Ola Chicas!!!
Mom-dent here! having a crazy few weeks here. Grad school was driving me up the wall and I had zero inspiration for a good blog post. Good news for you!!! the drought is over!!! The dry spell is gone and the slow, torturous squelching of the soul has finally been terminated. What, oh what could have made you emerge from the shell Mom-dent you ask????
Well... my dear lovelies.... the reason behind this sudden flowering is that since the last couple of weeks I have been on a DIY spree. I pretty much get this insane itch about once a year so its not that shocking. However, most of the time its around the little prince's birthday and I start trolling Pinterest and become every Etsy vendor's worse nightmare.
But this year, it struck early and when it strikes it strikes hard!!! Ofcourse, I conveniently forget my own limitations with any thing...handy. After staring at countless Pins and going on a pinning (is that even a word?) frenzy, I somehow got it in my head that I could also be those DYI goddesses with their pretty little book shelves and burlap sack canvases!
Bookshelves for the little prince's room? No problem! Bring it on! Storage solutions ..piece of cake!!! or so I thought...
Thankfully, while enduring the excruciating process my sanity returned and I concluded a fundamental fact about my self. I AM NOT A PINTEREST MOM and here are 3 reasons why:
1. DYI sucks.
DYI only looks good when half-naked and very handsome men are doing it... you know.. men and tools and all....
It sucks BIG time if you don't have the 'right' and by that I mean very expensive tools. It gets cumbersome surprisingly quickly! Honestly, I rather spend my money on things like hmmm...... let me see.... paying my bloody school fees ( bastards suck my soul AND my money!!)
If you have the modern equivalent of a neanderthal stone tool a.k.a hammer, its tedious and boring and not at all as easy as they make it look on HG TV. Thank god for sweet hubs! Otherwise there would have been half-finished shelves and seat-less toy chests rotting away in my garage.
2. Its not relaxing.
Pinterest blogs lie. Its definitely not all sunshine and daisies and the smell of freshly baked scones wafting through the kitchen window. The whole soul-soothing bit is frankly... poppycock!! The only way you can enjoy it is if you are Martha Stewart and/or are probably a secret homicidal maniac harbouring dark,evil thoughts. A thin, cold smile and terse geometrical patterns on your perfect macrame, the few clues that betray the inner turmoil churning inside. And oh yeah, you like lilac! lots and lots of lilac!!
For someone with a bit more of a volatile temperament (who me??? I'm as calm as still waters!!!!) or have even the slightest bit of fire in your belly (rumble, rumble), its hell. The painting, the cutting of foam and cloth are all things I can do. .but the hammering of nails is, in my humble opinion, a nightmare. Pinterest is dead to me. It fools you into thinking that the whole, glorious process will be like this:
But actually...... Its THIS.
I was Hulking out. Radiating pure, unadulterated rage .. dude!!! plants would shrivel and die in front of that kind of negative energy. I was such a snapping and snarling beast with my boys. Even my little prince noticed my extremely pleasant mood. He actually came up to me and timidly asked if I needed a hug (which did soothe the savage beast).
And oh boy...was I a foul mouthed sailor!!! I was using swear words that should never, ever be repeated. Urdu swears are very familial. That is, you do things to your family members (we are nothing if not inventive in our ability to insult someone). After a particularly gruelling knock-out session between the nail, plywood and me, I was juuusst about to cuss out a priceless gem which in english would translate to... how shall I put it delicately?? ' A do-er of one's own sister'.
I would have ripped it out right there, loudly and proudly, but thankfully I had just enough cognitive processing to rise above the haze of red before my eyes and see the monkey prancing about in the garage. Since the 'Bh' was already out, and he was looking at me expectantly, I had to improvise and I said Bhang! Bhang, which I hoped desperately would come out as a very vehement Bang!
It became quite the game with me screaming BANG! BANG! BANG in sheer annoyance and the prince copying me and bang, banging all over the garage. When sweets hubs peeked out to check up on us he took one look and contemplated (Im sure of it!) just walking away. But he is not sweet hubs for nothing and he came gallantly to my rescue, my knight in shining tool belt.
3. You cannot do DYI with your kids.
You can if you have sweet little princesses who sit in one corner and paint flowers and are dainty and and bring you tea in cute little tea cups. When you have a boy and you are not exactly known for your virtuous patience, then its a whole different ball game. The little prince is quite a helpful guy. He really, REALLY just wants to genuinely help. Its actually very cute most of the time, but it means that he wants to touch everything, paint everything and drag your freshly painted toy chests into the rain so he can make it a boat. As you can imagine, it becomes a bit of an exercise in restraint to not completely go nuts.... and I failed miserably.
In conclusion, I had two very deep and profound epiphanies...
1. Screw DYI. Find someone to DI for you!
or
2. Or better yet....who needs DYI when you can have HDI (hubs do it).
The shelves and the toy chest took quite nice though......
Pride of ownership aside and regardless of how much I love the shelves and the chests, I think what I feel right now is pretty much summed by this:
Toodles lovelies!!! If any of you ever hear me even mention the desire to DYI again.. please remind me about this.
Adios!
