The oldest thing I’m wearing today is my cross necklace Mom gave me on my 16th birthday. She had it made out of her engagement and wedding rings, and she and Dad were married in 1976. I’m not much of a jewelry wearer aside from rings because I often forget to take my jewelry off before going to sleep and I’m afraid I’ll break or lose whatever I fall asleep in.
My necklace quickly became one of my security items I would wear when I needed Mom most; being admitted to the hospital, having surgery (Mom or Adam would hold onto it until I could put it back on), going to the doctor alone, etc.
Nitpicky. Controlling. OCD. Fussy. Particular. Unreasonable. High maintenance. These are some of the words that have been used to describe me. That’s fair, for the most part. I don’t have OCD. I’m not high maintenance, unless one counts the limitations from my disorders and illnesses. All the other descriptors are the result of being undiagnosed well into adulthood and trying to cope and maintain some semblance of control in my life and situations.
If I get too stressed over something, I immediately start cleaning and straightening items. Adam usually tries to stop me so he can comfort me, but the comfort comes from organizing. Order is something I can physically control and, frankly, keeps me from dealing with overwhelming emotions, which is something I don’t know how to do or even if I’m capable, especially pertaining to sadness, anger, and stress. Keeping things just so helps keep my world calmer, and if I neglect that, it causes stress, which has been affecting me physically more and more.
My current hyperfixation is books. Logic dictates, in my opinion, since hyperfixation (“special interests”) is an autism thing, being AuDHD mucks that up into fixating on something for a length of time, then switching to something else with the same passion and intensity. Mom tried to keep up with my fixations, so I’ve acquired books, pandas, unicorns, and tigers, to name a few, over the years. I have a pink dancing turtle and a talking Squirt from Finding Nemo from my cute turtles phase. With Adam, I’ve obsessed over Bob’s Burgers, Taylor Swift, Pon & Zi, music, crypto, magic mushrooms, and on.
For reasons unknown to me, I decided to try Apple Books/iBooks instead of the Kindle app and discovered I like Apple Books better, so I was going to transfer my 500+ books from Amazon to Apple. Well, I couldn’t. When you buy an e-book on Amazon, you don’t own that book, unlike buying paper- and hardback books. Amazon is essentially a paid library for digital media, like Vudu and other digital goods companies. If Amazon got a bug up their butt and deleted my account, like they have in the recent past, my books would be gone and I certainly wouldn’t be reimbursed. This didn’t sit well with me, and being told I could not do something, specifically that I could not own something I paid for, only fueled my little AuDHD PDA self.
For the past few days, I have spent hours downloading my books onto the computer, converting them into .epub files, backing them up on my external hard drive, and transferring copies to my phone via iTunes. This went well for most of the books, but a few were totally messed up, and of course those are the ones my brain focuses on and bothers me incessantly about. I remove all of them from the phone, fix the metadata and covers for each one on Calibre, and send them back to my phone. A few more are corrected, but there are still some problems. I Yahoogle for help, as does Adam since this is really upsetting me, and I try everything we find.
The same thing happens. All the authors are listed first name, last name in the app, but alphabetically sorted by the last name, which is correct. Except for two authors. One is listed last name, first name and his 23 books are split somehow. For the other, her initials are MZ and she is sorted under M instead of Z, although her name is in the correct order (FN, LN).
Very funny, Apple.
After being miserable for the past week and not getting the results that I wanted, I’m standing at the bed hugging Adam and venting about the apps, and my sweet, amazing, well-meaning husband tells me I should not worry about it because it’s just a small thing. Now, I love this man to pieces, and I know I shouldn’t stress and fret over something so small, but it’s not by choice. I don’t do this because I’m bored or want attention or I’m desperate for some internal drama and turmoil in my life. I can’t help it. I tried to “deal” with Hurricane MIL and nearly had a mental break from that.
