Let Us Spray

So ... I'm on Pinterest. And every time I get on there, I'm all, "Oooh! Gonna do this. OOOOH!!! Gonna try that!" Gasp, gasp, gasp. Pin, pin, pin.

... Lie, lie, lie. Because y'all? I'm not really much of a DIY-er. As much as I'd love to be, and as good as my intentions are, I have a better chance of growing a Duck Dynasty beard* than making or doing most of the stuff I so enthusiastically pin.

*I'm serious about the beard. You guys know of my post-pregnancy chin hairs. 

Anyway, I have this shelf. It was hanging in Colin's room, but then one day they decided to use it as a desk while playing school and wrote the alphabet on it ... in permanent marker. So I was going to throw it away.

But then I was like ... wait.

I could spray-paint it.

I have some black spray paint somewhere in the garage. Black would go great in my room. I could repurpose it into a whole new piece of decor!

Then I got all excited because spray-painting a shelf black is my version of, like, making an old headboard into an upholstered bench using only thumbtacks and T-shirt fabric. It's as DIY as I get, and for someone like me, that's big news.

Unfortunately, I couldn't hide my enthusiasm when I found the spray paint. And when I carried it to my closet to put it with the shelf, there were curious eyes upon me. "What's that, Mommy?" my three-year-old, Coby, asked with interest.

"Spray paint for this shelf," I said. "Do not even THINK about touching it." And I closed it into the closet and left the room.

I should have known better. I should have treated the spray paint like my contraband stash of chocolate and hidden it, threatening death in a possessed-sounding voice whenever someone comes within a two-foot radius. Because boys, you know ... they hear the words "spray" and "paint" and then everything glazes over until the words "touching it."

Lucky for me - or for Coby, or for both of us - I came back into my bedroom to get something a couple minutes later. That's when I noticed that my closet door was slightly ajar. And I smelled a smell.

Spray paint.

Coming from inside my closet.

I ran to the closet and hurled the door open, only to find ...

... Coby. Standing there innocently blinking at me, deer-in-the-headlights-style. The smell of paint hung in the air. But there was no stainy black spray on my clothes, or across the wall, or on my shoes. I silently began thanking my lucky stars that I'd caught him in time, before paint got on anything.

And then? He turned his head.

The side of his face, and the inside of his ear, was misted with black.

This isn't something that you simply wipe off. It's not like some soap and water is going to take care of a water-resistant oily mess on the side of someone's face. I racked my brain trying to think of something to use. I thought I remembered something about mineral oil taking paint off, but I'm fresh out of mineral oil.

I had faith, though, recalling my ingenious method of removal after that unfortunate sunscreen incident. Surely I could find something that would work.

So I tried nail polish remover. If that gets polish off, surely it would work on spray paint, right?

"Hold your breath!" I told Coby as I scrubbed him nearly raw with the polish remover. But it didn't work very well; it only took the paint off in minuscule little particles and took forever.

 This was after the nail polish remover failed to remove much. 

So it was back to the drawing board.

Then I thought about my beloved Mary Kay eye makeup remover. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I love the crap outta this stuff. (And no, this is TOTALLY not an ad, but if the Mary Kay peeps would like to send me a lifetime supply of eye makeup remover as a thank you, I'll get their logo tattooed somewhere on my body.)

You know what? It worked like a charm - with minimal scrubbing! Woohoooo!

Now if I could only get as lucky with the shelf. What's that? You say no one needs luck to spray paint a shelf?

This is me we're talking about.