And Then the Cavalry Arrived

The house painting project had gotten out of hand in so many ways. A too cold May followed a rainy June, which segued into a busy July, a dangerously hot August, and oh, shit. It's September. It's September and all I have to show for it is a home that looks like the neighborhood meth house and the frustrating feeling that while I was spending my time elsewhere (kids, school, laundry, errands, work), I was about to massively fail at a fairly major project. It was on both my mind and my shoulders in a heavy, oppressive way.

But then, the cavalry arrived.

Every girl should have her Dad as a hero. Mine sure was this last week.

He drove up from his home in Missouri, put on his work clothes, and got down to business. I've never been so relieved to have help.

With us working together paint started going on the front facade of the house, just like that:

And fleshy beige color began to disappear:

Going, going, gone:

We worked so hard that I didn't even get an "after" picture; I wanted to move the ladders out of the way, and my hands were so crusted with paint I didn't trust myself with the camera OR the cell phone.
I promise to post some soon.

I'm deeply grateful for the all-out effort and the hot, hard, heavy work (with nothing but some coffee and peach pie for payment). But even more important, if such a thing is possible, is making me feel less overwhelmed. I realize now I'd gotten to the point where I already felt defeated, and it was affecting my efforts. I got my confidence back in those four days. I'm under no illusion that this is going to get done soon, but I'm tackling the south side this weekend now that I've got the fight back in me.

Thanks, Dad.