Gotye, Husband. Gotye.

So I said to my mother, "But, really, can't I just paint Kiddo #2's bedroom furniture? I really don't think Husband will notice."

My mother stopped cutting the carrots and looked at me.

"Well, of course he will."

"But, really? I don't think he will." I took a handful of carrots and began munching.  My mother tapped me on the back of the hand with the side of the paring knife, just like my grandmother used to do to me for stealing  her cut up veggies.

"Beth. You're going from light wood grain to chocolate brown."

"Espresso."

"Whatever. You might as well paint it lime green."
"Chartreuse."

"WHATEVER. I wouldn't do it."

My mother is the undisputed Queen of Surprise. Oh, wait. That doesn't sound accurate. My mother is the worst at keeping secrets. The. Worst.

She gets so excited about The Secret that it's all she thinks about. She starts humming tunes and changes the words to the song until the song is all about The Secret she's not supposed to tell. She does dances around the house with choreography that mimes The Secret.  She drives hundreds of miles, finds an isolated coffee shop, throws open the doors, announces The Secret to everyone inside (while giggling and being excited), and then realizes that she actually is just up the street from the Recipient's house, and oh, there I am, also buying coffee and now I know The Secret I wasn't supposed to know.  My mother gets on the phone with the recipient and, then being so very, very proud that she hasn't told anyone at all yet, she spills the beans and you find out.  There's no malice involved; as I said before, she's the Queen of Surprise, just not in the "keeping a secret" sense, in the "Surprise! I just bought a new puppy/kitten/car!"

The thing is, you can't hardly get mad that she's got the new puppy/car because she's just so dang excited, and plus, you know it was closer to an impulse buy anyway, on account of if she'd been thinking about it for weeks, everyone on the planet would know via song, dance and elaborate telephone call. 

So, when I asked her (essentially) whether I should just go ahead and paint my son's big boy bedroom furniture, I was mostly just waiting patiently for the "Hell yes! I can't believe you haven't done it already! Let's go to the hardware store and get supplies right now, before we finish cutting this carrot for tonight's dinner!"

If you've forgotten why I've been forbidden from painting the bedroom set, and to learn the cute phrase "craft bomb", click here: http://doescoffeecomeinbucketsize.blogspot.ca/2012/02/thats-lotta-bull.html

But then, with the sound of a needle being pulled abruptly off a record (or a note being played on a keyboard that happens to be in "DJ Sound Effects" mode), my plan was curtailed. My Mom told me No.

So I said, "But Mom! He's hardly ever in there with the lights on-- he's either got the lights off and putting Kiddo #2 to bed, or changing him or something in the middle of the night-- which even if the lights are ON, Husband's eyes are closed pretending he's still asleep..."

"Not gonna work." is how she chose to interrupt me. Rude.

"Dad? Can't I just paint it? I'm sure no one will even tell the difference." 

"Beth. If no one will tell the difference, then why do you want to paint it?"  Sigh. My father: World's Fastest Logician. 

I have decided that this conversation is going no where that I want to direct it (clearly Husband has paid off my parents-- but with what? And when? Hmm.) so I distract myself by cutting up some veggies. Boo.

Yes. Clearly Husband has paid off my parents to keep me from painting. Surely that is the only thing that makes any plausible sense: my parents both support me unconditionally (as long as I don't need money, or to move back in with them, or their cars, I mean.) and both of them love to see me create masterpieces. In fact, my mother has been hounding me for YEARS to paint her something for her living room.

Yet, here they are, making money off my husband, to keep me DOWN! 

Bewildered at their change of sides, it's not until I've cut up every damn carrot in the house that I realize what's really going on. 

My mother and father traded their allegiance to me for back-to-back weekends with my kids. 

What the FRICK?!?  

Husband obviously said, "Listen you two-- if you promise to keep her from painting Kiddo #2's new-old bedroom furniture, you can have each of our children."

"For how long?" my father would ask.

"All weekend long." My father would slightly change his expression, challenging Husband for a better deal. All weekend long was for amateurs. Husband would realize this and quickly add, "For the rest of your lives." nonchalantly.  My mother, trying not to scream in excitement, would simply say, "That's ... so... nice." (Incidentally, that's what she says whenever something incredible happens) to seal the deal. 

And that, my friends, is how my world is changed in the blink of an eye.

Reeling like Rapunzel when she figures out she's the Lost Princess in Tangled, I crash into the fridge and upset the carrots.  I mean, unlimited weekends, forever? That's like handing me an unlimited Visa and dropping me in Paris-- what grandparent could possibly say no to this? 

But wait. There's a flaw in this theory-- my mother can't keep a secret, and this would have to be kept a secret or I could potentially get upset. Or at least moody. 

Well, I've got a secret of my own-- here's the song I've been secretly singing in my head for the past 30 days. I've even worked out some interpretive dance moves to go with it (think Mr. Miyagi's "Paint The Fence," with some jitterbug--mostly because I've had too much coffee today.). The costume is still in the works but know it will be mostly lycra and long flowy pieces of whatever ballet skirts are made of. 

"Something That Only I Know"

(parody of Gotye's "Somebody That I Used To Know")

Now and then, I think of when we were together

And how you said if I paint bedset, I would die.

Told myself that you were kidding me,

But felt so shitty without painting

But that was love, and compromise, I still remember.

You can get addicted to a certain kind of crafting.

Like how glitter's everywhere, ever-y-where.

So when I found you did not make sense,

Cuz you said that I could paint the fence,

But don't touch the bedset, or it'll be over.

But you really have to cut that out--

Make out like I never finish a thing I've started.

And I don't even need your 'kay

but you treat me like a crazy and I feel so rough.

No, you didn't have to stoop so low

Say the ultimatum like it's nothing to remember

I guess I don't need to heed that now.

Now it's just a bedset that I couldn't paint.

Now it's just a bedset that I couldn't paint.

Now it's just a bedset that I couldn't paint.

Now and then I think of all the times you've been in and over

Kiddo 2's room, with the lights off and them on.

I don't wanna "Told you" say,

But you've seen it every day.

I painted it a month ago,

And you haven't even noticed it's a shade of espresso!

So you really have to cut that out.

Make out like I never finish a thing I've started

And I don't even need your 'kay

but you treat me like a crazy and I feel so rough

No, you didn't have to stoop so low

Say the ultimatum like it's nothing to remember

I guess that I don't need to heed that now.

Now it's just a bedset painted secret-lay.

Now it's just a bedset painted secret-lay.

Now it's just a bedset painted secret-lay.