The More Things Change ….
Choose one of the following to complete this sentence: “The more things change, the more things …”
a) drive Shea bananas
b) seem to get better
c) blow Shea’s mind
d) all of the above
I don’t know about you and how you react to situations that require you to suddenly shift gears, but for me the answer is clearly D (or perhaps just “A” if you happen to be one of my dear, long-suffering family members).
So what’s changed? Not as much as you might think. Just our complete family schedule now that my boys are home for the summer, and thus in and out of my work space throughout the day. As well as several fun editorial projects that involved a great deal of thought and concentration. And our living room.
Yes, our living room. I’d share before and after shots if I had thought to take them, but this one came upon me as a complete surprise. It all started when our eldest decided that the large antique family portrait of complete strangers that I picked up in a thrift shop 20 years ago because of its cool frame … well, he decided that it was giving him the creeps, and that all of our wall hangings should be swapped out for a change of scenery. And then he went on a wicked cleaning binge and reorganized all the crap that had been slowly creeping into the corners of the room for years (he even put all my knitting stuff in clever baskets he reclaimed from the top of the bookshelf ~ seems there are real positives to being the tallest person in the household). He moved carpets, lighting fixtures, and even swapped out some furniture that we’d stored in the basement. Basically, he did all the things his parents probably should have done over the years. And he did it all without the slightest bit of complaining.
Ironically, he chose to replace the “creepy” antique picture with a huge poster-size portrait of me as a child … just a little something my artistic uncle made some 35 years ago that Isaiah found tucked in a tube in one of the aforementioned corners. Think Warhol’s Jackie O series meets a Dennis the Menace-like kindergartener with a green fuzzy ribbon in her hair. Now why he doesn’t consider that picture horrifying is beyond my wildest imagination, but I have to admit the new diggs are growing on me.
So how does a change like that get even better? We secured a tentative agreement from him to consider painting the living room next month, provided he gets to have input on the paint colors (by now Stan and I are starting to see the benefit of letting him run with these sorts of ideas, so I don’t anticipate he’ll face much resistance from us on his selection). Of course, the really embarrassing thing about this situation is that the last time we painted the living room we were new homeowners and he was the baby who watched us from the comfort of his wind-up swing.
I suppose I could play this off as part of a big plan on our part to have our kids start showing a little ROI, but the truth is we were completely blindsided (and delighted) by this recent turn of events. It’s not exactly like “trading spaces,” but it’s close.