Who knew a simple conversation would turn a predicted relaxing weekend into 48 hours of repeated requests, manual labor, and a spitting camel?
Oh, wait. In my house, it's always possible.
John's side work has been very busy, the calls of "working late tonight" have increased, more on the brink of death PC's arriving and departing with a clean bill of health, and the office we recently overhauled, yes, the pictures are supposed to be coming of the befores and afters, but this little monkey wrench is going to delay that even further, is now too small for the added workspace he needs to play with his tools. (Women, continue reading. Men, take a minute to regain your composure.)
What to do?
John hinted that he could use some space in the garage, which would involve our Internet provider coming out to flip our entire house, re-wire it, and give it a good spanking. This also meant I would lose the space for my van. Uh uh. Not having it. (Let's not forget the bins he placed right into my parking space anyway, which means I have been parking outside for the last few months based on a promise of "I'll do it tonight, honey".)
Mm-hm. Guess what you're NOT doing tonight, honey?
I kid. Of course I'll let him play his WoW.
So, with my prime parking spot threatened, I immediately thought of alternatives to this issue. He needs more space. The biggest room besides our bedroom (Hell no. Don't even go there. I growl when the KID gets too comfortable in our bed.) is Sprite's room.
Should we uproot Sprite from the only room she's ever known? The room we painted TinkerBell green before even knowing we'd be focusing on dresses and bows? The very room that is now a hodgepodge of leftover baby decor and the increasing presence of Princess Power?
Funny enough, Sprite's room is actually the den. No closet. Originally intended for a home office, irony took four years to make us learn on this one, but it was also the room closest to ours so getting up in the middle of the night to tend to her calls only involved a straight path instead of obstacles like a couch, ottoman, and sleeping beagle. (Quite the speed bump if you think about it. And who's thinking at two in the morning?) We solved the lack of close-able storage with an oversized armoire inherited from my parents.
Now, the armoire is too small for her things, her toy chest and shelving are exploding with doll dresses, the abhorred doll shoes, and My Little Pony's which seem to reproduce like rabbits. (I always thought plastic was sterile..)
My idea of switching out rooms for Sprite was thought over and then vetoed when we both considered that the office is a little hidden from the main living area. With a small hallway blocking our view, it would be difficult to really keep tabs on her.
Then we looked at the guest room. (Which I keep calling Mom and Dad's room since they are the visitors with the most miles on their card.) This room, directly opposite John's current office and separated by a bathroom, opens on an angle which gives the living room, and beyond that, our bedroom, a direct view into the space.
Perfect for foiling plans making sure she's okay.
Of course, this would mean, the guest room would now be relegated to John's current office, and John would then move his crap to Sprite's room.
Three rooms to move.
I'm tired already.
We broached the subject with Sprite on Saturday morning, thinking she wouldn't want to give up the space she's always claimed, so we threw an incentive in with our suggestion. She could decorate the way she wanted. (We're talking paint here. I'm not splurging on a two hundred dollar bedset just to waylay the tears that are going to happen anyway when she routinely walks into her old room and sees computer monitors staring back at her.)
She immediately wanted to go to the Humptey Dumptey (Home Depot can sound like that when you stop paying attention after the first syllable) and pick out her colors.
I thought she'd want pink.
I thought wrong.
Stencils were involved. Pixie Dust was painted.
And now you're going. To Keely's!