We are painting. More accurately, Bill the Painter is going to paint starting next week. Which means I am in the Midst of Choosing Color, an exercise no one wishes to help with. Dad’s general feeling is “white is good” and beyond that “if it makes you happy, dear, I won’t argue.” This is excellent in that he won’t argue but terrifying in that I have to make the decision alone.
Do you know how many shades of white there are? I don’t plan to pick any of them.
Pi offered to help choose colors. She suggested orange for the family room and yellow for the foyer. Not planning to pick those either…
The other challenge is that we have to do something drastic in the house before he can begin. It’s a complex concept, but I think you’re old enough to understand. It’s called We Have to Clean Up. I’m not sure I’m up to it. Especially since it has been scientifically proven that I am missing the Neat House Gene. Years ago someone who hadn’t known me very long tried to describe the style of our home and said, “It’s, well it’s…oh, you have children—it’s lived in.” At the time, I thought that was great. Until I considered it a little and realized that in all the years BY (before you) I wasn’t exactly uber-neat. In fact, there is pretty much no way to suggest I’ve ever been a neat freak without busting out laughing.
It turns out that today is Clean Your Room Day (I kid you not). I can’t find any information on where this Important Day Designation came from or when it began. I can only assume it was found at the bottom of the detritus in some child’s room. Or dorm room. (It is also National Shrimp Day, but I can’t see how that helps me get ready for Bill the Painter.)
I have come up with a plan I call the Amazing Mobility of Piles of Stuff. The idea is that before Bill begins to paint a room, I’ll move the piles of stuff to another room. Rinse and repeat. By the time he’s done I hope to have all the stuff back into the first room they don’t belong in. Have you seen Carlin’s monologue on Stuff? Hilarious. Provided here for your viewing pleasure.
Must go stare indecisively at paint chips for a few decades. In honor of May 10th, please put away a small pile of something. And perhaps enjoy shrimp for dinner.
Love you, sweetheart.