On top of my ever-changing, fleeting interests, my lifelong solid obsession is English/language. I’m average in every other subject and above-average in language, which was included in my psych/autism assessment, but I’ve known that since I was little. I was always in gifted reading/English classes, and that was my highest-scoring subject on my ACTs. I had this terrible-paying general transcription job once, and the company’s policy was to type what was said, of course, but that included spelling words how the dictator spelled them if they happened to spell them out, including medications. Most people don’t know how to spell medications correctly because the spelling and formatting can get pretty crazy. I always spelled the drugs correctly and was ready to defend my choice to the death if necessary. I was with one company where this doctor would always say “gamipectin” and proceed to spell it: G-A-B-A-P-E-N-T-I-N. Gabapentin was the correct medication, so I don’t know where in the heck she came up with gamipectin. I correct emails when replying to them. I correct FB posts if I’m reposting. I quickly stopped reading No Country for Old Men because Cormac McCarthy refuses to use quotations when people are speaking, which could very well be a sign of the devil. That really stinks because I loved that movie and figure his books are pretty good.
I have no idea where I’ve been or am going with any of this post. I applaud your dedication (boredom?) if you have made it this far 😊👍.
Adam made me modified tequila (what we called it growing up). Eh, maybe “barebones tequila” would be more accurate; zucchini, meat sauce, and lots of mozzarella cheese 😋. I think ground chuck is more expensive than ground beef because the farmers and butchers have a hard time finding boy cows who are named Chuck. Adam said that’s a possibility but never gave a definitive answer.
The last live performance I saw was in 2018 or 2019. My aunt took me to see P!nk on her Beautiful Trauma World Tour in Cleveland, Ohio. Prior to that, she had taken me to see Rihanna on her ANTI tour, and Lady Gaga on her Jolene tour, both of which were awesome. Then, I saw P!nk. To say I’m a P!nk fan is an understatement. One of my first CDs was Can’t Take me Home, and I listened to that album so much growing up. Before streaming, if you wanted to own a specific song, you had to buy the entire album. Honestly, that was the best thing ever. I discovered so many great songs because I would get an entire album just for one song and fell in love with the album. With most of my CDs, I know them by heart and that includes the track numbers. Listening to an album on shuffle will drive my anxiety up to the point of me crying and becoming very irritable.
Back to the concert. The people were absolutely overwhelming, as was the stress of filing into the building, going through the metal detectors, and trying to find our seats among hordes of others doing the same. Since it was just my aunt and me, I didn’t have the comfort of one of my “people.” Mom was gone, and my husband was at home. I felt a little calmer when we finally made it to our seats, but the noise of those around me talking and laughing and milling about was pretty nerve-wracking. I cried tears of joy from the excitement of finally getting to see one of my favorite singers.
The show was crazy good. P!nk isn’t just a singer, but also a performer and very funny. I knew most of the songs by heart, and the stage set was fun and colorful. Her outfits were, too! Revenge is one of my favorite songs (huge Eminem fan), and for Em’s part, this huge, inflatable Eminem doll “walked” down the stage and P!nk gets suspended up in the air near its face to deliver a big ol’ kick. It was quite hilarious.
Found a clip from the show I attended! Not my recording. Eminem shows up around 4:15 or so.
I have my pictures from both Lady Gaga and Rihanna, but I can’t find my P!nk pictures to save my life. I know I took plenty and recorded some videos, but they aren’t in my Concerts folder, which is very upsetting.
I had a thoroughly unenjoyable meal a few days ago and haven’t been able to eat since. It all started when I asked Adam to boil some chicken breasts for me because I generally like plain chicken breasts and we are running low on keto-friendly food. He brings me a plate of it. I take a bite, and it tastes…off. I spit it out and look at the piece of chicken and it is slick looking, nearly pink, and very squishy. It’s not done! I keep spitting, for good measure, and have completely lost my appetite, so I go back to working. When my husband asks me how my chicken was, I told him I spit it out and threw it away because it was raw. He told me he checked each one with the meat thermometer and the lowest was around 178° F. Okay. My tastes change depending on my mood or medication, so it’s probably me. NBD.
