Makeover Midnight Monday

I thought having a weekly post on here would make me more inclined to blog regularly, and keep track of the quiet little happenings in our quiet little life. It doesn't. It stresses me out. And really... My mom is pretty much the only one who reads this, and I can just call her and say, "Hey, mom! Guess what I decoupaged today?!" And she'll be all sweet and tell me how brilliant I am and how pretty I am and how perfect I am. And it's just much easier and less stressful.

But my sister Gwenn asked for a Makeover Monday post. And here's the thing: Gwenn is a missionary in Haiti, where she spends her time ministering to the downtrodden and disease-stricken impoverished masses. And gets lots of tattoos. But that's neither here nor there. The point is-- I know that, in the scope of her encounters with cholera and earthquakes, she doesn't really care about how Hobby Lobby is having a special on Mod Podge. But she was sweet enough to ask, and for that alone: Gwenn, this one's for you.

A couple of summers ago, an Amish family had a gigantic yard sale in their barn. They had all sorts of amazing crap vintage treasures for cheap. Blue mason jars for a dime, an antique metal lunch pail for twenty-five cents (which now houses the girls' "tools" thankyouverymuch). It was a pack rat's dream come true.

I found this for fifty cents:

I felt a little nostalgic when I saw it, as I am pretty sure that we have a photo of my pint-sized dad in a similar chair. Only his might have been red. Also, I might have made that up. I can't remember. Regardless, it was 50 cents, and it made me happy, and it came home with me (after I somehow managed to cram it into the backseat of my ex-car, our Mazda Scrotege. Yes, that's really what we called it. As in, Evie would say, "Hey, Mom! Are we taking Dad's truck or your Scrot to the grocery store today?" Parents.of.the.year, I tell you.)

Normally, I like to leave vintage stuff the way that it is. But this was looking kinda craptastic in my house, and Chris would give me the Stink-Eye whenever he happened to look at it. He doesn't share my love of... you know... rust.

So I took her apart.

That, folks, is 50 years worth of smashed up bananas and toddler goop. Blech.

I covered up her lady-parts:

What does that even mean? I am not sure why I just typed that.

And sprayed her down.

Because I couldn't find any vinyl fabric in a pattern I liked, I used iron-on vinyl and some fabric I had laying around to make the chair cover, and also replaced the rotting-asbestos-black-mold-of-death padding.

Voila!

And there you have it. A cute little vintage-ish high chair that is mostly useless because I didn't put the screws back correctly when I was reattaching the seat. And Chris hates it too much to fix it for me. So there you have it. A cute little vintage-ish death trap.

Is it bad that I still let Cana sit in it?

Poor middle child.