How seamlessly the YouTubing ladies hung wallpaper. With doodads and thingamajigs, they smoothed and sliced, then stood back and said, “You can too!” And I believed them.
Right up until the glue-backed paper didn’t stick. Or the middle section bulged. No amount of finesse with the box cutter could stop me from tearing the paper where the ceiling met the wall. I mentally tallied each imperfection, watching the gap widen between dream and dystopia.
I hate wallpaper.
And yet, standing back to take in the first 24-inch strip, I had to admit—it didn’t look too bad. The dings and rips and bubbles, from a distance, looked almost like we knew what we were doing. With two more panels to go, we’ve paused for now. Maybe tomorrow I’ll jump back in, but for now that’ll do.
Other happenings from the day: I hung from the monkey bars for 28 seconds, the lawnmower belt got fixed, and we brought in a pool water sample to learn which chemicals we needed to balance it properly.
I’m a little rattled hearing Evelyn’s high-pitched, shaky voice calling from the hallway. She was upset about a scene in Jumanji, where a young boy gets sucked into the board game. It was the slow way his hand morphed—becoming pointy, unnatural—until he disappeared entirely into this otherworldly version of himself. I tried to approach the fear like the good counselor I am, but it didn’t work.
Dave grabbed his Kindle from beside me, kissed my forehead, and said, “It was maybe too scary of a movie,” before heading off to comfort her for bed. I’m being hard on myself for not going too—for picking the movie in the first place, for causing this fear.
I still remember the movie that scarred me as a kid. It was set in a basement with dolls—or waxy creatures—and I sat paralyzed on the carpeted floor, next to the coffee table. I remember feeling special, being allowed to watch an adult movie, up past bedtime. Did I stay silent because I didn’t want to lose that privilege, or because I was frozen in fear?
Either way, I feel bad. But still, Evelyn liked about 98% of the movie. She was totally engaged. It was good seeing Robin Williams in his prime again—those mannerisms and expressions that made his performances feel so real.
Evelyn’s little buddy from two doors down will be here at 7:30 a.m.—and we usually don’t even get up until 8 or 8:30. My only solution is to get my butt to bed earlier tonight. No later than 10:30.
My favorite thing from today? Carrying chickens. We moved their temporary pen to a fresh grassy spot, and they got to roam. Unfortunately, once they found the immature pea plants, it was time to return them to their designated area. But their Disneyworld-level excitement had taken over at finding grubs and such, and they weren’t about to come willingly.
So I took matters into my own hands—literally—carrying three of the nineteen myself. But it’s not just that they let me scoop them up so easily, haunching down for me to lift them. It’s the little clucks they make, soft and throaty, almost like purrs, as I carry them across the field. Eventually, Dave and I herded the rest back using a shaky can of feed, and I said the all-too-clever line, “The last one in is a rotten egg.”
Well, that was my day. Time to wash my face and soak up the last few moments before bed.
Take care.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 