By The Way...: CPD

I have a Project Problem.
My husband says it's like I have third-trimester nesting tendencies- but ALL the time. It's bad enough to deserve a solid diagnosis-style acronym: CPD- Chronic Project Disorder.
Disorder being the really operative word, since there tends to be bits of paper, flour, ribbon and thumbtacks littering my path of destruction whenever I have an outbreak of creativity.
It's a genetic flaw. My mother is constantly and eternally sewing and planning renovations on her house. My father is always tinkering with something, adding raised garden beds and moving boulders around. My sister is the worst of us all and has the etsy site to prove it. You should see the damage that occurs when any of us are together! We tend to emerge from simple visits paint-stained, bruised, and covered in sawdust.
There's just something exciting about looking at something and seeing what it might be. And so, in my house, we have a 1919 gas tank which is now an end table. We have a 1970's oak file cabinet reborn as a shiny puzzle organizer. There was the garish thrift-store prom dress

which became this tea party table

and this dress-up outfit

Not to mention the craigslist bunkbed

which became a two-story mini-bedroom suite

Or the junkyard ballet barre and used birthday decorations that found a second life.

And about a zillion other things. As my dear J would put it, there's always something.

My family is a bunch of can't-sit-still and let-it-be-ers. And it seems clear that I have passed this mutant CPD gene on to my Little One. She wants to save everything.

The moment any object begins to travel in the direction of a trash can, bulbs begin flashing like siren-lights over Her head. Toilet-paper rolls become jeweled telescopes, scraps of fabric become patchwork tapestries, twist-ties become beaded rings and bracelets.

Most recently, She fought tooth and nail to Save The Oatmeal Container! because we didn't have a wastebasket in the powder room and it would be perfect. And it would be recycling, mom.

Well, a little contact paper and She was right.

After Her birthday Blessing Bag project, we had this big pile of protein bar boxes ready for recycling.

Only to Little One, they weren't trash. They were a project. Waiting to happen.

LO: "Mom! Mom no! No DON'T throw them away! I need them for a PROject! For a-a-a...um....I know. I know! We could use them to decorate!"

C: (incredulous look)

LO: "Jus' listen, mom, jus' listen. We could... make faces on them! Right? Like a Jack-lantern. Then we could paint them orange- cuz I know you has some paint out there in the garage there and it would be perfect mom- and then they would look just. like. pum-kins, for....HALLOWEEN!! Is that jus' perfect?!"

As She spoke, my CPD began to itch and swell, and by the time She finished I had a full-blown outbreak.

C: "Why... Little One...it WOULD be perfect! I love it! GET THE PAINT!"

And so. Little one took a marker and made spooky faces on each box. Missy and Banana chipped in and did a few, as well. I cut out along the lines.

Then I sprayed them with paint leftover from another project.

We made sure the faces were oriented so that the open sides were at the bottom. That way we could add a string of lights underneath, and get a real jack-o-lantern glow.
I have to say, for a pile of empty boxes, they do look pretty festive. And the Littles and I had quite a bit of fun indulging in our mental illness together.