Living Room Project Day 3

Remember this table?  Stands in the hallway by the front door?  Beuhler?

It's life has been changed forever.

 Enter spray can paint.

 This is where the rubber meets the road.

 Where the table stands on the garbage bag.

 Where my mother is making me spray it.  

 I guess she's still the boss of me.  Womb rights, ya know?!

 Voila!  New life in blue/green.  I love blue and green.

 The legs of the table are a little broken up

 And Since having them welded back together will forever be a dream, my mom came up with a solution.

See Gear Head's little wrenchy thing-a-ma-bob holding the legs together?  Come closer.  Eyeglasses may apply.  If my husband comes looking for that tiny tool, you'll be able to tell him where it is.  Thanks for your help; I'm not always around.

 Designing Mama didn't stop there.  She went for the lamp next.

 She's all about taking what you have and fixin' it up.

Spray can painting is her thang.

 Since she is The Lowe Down's official interior decorating contributor, I emailed her this morning about this post.

I wrote: 

"Hey, FYI: You are an official "Contributer" for interior decorating on my site.  I am putting together a post about spray painting the table and lamp.  I want to quote you kind of doing a tutorial or saying something about spray painting.

Thanks!!!!"

 She replied: 


"Use the PASS...method...Pull/Aim/Squeeze/sweep....
LOL....I crack myself up."

"Hold can, press spray."

 My husband talks to me like that.

 Like the time he and I stopped for lunch at Taco Time.  I asked him anxiously, "What do I get here to eat, honey?"

He said, "It's freakin' TACO Time, Dee!"

 We laughed.  

 My mom is used to the dense things I say.

 When I was in high school, I stood before her on the bathroom scale.  I didn't like the results and I said to her: "I've gained 3 pounds!"

 "Take your shoes off!"  she said.

 I took them off, put them in my hands and stepped back on the scale.  The number didn't change.  My mom rubbed her face and told me I was a little idiot.  


My dad always laughed at me and said with a full grin, "that's pretty good there, Lesa D., yes, mmm-hmm."

 No wonder my husband spends so much time cutting down the weeds in the pasture.  His wife is a moron. 

This is how we roll here at the Lowe homestead.  You need something to stay put?  We've got motor oil containers.

 Gear Head has, like, 86 of them.  This is not a plug for Mobil.  Mobil has no idea who I am.  Even if they did, they would probably think I was a moron.

 The texture you see in the lamp shade is the result of the shade being so old, the fabric is threadbare.  However, I like it.

 Enter new and improved lamp.

 Be a spray can painter.  Be all you can be.  And remember: 


"Hold can, press spray."