I am done texturing the house. Yes sirree - I've swirled my last swirl, dabbed my last crow's foot, and will be covered in mud no more.
Well - until it's time to do the utility room. But other than THAT - I'm done. Now we just have to mask off the trim, tape and cover the floors and then Monty can paint.
The tile in the kitchen, utility room and entry way looks wonderful. I love it. The new french door looks pretty cool too.
No progress on the porches, as it's been too wet and muddy after the Not-So-Great Blizzard of 2007. I had hopes for later this week, but according to Intellicast, we have a 30% chance of wet crap tonight, 30% chance for wet crap tomorrow, and 50% chance of wet crap tomorrow night.
Maybe next week. Maybe next month. Maybe by my birthday......
In other news, J got a "Notice of Concern" for science. Seems he's acing his tests, but not turning in his daily work. We recently discovered that he is supposed to be bringing home a science folder every day. That he hasn't been bringing home. Apparently he loves doing the hands on stuff - up until they start doing .... paperwork. Like worksheets and other evil handouts.
So - last night he brought brought home his science folder. But not his incomplete worksheets. OR his science book. In case you haven't guessed, organization is *not* his strong suit. And I have yet to figure out how to help him get *more* organized. If anyone has any bright ideas, please let me know. Soon. Before he manages to you know, actually FLUNK science - while acing all the tests?
Of course, I did manage to scar him for life this weekend. After spending the day Sunday finishing up the ceilings out at the house, I came home and wanted nothing more than to take a shower and get the sand and mud and gunk off of me before I went to the hockey game. I go into my bedroom.
MY bedroom. I disrobe. Because the door is shut and it's MY bedroom. I hear J and the dog outside my door. I say - because I'm a mom and all psychic like that - "Don't come in here!" And what does he do?
Pfft. Opens the door when I'm standing there wearin nothing but my panties.
I'm telling ya -
Scarred. For. Life.
At the very least, I'm betting he'll never be a boob man.