The next day, I make chicken parmigiana with zoodles because I’m still on that kick. I filet the breasts thin and check the temperature multiple times and most readings are around 200. I start eating, and everything is cool. Good chicken, good zoodles, the store-bought sauce isn’t the best, but whatever. I take another bite of chicken and it just tastes bad. I remove the breading and tear it apart and it’s shiny and squishy and pinkish. I toss the chicken, pretty miffed because it’s not cheap anymore, and decide to eat the zoodles so I don’t waste food, but they taste gross now because my brain says so since the chicken tasted bad. I finally just give up.
Since Google is my friend, I searched something along the lines of cooked chicken looking raw and feeling spongy, and I was not disappointed. Apparently, there is this condition(?) called woody chicken breast, which causes external hardness (chicken was fried and grilled, so couldn’t speak on that), pale color, and icky texture. Some have likened it to looking raw, like I thought it was. It seems this happens in the bigger-breasted chickens, and the breasts that we got from Walmart were massive – I commented on their size several times to Adam. There is a debate as to why this occurs, but it’s not a new thing, from what I’ve read. I’m thinking growth hormones play a big part. So, that happened, and the mystery was solved, though I’m out a lot of chicken breasts.
The chicken issue, along with the fact that I just bought 10 zucchinis, knocked me out of my chicken parmigiana kick, I guess. I get on these food “kicks,” as I call them, where I eat the same thing every day for days, weeks, months at a time. I never know when they will happen or what food it will be. If I don’t have access to that food, I will not eat. The two worst kicks were the knockoff Cup o’ Noodles and popcorn. The noodles kick lasted the longest, and I can’t even look at them now. The popcorn kick lasted around 6 months. I didn’t eat for four days when I ran out of popcorn and couldn’t get more at the time.
Even if I get tired of the food, that doesn’t stop me from eating only that food, and I don’t know why. Oh, and it never fails that when I stock up on my kick food and have plenty in the house, I’m done with it. That has happened with noodles, popcorn, beef jerky, ribs, and now zucchini/zoodles. After Mom died, I fell into a pizza kick and ordered it for weeks. I also watched Frozen every day, which was weird because it came out after Mom died, so there wasn’t a connection or nostalgia component. Adam knew Let It Go by heart by the time I moved on to something else.
One fun thing about me and food is when I’m done, I’m done. Whether I’m full, my food kick is ending, or I don’t like the taste or texture of a food, it’s coming out. It is either spit it out or choke it down and then vomit, and spitting it out is much better for me and those around me. Most of the time, when we’re out, I can spit my food into a napkin, but it’s a little more difficult if we’re at a restaurant that has cloth napkins. In those instances, Adam quickly finds me an empty dish, or I spit on my plate and cover it with something. There’s never enough time to get to the restroom.
I think I’m done painting the bathroom, but that’s not set in stone. I’ve learned two things since starting this project: I want to (and usually do) paint anything I get paint on, and high-gloss black paint shows everything, including brush and roller strokes, hair, lint, dust, etc., and Heaven forbid I miss adding a second coat! Places that need touched up are easily seen, i.e., glaringly obvious with a flashlight. I hop around from place to place so much that there is no rhyme or reason to how much paint is on each wall so I just have to spot check. I wish my Concerta worked for me. I couldn’t work with the painter’s tape today because it wasn’t doing what I wanted it to, so I painted the sink.
Probably not the best idea.
I put the shelf that was at the bottom of the mirror over on the wall to the left, and I really like it there. It was in the way above the sink, and it fits perfectly on the wall! Unfortunately, first, I asked Adam to put it a little high so I wouldn’t hit my head on it, but after it was up, I couldn’t see over it and couldn’t really reach things, so I took it down and moved it lower all by myself (yay!). The holes are kind of visible on the batten strip but it’s cool.
