I wish I remembered to take a “before” picture, but I got a bee in my bonnet the week before to patch up all the holes in the drywall (um, thanks, Wesley). To make it more fun, I removed the ugly towel rack, aka acrobat bar, from the kids’ bath, and added a few more holes to patch. This led to repainting Wesley’s room, the bathroom, and eventually, the hallway. The last time I decorated that bath, Wesley hadn’t been born and I put up cute baby pics of Piper and Kyla. Now I’ve gone with a Calvin and Hobbes theme, as after having my 3, I see Bill Watterson as a spiritual guide.
* * * * * *
Want another Wesley story? I’m sure I’ve mentioned how early in 2016, Wesley used scissors, and the cover his bunk bed gave him, to begin a tunnel between him and Kyla, so he could just reach through when he needed her. (It’s sweet, how much they love each other, but AUGH!)
I finally patched it, but never finished it with texture and paint. So over time, Wesley scraped off the plaster, too. Then last week, I decided to properly fix all the holes and dents upstairs. To Wesley, I implied strongly to not touch the wet mud in anyway. As soon as my back was turned, he stuck his foot in it (on the &#$*@-ing wall!)…and wiped the mud off on his carpet and bedding. I redid that patch.
The next day, it was ready for texture. Remembering who my son was, I bought the 5-minute dry can, looked Wesley in the eye and told him quite firmly not to touch the texture, and went to work on the bath and hall patches. Before it was dry, he had rubbed some of it off…because he wanted to know how it felt.
Wesley spent the rest of the day under his father’s care, downstairs, banished from his room. Alive. And I finally finished all the patches, and while Wesley was in disgrace and out of reach, repainted his room and the bathroom.
I lost all the battles but somehow won the war.