Sometimes, the R.C. mystifies me.

Yesterday, I'm getting ready to do a little project and she says, "I think you're making a lot of work out of this unless you're just having fun."

It's Saturday morning, okay? I'm surrounded by paint pots, paint trays, paint brushes, paint rollers, edgers, spackle, spackle knives, and the other essential accoutrements of A Job Around The House.

What part of this does NOT look like I'm having fun?

Friday night, I stripped the bathroom room of all moveable objects. I washed the walls, sanded them, washed them again, and let them dry. (Then I cleaned the counters and the floor - each covered with a fine residue of paint dust.) (And then I mopped the floor because the workmen in a few days ago to replace a missing shower tile have completely trashed out the entire bathroom.)

Saturday morning I trekked across the street to the Helpful Hardware man at Ace.

"Give paint," I demanded. "Give brushes and rollers and toys."

"Give money," he said, handing me a bag full o'fun.

(Ohmigod. I have more to say about my Painting Adventure, but I'm being distracted. It's the R.C.'s birthday and, in spite of the Six-Month Frugality Plan, I bought her a digital camera. she's finding identifying the parts complicated. Camera. Battery. USB cable. Optional A/V cable.)

Bathroom.

I spackled! I spackled over nail holes. I spackled over that corner where the last, inexpert paint job left a long, peeling bubble of paint. I spackled that embarrassing spot where I got too enthusiastic applynig hair dye last year and threw a glob at the wall. I spackled places that didn't need spackling just because spackling is fun and it's a funny word.

I resanded the spackled places with a nifty, six-sided sanding block the Helpful Hardware Man recommended. (A wonderful invention. Single-sheet sandpaper always makes me worry that I'm about to start a fire.) I rewashed the walls.

I masked! Painting tape, two kinds of masking tape and an entire newspaper later, I felt confident I'd covered any surface potentially in danger from my hit-or-miss painting technique.

I painted! Big roller. Barrels o'fun teeny roller. Paint brush. Special edge protector for those tricky bits hear the ceiling.

(Right now, I'm deeply regretting my decision not to open camera box and charge it all up for her and get it ready to use. I can't believe anyone can make such a production of charging a battery and inserting it in a plug-and-play device. *headbang*)

Bathroom.

Watching paint dry? Is more fun than people think. If it's your paint job, it can be fun!

I Pledged the woodwork, hot-glued the loose part on the little wall shelf, cleaned the metal-work, and wiped down the mirrors. I cleaned the counters, and swept and mopped the floor again.

I re-imported all the previously mentioned moveable stuff. Shelves, pots & bottles, stacks o'towels, etc.

The new, bamboo-pattern shower curtain I purchased last week looks lovely. The towels and bath mats chosen to go with the old, faded yellow paint and the yucky yellow shower tiles and the icky "gold-tone" linoleum counter-tops look fine.

Bottom line? 24 hours later, I have a bathroom covered in clean, white paint, looking and smelling fresh and joyful! (Except, the ceiling looks dreadful.)

Among the other lessons learned? Next time, a quart of paint will probably be sufficient. Should I decide I don't need the remainder of this gallon for touch-ups, I'm going to have to take the 7/8 remaining back to Ace for proper disposal.

I tried to get the R.C. to let me do her bathroom, but she's not enthused. Sometimes I don't think she knows what a good time is.

(I'm so glad I also gave her a book for her birthday. She's reading it for a while, letting the poor camera get on with the job of charging itself for use.)