Started out with the shelf a few inches higher but I couldn’t see on it.
Shelf’s previous place, right under the mirror frame.
I’ve had the shower done for a while, and while I love it being black, it shows soap scum so bad even though I spray it down after every shower. All the black has made the bathroom really dark, but it looks really cool when I have the smart lights on in color. I need to get some black silicone for around the shower frame so it’s not so ugly.
The clear silicone on the shower does not hold paint!
I listen to music via a Bluetooth speaker while taking a shower, so I stuck a piece of metal by the shower door so I can put my phone there and adjust the volume or change the song while in the shower. It works great and is hardly visible. I’m saving scrap metal so I can put it other places. I added a piece on the bedroom wall in case I go to bed with the phone. I always lose the phone in the bed.
Metal is in the middle of the picture. See the ugly silicone to the left?
I fear it’s a bit autismal of me, but nearly all of my posts are categorized/tagged as Autism because I’m autistic every day so of course each post is about autism. I hope it’s not misleading for anyone. I tend to take things literally a lot and most of the time people think I’m being sarcastic or obtuse when being sincere. My husband is getting better at clarifying when asking me questions and I answer in a literal way.
Oh, I haven’t talked about the closet!! I’m turning Mom’s closet into a sensory room, as previously mentioned, which is 5 feet, 8 inches inches wide by 12 or 14 feet long. I’m planning on getting this all-satin pink blanket from Amazon since “rubbing silky” is one of my stims, and I found the reversible sequin fabric on Amazon, too, which I want to get some of to put on the wall. I’m also going to put my alpaca pillow cover on the wall, as I love anything soft. I’ve had the pillow for years but can’t keep it out because the cats suckle on it and pull the fur off.
My super-soft alpaca pillow
One bad thing about the closet is there are no vents in there and the light fixture cannot accommodate a ceiling fan. Plus, there are no outlets, so I’ll need to get surge protector extension cords so I can plug things in. I saw a cool fiber optic light thingy on Amazon that I want. I always wait until there are good deals, so furnishing the closet will take a while. I would love to get a Drew Chair from Walmart but it’s $300. It would make an awesome reading chair ☺️. When I share something I like with Adam, he will say something like, “That would be good for your sensory room,” which makes me feel so heard and love him even more. He helps me think of things to put in the room because I rarely know when I’m stimming and he says, “You do [this or that] when you’re tired or overwhelmed,” and I don’t even realize it. Mom told me once that I rub the carpet when I’m tired and lying on the floor. I’ve done that since I was a kid and never realized it’s something I do when I’m sleepy. I tend to rub a lot of various surfaces and items to soothe myself.
I can’t start painting the closet until I patch the multiple holes left in the wall from the wire racks. There are a lot of them. I’m going to take one rack and have Adam cut it into several pieces and put them on the wall as shelves instead of racks. They are white, so they need to be painted as well. The spare room is now one big closet, but I’m cool with that since absolutely no one visits, let alone stays the night. I could probably squeeze the bed back in there, but what’s the point?
I was born with Dandy Walker syndrome, which is a malformation in the back of the brain near the brainstem. The malformation occurs in the part of the brain (the cerebellum, fourth ventricle) that controls balance, coordination, fine motor skills, vision, and cognitive thinking. While pregnant with me, Mom was simply told that part of my brain didn’t develop and that was it. Granted, DWS isn’t common, so a lot of doctors, especially back then, hadn’t heard of it.
Now, more and more doctors and medical staff I’ve seen are at least familiar with it. One doctor even said, “So, you’re aware DWS affects your liver and kidneys?” Huh? Yeah…sure, I know. (Nope. I didn’t know.) I guess that explains the hydronephrosis, nonalcoholic liver cirrhosis, and diabetes type 1.5, the latter two of which are autoimmune diseases.
