Toss a Pebble in a Pond . . .

What happens? Ripples. Lots and lots of ripples. I had intended to paint the living room and dining room during the two week break between semesters. It didn't happen. Why? Who knows. Maybe I was just enjoying the sensation of laziness which comes with the absence of a schedule. Instead, I waited until I was back in school to tackle the project. Crazy, I know. After choosing paint colors, I realized it would be morally wrong to apply a fresh coat of paint to walls that border shamefully ugly carpet.

If you'll humor a slight tangent off the main topic, I'd like to take this opportunity to share my opinion on the appropriateness of carpet in a dining room: NEVER. Not ever. Unless, of course, you never, ever allow anyone to actually eat in the dining room. It's a bad--no, make that terrible--idea, ranking second only behind carpet in a bathroom, on the list of interior decorating disasters waiting to happen (particularly if you've got boys). You get the idea, right? Good, let's move on.

For some reason--the cost of feeding, clothing, and housing five growing boys may have factored into the equation--new carpet was never very high on the list of budgetary priorities (motorcycles and kayaks are much more fun). But, as I mentioned earlier, fresh paint practically demanded the change. So I made the trek to a local flooring store to find a suitable replacement. I fell in love with a beautiful distressed solid hickory, but sadly, I would've had to sell the house to pay for it. So I asked to see something that looked just like it, but was more reasonably priced. The salesman showed me a sample of engineered hardwood hickory. (Made in America by prisoners. Really. And the core of the flooring is made by compressing the waste wood. I'm being environmentally responsible and rehabilitating criminals, too.) It was love at first sight, no kidding! I didn't even look at anything else, this was my floor. Choosing the carpet for the living room was just as easy. Sigh . . . if only all of life were that simple.

OK. Back to the ripples. While we were moving the furniture out of the living room, I came to the realization that the couches were older than Hayden, and it would be morally wrong to put them back on brand new carpet. I could move the newer ones from the TV room to the living room, except there's a problem with that scenario: don't tell anyone, but I actually hate those couches! Fortunately, Tyler and Brandi don't. So I'm looking for a new set for the living room, moving the old, comfy, nap-friendly set into the TV room, and putting the hated set up for adoption. I call it intrafamilial recycling. Mom Carling, do you want your rust-colored couches back? Tyler and Brandi won't be needing them much longer.

The floor guys are nearly finished with the entry and dining room. They're coming back on Monday to wrap things up (and to reinstall the baseboards for me: I asked nicely. :o) I think the carpet guys will come later in the week, which is good, because I've still got some painting to finish. I'm doing the same faux finish (above the wainscoting and in the back of the bookshelves) as I did in my bedroom.

In professional news, I just completed my first paid freelance editing/proofreading job. A friend of a friend put together a history of her grandparents and hired me to help her polish it before having it printed. She plans to write two others, and said she'll call me to help with those as well.

Jacob turned 10 on Tuesday. His presents (some Transformers and a truck with interchangeable parts) were no surprise: he was with me the day I bought them. (I know, I'm a lazy gift shopper.) Because he knew in advance what he was getting, I felt no compulsion to hide them before his birthday. This proved to be too great a temptation. One day I noticed an empty Transformer package in my bedroom. Jacob confessed to pilfering his present, but I let him keep it. Perhaps it was an instinctive reaction to a latent memory of a similar incident--though with much different results--involving a couple of young girls several decades ago. Empty boxes make poor Christmas gifts, but excellent teachers, especially when accompanied by a disapproving note from Santa Claus: Snooping doesn't pay. Before pronouncing harsh judgment, you should know that the little girls did eventually get their dolls.