Mother. I painted the chairs.

Did you grow up with the same voice in your ear? “Don’t paint the wood.” “What are you doing? Glitter paint does NOT go on wood furniture.” “Gasp! Did they paint that antique?” I’m spending countless hours researching how to properly (and without toxic fumes) strip the woodwork in my house. I’ve chastised my white-paint-loving friends for painting their wood trim and yet, here I am, paint brush in-hand and wooden dining room chairs before me.

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How I got here: I ditched the table. I just couldn’t take it. Cleaning that glossy surface was a pain in the Endusting wrist. The smallest temperature difference would make a mark in the surface and I’ve always subscribed to the theory that life’s too short to use coasters. The last straw was when the table leg collapsed. No, I did not sabotage it…though the thought crossed my mind.

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Our new table is hearty. I mean hearty in the way that a team of Irish Cloggers could stomp their little hearts out on the thing and it wouldn’t so much as shake. If I do crafts on this table, forget my glue gun or happen to leave my hot tea on the table… it would only add character, if that. I love it. It’s old. It’s a tried and true farm table. You can’t fake this kind of old.

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So clearly, I could not keep the dining room chairs as they were with my new table. I like eclectic, but that’s just wrong. After researching and gagging at dining chair prices, I opted to go the DIY makeover route.

I’m painting the chairs.

I’ve already ensured that they’re not actually antiques. They’re reproductions and not even terribly good ones at that. So I don’t feel guilty.


Next, I need a new pad. The current one is just ridiculous. White? White satin? Come now.

Thanks to eBay I found 10 sizable coffee bean burlap sacks. They’re fabulous. The pneumatic stapler my mother gave me for my birthday a few years back made quick work of the recovering.

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And they’re practically new chairs.

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I absolutely love them now. No guilt. None.

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