I didn’t walk until I was 2, and I was in physical therapy to help with that, but I don’t remember it. We didn’t learn I had DWS until I was 17 and my pediatrician ordered a head CT scan to see why I was having headaches all the time. Fortunately, I only have a small amount of hydrocephalus, so I don’t require a VP shunt.
I also had crossed eyes, which were surgically corrected at 18 months old, and a strawberry birthmark – a hemangioma – up from my forehead a little past the start of my hairline. My brother took care of my birthmark one night when he dropped a toy stove from the top bunkbed onto my head, which I had poked out from my bunkbed to ask him what he had said. He had, in fact, told me to watch out because he was dropping the toy from his bed and he didn’t want to hit me with it. I find this hilarious; even more so when he would tell the story. I don’t remember that, either, but I was under 5 at the time.
So, all of that to say, I have some limitations. With DWS and AuDHD, I think differently and perceive things differently and I have some problems with critical thinking, and my depth perception isn’t the greatest. I also have diplopia, which is double vision. I’ve had 3 eye surgeries and the surgeon informed me that it’s my brain mucking things up because they can’t get my eyes any straighter than they are. I must sound like a monster 😂.
My husband, Adam, didn’t know any of the above when we met in high school or when we started dating 9 years later, as my medical diagnoses are not something I openly talk about. My family is very open with each other about their health issues except when they pertain to one’s mental state, which is odd because depression and bipolar are big on the maternal side of my family. Mom’s explanation for my personality and behavior was, “Oh, that’s just Cari,” and family’s like, “Oh, okay.” I love that my family is so accepting.
I finally got around to asking my husband to go to his brother’s for a week, and it went as expected. He got upset and tried to spend one day ignoring me so he wouldn’t bother me, but that was awkward and annoying. Things came to a head when I decided to do something that I had been asking him to do for months, which pissed me off because I don’t ask him to do much since I’m pretty stubborn and determined when I make up my mind to do something and I work at it tirelessly before admitting defeat. He decided to go to his sister’s since his brother lives a couple of hours away and his sister is about five minutes away.
Best. Thing. Ever.
For the first time in years, I had the house to myself. No annoying phone noises. No disgusting smell of way-too-strong coffee. Nothing being put away wherever. It was bliss. I work worked. I house worked. I got hurt a few times, which is totally okay to me, although I could have gone without getting both hands full of broken fiberglass. My body started relaxing, so I wasn’t in constant pain like I had been for months. I could get deep breaths. Obviously, I don’t handle stress well. My husband came by and took the week’s trash out but I was sleeping. We talked daily via text, and since I have issues communicating how I feel and what I want or need, I invited him to read my blog, which he did.
I think he finally started to understand what I’ve been going through and how stressed I have been. He told his mom not to do the dishes anymore, and he changed her phone settings so it’s not making a noise for every notification. I sent him some autism websites, one focusing on meltdowns, which he found informative and helpful. Most of the time, I can’t/won’t talk to him about my ASD issues (symptoms?) and struggles without feeling extreme shame and embarrassment and major impostor syndrome.
Somewhere in the midst of my week of solitude, I decided to begin the keto diet, and I want to convert Mom’s closet into a sensory room. I am excited about both projects, although I am having a bit of trouble with each of them. More on those two topics later!
I’m unpacking and learning so much about myself and “my” autism that it would be nearly impossible to not suffer from imposter syndrome. For the uninitiated, imposter syndrome is when “an individual doubts their skills, talents, or accomplishments and has a persistent internalized fear of being exposed as a fraud.” It’s most common in those who are insecure and have low self-esteem, which isn’t surprising.
The perfect example presented itself today. One of my higher-ups and I were on the phone talking about new accounts (point for talking on the phone!), which included a lot of new information and instructions – of course, I zoned out more than once – and before hanging up, she wanted to know if I was interested in doing QA (quality assurance) for all accounts.
