I love the Facebook app that shows my memories from years past. Each morning I wake up to images of my babies when they still were babies; or better yet status updates of my life pre-kids where I shared my carefree plans and adventures.

It was very fitting this morning that I had a memory of myself and my husband covered in drywall dust after a weekend of renovating our house. It seems we have been working on our ‘fixer upper’ for years and still have many projects on the go. After hiring a wonderful company to complete our outside renovations (siding and new windows) I spent the weekend weeding, sodding and planting to try and finally bring my garden up to snuff. To add a final touch, I spray painted a second hand bistro set and added a vase full of lilacs. I was feeling so fancy I posted a few photos online. I even posted in my gardening group on Facebook, which I joined because of my love of flowers but I really should be kicked out of because of my tendency to kill almost all things green.

It revealed itself in stages as it needed to, to keep me from completely losing my sh*t.

I was feeling pretty good about myself. Smug even. I spent yesterday afternoon refinishing an old cabinet into a new dog bed (my dog wants nothing to do with it) and felt like the house was finally getting together. I invited a new friend over for a play date and we headed outside to enjoy a rare hot coffee and a smidgen of adult conversation. We hadn’t been outside more than 10 minutes when something called me inside. And boy was I about to get my parenting ass kicked.

I should start off by saying that Hannah is not a kid who needs to be constantly supervised. At four years-old, she often plays quietly for long periods of time. She actually prefers it. So when I left her at the kitchen table with a bucket of Lego I didn’t think twice about it. I never thought to consider the paint left out from the night before.

It revealed itself in stages as it needed to, to keep me from completely losing my sh*t. Also it was good I had a new friend over, one where I didn’t feel I could scream the obscenities in my head out loud, so my reaction was scarily calm.

The first thing I noticed was the white footprints on the kitchen floor. Which led to my kitchen wall now painted white. Hannah herself was standing in the kitchen, quite proud of her work.

Of course I was annoyed. I began wiping the paint off the floor and then scooped Hannah up to the bath. As I filled up the tub I reassured myself that it wasn’t a big deal, I was planning to paint the kitchen again anyway. But didn’t it take eight hours to paint it last time? Oh shush up reality, I need to live in the dream world for five more minutes where painting the kitchen is no biggie and this is somehow a funny story.

After the tub was filled I came down the stairs again to be hit with a second, more intense blow.

My newly painted less than a month ago living room wall had been tagged by my daughter and was now covered in H’s (her only letter). She has also thoughtfully put white paint prints all over my couch.

“Holy f@ck!” I couldn’t help but exclaim.

Luckily my friend Jen didn’t miss a beat. A seasoned mom she began scrubbing at the walls while I tackled the couch. We then discovered that the hope chest I spent hours stripping to be refinished had also been ruined as well as my new dog bed.

“Well at least I know what I can blog about this week,” I said. Thinking that if I didn’t see the silver lining I would have to break out my emergency bottle of wine and start day drinking. Not a good look for a Monday.

“Just think of it as a funny story for her wedding,” Jen suggested.

Little does she know I already have a novel.