Living in a Warzone

It all started with a simple idea. A simple idea to better our home. (If you know me, you have a pretty good idea where this story is already headed: disaster).

Marc and I recently moved out to his grandparents farmhouse. Since we moved in, we've been making changes to make the home ours. As typically happens with old homes, especially homes in the country, there was some cleaning and touching up to do. 

So a couple weeks ago, my parents were going to make the trek from Utah to Kansas to visit Marc and I on their way to Missouri. Naturally, I wanted to impress my parents with how grown up I was and how pretty our house was.

Taking initiative one Saturday morning, I marched down to the basement and got out the paint supplies. We had found some paint labelled "Kitchen" a few weeks prior and I was determined to touch up the little spots on the walls of the Kitchen. 

I paint a few little spots here and there and watch as the color of the wet paint slowly fades into the pre-existing paint. 

"I'm pretty good at this paint thing. It looks way better!" I half mumble, half say in my head to myself. 

Feeling victorious, I begin scanning the rest of the walls with an oh-so-critial eye. 

"The paint in the entryway needs some help... I'll paint over there too!" I think to myself and start furiously painting away at any and all smudges or dings in the walls. 

Before I really know what I'm doing I'm touching up spots in the living room too; that's when Marc comes in the house from working outside.

"Oh hey! You got the touch up paint out! Nice!" Marc says. 

I turn to proudly nod and examine my work on the entryway when I notice that the paint on these walls isn't exactly fading like it did on the kitchen wall. My proud smile fades into a squinty-eyed peer. 

"Yeah, except it's not fading! Why doesn't it look right!?" I demand from Marc. He just smiles and tells me to give it half an hour and it'll look just like the kitchen walls. Satisfied enough, I move on to the laundry room and paint a big old spot directly in the middle of the wall. 

I immediately realized my mistake with the laundry room wall. The paint DEFINITELY did not match. 

I slowly back away from the wall and head back out to the living room and entryway. Yep. The paint is definitely wrong and NOT fading. And it's definitely been 30 minutes since I painted it. Marc comes back inside, and this time stops when he sees me examining my walls and starts laughing, "It looks like a war zone in here!" 

I wanted to glare at him, but I couldn't help chuckling when I looked at the walls. If I had some camo on I could have blended into the walls perfectly. 

It's too bad war zone painted houses aren't in style, I would have left it like that. 

Here are some more photos of cows, and Bill, and Marc cause I can't seem to photograph anything else these days. <3 I love them all so very much!