Now, I’m good at my job, as most of it is spelling/grammar and medical stuff. I consistently get 100% accuracy at both companies I’m contracted with, and I’ve been in the field since 2006. However, every time I receive my QA emails, I am 100% certain that QA just missed my mistakes and that is why I got good results. It’s merely fact for me now.
I’ve done QA before with another company several years ago, but with so many hospitals and healthcare facilities outsourcing our medical records to India, accounts are harder to find, and if you screw up on their sometimes-ridiculous account specifics, they have no issue going to another company. As QA, I would have every account under me including the new one. Since I work nights, I would be the only QA’er available. No pressure, right?
Anyway, my post wasn’t supposed to be about work today. I’ve been sharing ASD information with my husband to help explain myself and actions, and he’s been so sweet and receptive, but I feel like I am just making excuses for my behavior and want a pass to do this or that. Meltdowns are one thing I feel like that about. I’ve had them forever but they were always labeled as temper tantrums, pouting, bipolar (which I don’t have), and acting immaturely.
When I get overwhelmed, I get extremely irritable and want to retreat immediately. If I’m doing something and not getting the expected results, I get physical with whatever I’m doing. Like, if I can’t get medicine open and have tried for a while, I’ll chuck it across the room. I’ll hit things, be aggressive with things, and so on. I mask a lot during these meltdowns because they upset my husband. Holding back results in me shaking, not speaking, and crying out of anger/frustration. I think that’s a big reason I finally broke and requested a week to myself. When I don’t throw something or hit something and hold it in, I cry. Sometimes I do both. I never, ever hit people or animals, so there’s that.
Like Greta Garbo, I’m quite content to be left alone. I’ve never been one to seek out attention, though sometimes I would be affectionate with Mom, and I will go to my husband for a hug occasionally, but I’m good being left to my own devices for the most part. Of course, “my own devices” include my phone and/or computer, and I would probably go crazy without some connection to the outside world or something to stimulate my brain.
I am a loner, but that wasn’t always an option growing up. I grew up in a very close family, and we would spend most weekends at my maternal grandparents’. At least 4 out of 5 of “the children” (my mom, aunts, and uncle) and their spouses would be there with their children (“the grandchildren,”) which included my brother, me, and our seven cousins.
I’m the second youngest, but when everyone was outside playing, I preferred to be inside with the adults. If the adults wanted to talk about grownup things or play card games I had no interest in, I would retreat to one of the bedrooms and read or write, or roller-skate in the basement. “She just likes being alone” was uttered often by Mom. Mom was asked a lot of questions regarding me. I wasn’t diagnosed AuDHD until after she passed, so was often described as being a loner and “backward.” Ah, the ’90s.
I need to learn how to shorten my backstories! All of the above brings me to today’s topic. My husband is outgoing and pretty clingy. Him taking care of Mom and staying in the hospital with her screwed up his lungs to the point of him not being able to work. He also has schizoaffective disorder. He’s here 24/7.
MIL came here in 2021 after having part of her foot removed and she is here 24/7 as well. She doesn’t have a vehicle. Mechanic broke Mom’s car, so we don’t have a car. We are all here, together, 24/7/365. I have no alone time.
Okay, now I’m done with the backstory. I’ve been cleaning out Mom’s walk-in closet, and I decided I want to make it a “me” space for…whatever. I’m working on Mom’s bathroom and making it a relaxing space for me, but that only lasts for however long I’m in the shower because, realistically, what else is there to do in the bathroom? I can’t stay in the shower or tub all the time because I’d get all pruny and run up the water bill, which has already gone up due to inflation and having 3 people in the home. I’ve actually been looking for a huge beanbag couch/chair to put in/over the garden tub so I could sit in there and read, but they are hard to find unless I spent $200 for one.