Mom-dent here! having a crazy few weeks here. Grad school was driving me up the wall and I had zero inspiration for a good blog post. Good news for you!!! the drought is over!!! The dry spell is gone and the slow, torturous squelching of the soul has finally been terminated. What, oh what could have made you emerge from the shell Mom-dent you ask????
Well... my dear lovelies.... the reason behind this sudden flowering is that since the last couple of weeks I have been on a DIY spree. I pretty much get this insane itch about once a year so its not that shocking. However, most of the time its around the little prince's birthday and I start trolling Pinterest and become every Etsy vendor's worse nightmare.
But this year, it struck early and when it strikes it strikes hard!!! Ofcourse, I conveniently forget my own limitations with any thing...handy. After staring at countless Pins and going on a pinning (is that even a word?) frenzy, I somehow got it in my head that I could also be those DYI goddesses with their pretty little book shelves and burlap sack canvases!
Bookshelves for the little prince's room? No problem! Bring it on! Storage solutions ..piece of cake!!! or so I thought...
Thankfully, while enduring the excruciating process my sanity returned and I concluded a fundamental fact about my self. I AM NOT A PINTEREST MOM and here are 3 reasons why:
1. DYI sucks.
DYI only looks good when half-naked and very handsome men are doing it... you know.. men and tools and all....
It sucks BIG time if you don't have the 'right' and by that I mean very expensive tools. It gets cumbersome surprisingly quickly! Honestly, I rather spend my money on things like hmmm...... let me see.... paying my bloody school fees ( bastards suck my soul AND my money!!)
If you have the modern equivalent of a neanderthal stone tool a.k.a hammer, its tedious and boring and not at all as easy as they make it look on HG TV. Thank god for sweet hubs! Otherwise there would have been half-finished shelves and seat-less toy chests rotting away in my garage.
2. Its not relaxing.
Pinterest blogs lie. Its definitely not all sunshine and daisies and the smell of freshly baked scones wafting through the kitchen window. The whole soul-soothing bit is frankly... poppycock!! The only way you can enjoy it is if you are Martha Stewart and/or are probably a secret homicidal maniac harbouring dark,evil thoughts. A thin, cold smile and terse geometrical patterns on your perfect macrame, the few clues that betray the inner turmoil churning inside. And oh yeah, you like lilac! lots and lots of lilac!!
For someone with a bit more of a volatile temperament (who me??? I'm as calm as still waters!!!!) or have even the slightest bit of fire in your belly (rumble, rumble), its hell. The painting, the cutting of foam and cloth are all things I can do. .but the hammering of nails is, in my humble opinion, a nightmare. Pinterest is dead to me. It fools you into thinking that the whole, glorious process will be like this:
 |
| I love me some tools! |
 |
| I will kill someone today... |
I was Hulking out. Radiating pure, unadulterated rage .. dude!!! plants would shrivel and die in front of that kind of negative energy. I was such a snapping and snarling beast with my boys. Even my little prince noticed my extremely pleasant mood. He actually came up to me and timidly asked if I needed a hug (which did soothe the savage beast).
And oh boy...was I a foul mouthed sailor!!! I was using swear words that should never, ever be repeated. Urdu swears are very familial. That is, you do things to your family members (we are nothing if not inventive in our ability to insult someone). After a particularly gruelling knock-out session between the nail, plywood and me, I was juuusst about to cuss out a priceless gem which in english would translate to... how shall I put it delicately?? ' A do-er of one's own sister'.
I would have ripped it out right there, loudly and proudly, but thankfully I had just enough cognitive processing to rise above the haze of red before my eyes and see the monkey prancing about in the garage. Since the 'Bh' was already out, and he was looking at me expectantly, I had to improvise and I said Bhang! Bhang, which I hoped desperately would come out as a very vehement Bang!
It became quite the game with me screaming BANG! BANG! BANG in sheer annoyance and the prince copying me and bang, banging all over the garage. When sweets hubs peeked out to check up on us he took one look and contemplated (Im sure of it!) just walking away. But he is not sweet hubs for nothing and he came gallantly to my rescue, my knight in shining tool belt.
3. You cannot do DYI with your kids.
You can if you have sweet little princesses who sit in one corner and paint flowers and are dainty and and bring you tea in cute little tea cups. When you have a boy and you are not exactly known for your virtuous patience, then its a whole different ball game. The little prince is quite a helpful guy. He really, REALLY just wants to genuinely help. Its actually very cute most of the time, but it means that he wants to touch everything, paint everything and drag your freshly painted toy chests into the rain so he can make it a boat. As you can imagine, it becomes a bit of an exercise in restraint to not completely go nuts.... and I failed miserably.
In conclusion, I had two very deep and profound epiphanies...
1. Screw DYI. Find someone to DI for you!
or
2. Or better yet....who needs DYI when you can have HDI (hubs do it).
The shelves and the toy chest took quite nice though......
Pride of ownership aside and regardless of how much I love the shelves and the chests, I think what I feel right now is pretty much summed by this:
Toodles lovelies!!! If any of you ever hear me even mention the desire to DYI again.. please remind me about this.
Adios!
