have been happier with my choice than with their own, most of the time they never knew anything even changed.
I'm also a believer in painting even if you know you will be changing it in the near future. I've always had a hard time understanding why people will live with a ugly or even just dissatisfying wall because they have plans for it to come down or be moved or refinished in 3 months, 6 months, two years... I guess I'd rather put the day of work in and the $20 for the paint than live with something I hate even for a short period of time.
Will doesn't totally agree with my paint issues, some of the time he'd rather get other things finished first and be ready to really make a change than waste time in painting something temporarily, but if I'm the one painting, or if it's really, really bad to begin with, he'll get on board with the idea.
Which is why, despite the fact that we are leaving in a few days for vacation and the fact that we are planting a vegetable patch and a flower garden and finishing up odds and ends in the kitchen and have no handrail in the living room, I spent yesterday painting the downstairs bathroom for the second time since we moved in.
I don't even have before pictures, it wasn't that it was ugly. Well, it was ugly, but not nearly as awful as the upstairs bathroom. It was just dingy. And so last fall I painted the walls the baby blue of the tile, and painted what I could of the sink cabinet black, and added a few black and white accessories, to make it livable. And it was livable, until we knocked the wall out to put the lockers in. Since then we have had a half finished drywall wall, roughly removed tiles and lots of dings and scratches (Flying plaster! Yikes!) in our formerly almost-ok powder room. I've been just dealing, apologizing for it when people come over, keeping the door shut so I don't have to look, but it bugged me. I know, I know, I'm nuts. But I can't help it. It gave me the willies every time I had to go in there.
Last weekend I was grabbing some paint to touch up the trim in the kitchen when I noticed that I still had the original blue paint form the fall, half a cans worth. And while Will pointed out that at some point in the next six months we will be ripping out the blue tile, the sink and the icky fake wood medicine cabinet, painting the walls Tiffany blue and putting in a new sink and mirror, I felt like we had lived with the ugly for long enough and got painting. I had never tackled the trim so worked on that first then spent yesterday working on and off (between pushing Evie on the swings, running around the yard, digging out day lillies for transplanting and spelling out our names over and over for some sidewalk chalk writing practice) I patched holes, sanded drywall and painted the walls and ceiling (and btw, I always forget what a drastic improvement painting the ceiling makes! Crazy!) I also pulled out an old, Hollywood style light that I only ever kept one bulb in (who needs eight light bulbs in a 3x5 foot room?) and replaced that with an extra IKEA lamp I had leftover from the other bathroom remodel.
Is it done? Not by any means. I still want to do the full blown tear out and have the bathroom I really want. But at least it's no longer cringe worthy. Which, silly as it sounds, just makes me happy.