My first idea was to move my computer, desk, and TV/monitor into the closet and work in there, but my husband doesn’t think I would like that and would soon change my mind and move everything back out (which I probably would, in time), as I’m known to do that. Now, I’m thinking of doing a built-in bench seat with some pillows or cushions, and I would really love a beanbag chair since I’ve always wanted one and never got one. I haven’t decided if I’m going to try to add an outlet in the closet or just get another surge protector with multiple outlets and a longer cord to put in there. I kind of want to add an outlet to see if I can do it. Admittedly, that kind of thinking is how a lot of my big oopsies start out 😒.
Not to sound like a bad mom, but I’m looking forward to being able to shut the door when the cats are overwhelming me. You’d think small, cute animals wouldn’t get on my nerves, but just a few days ago, I was preparing to give Phin some shrimp, which he loves, and I had four cats on the dining room table walking around and smelling everything. It was extremely frustrating because only Phin and Piper will eat shrimp, yet four of five just had to know what I had and re-confirm that they didn’t like it. I was pretty cranky after that.
I used to have to hide in my room from my sweet, dearly departed tuxedo cat, Sprinkles Ricardo Blah-Blah, whenever Mom bought me beef jerky because he adored it and would eat it all up from me if I let him. That stuff’s expensive, and it is one of my favorite snacks. Sprinkles would come running whenever he heard the thick plastic bag rustle, even when Mom would sneak it to me!
It was never a secret that my brother had undiagnosed ADHD, hyperactive type. He couldn’t sit still and was always working on something, tearing something apart, or fidgeting endlessly. School was difficult for both of us, but it wasn’t common to be treated for mental health when we were children.
After I requested a psych eval and was diagnosed with autism and ADHD well into adulthood (after Mom died), things started making sense and falling into place. Sure, I could sit and read book after book, but once I finished a book, I couldn’t tell you a thing about it, even the ending. I can say I liked the book but not why or what happened.
The trouble with having AuDHD (autism with ADHD) is I crave routine, yet routine can be terribly boring. I like to think of it as controlled chaos. My space can look like a hurricane blew through, but if you want to know where something is, I can most likely tell you unless I put it somewhere where I wouldn’t lose it. For example, I know a black Sharpie is in the bathroom closet in a box with the cabinet door handles, but I have no idea where I put the silver ones so I wouldn’t lose them.
After my doctor and I got my psych medications right and the Wellbutrin kicked in, I’ve been in downsizing and renovation mode. I think 19 years of the house looking the same is long enough! I started with Mom’s bedroom and painted it glossy black. I’ve no doubt Mom is losing her mind looking down on me, but I really like it. Trim and ceiling are going to be black as well, because you just can’t have a black room with wood-colored trim and a white ceiling. That’s silly.
Theo being helpfulThe shelf thing cleaned up nice!
After finishing most of the bedroom, I moved on to her bathroom, and I am having so much fun with it. It is black now, too, and I removed the shelf/ledge under the bathroom mirror and put it on the wall so it wasn’t in the way of the sink faucet.
The wood-colored backsplash had a recessed trim(?) the same color as the counter. Since I’m going with black and silver in Mom’s bathroom, I ordered some 1/2″ stainless steel-colored adhesive PVC piping which fit perfectly. I’m including a picture of the guest bathroom below, which has the same backsplash as Mom’s did, but a different VOG (vinyl-on-gypsum) wallpaper. I bought shiny silver contact paper for the counter and around the garden tub, which should be fun.
A peek of the old wall where the shelf/ledge was. Guest bathroom backsplash
Because I bloop, bloop, bloop all over the place, I started tackling Mom’s walk-in closet in the midst of redoing her bedroom and bathroom. I haven’t gotten very far with it, but I am downsizing in a major way, and there is only so much the living room can hold in between trash days. Considering I have zero budget, this reno could take a while, but I am finding some really good deals on Amazon. I think the most expensive thing has been the paint, which is $48 a gallon. Since I’m painting everything that doesn’t move, I’m going to need a lot of paint!
Cari R Esta 