I can't move a muscle because of my pantry

Remember how I lined the shelves in my island with that cute grey chevron paper recently?

Well, it made me want to line the back of my pantry with it, too. And last weekend, I decided to just bite the bullet and do it.

Which is easier said than done. MUCH easier said than done, as it turns out. As in, I would rather have paid someone else about $300 to do it than have done it myself. HINDSIGHT, INTERNET.

To give you a little perspective on this project, please keep in mind that when we moved into this house in late 1999, this is the shelf paper my mom and I used in my kitchen (yes! I actually unearthed a roll!):

It wasn't all pears, though. Oh noooo. It had some other fruits and berries on it, too. #designblogger

I tore it all out about five years ago and just painted the interiors of all the cabinets trim white. And I've been really happy with that, but I'm also really happy with the way the island shelves look with the chevron paper on them.

So. That brings us to my latest project. The Backbreaker.

I'm going to tell you about it MUCH MORE QUICKLY than the nine or so hours that it took to actually do it. You're welcome.

Here's a Before picture from a few years ago (back when the kitchen was brown, actually).

I started with one of the "easy" shelves, ask Grayson his opinion, and see if I wanted to keep going.

We both liked it, so I charged ahead. And by "charged," I mean to say that I moved forward at an achingly slow pace, contorting my body into ridiculous positions in order to reach every nook, cranny and corner of that pantry.

There came a point -- NAY, THERE CAME MORE THAN ONE HUNDRED POINTS -- at which I wondered why I had ever taken on this task. No point more pronounced or punctuated by muttered curse words than that when I confirmed that the ceiling wasn't plumb and that there was no way in the world that this paper was going to meet on that top shelf in any semblance of an acceptable fashion. #designblogger

But look. After a couple of hours of fighting that one spot, I gave in. I gave in to my nearly-30-year-old house. I said, "You be you, house. You let your freak flag fly." And I just moved on, down to the next shelf, and the next.

And before too long five hours later, I was done.

Glad I did it, but still wish I'd paid someone else.

HINDSIGHT.