Sunday, November 23, 2014

Opening Doors

“Want cereal for breakfast?” Mr. Wonderful said setting bowls and spoons on the table.
“Nah”,” I shrugged still wearing my robe and slippers.
“How about some toast?”
“Nah.”
“Crepes?” 
“Naaah.”


Some Saturdays you jump out of bed with a long list of things you want to accomplish and the energy of a Grecian Army to get it all done before the clock strikes midnight. And other Saturdays you just read thick books and lounge in your robe and slippers all day. After all, why change your pajamas when you’re just going to have to put them on again—in 16 hours.

This Saturday I was struck with this “robe and slipper” malaise. First I blamed it on the weather changing to fall, then I realized it was due to being home again after several stimulating trips, finally I decided it was just Mr. Wonderful’s fault. The benefit to being married is that when things go well I can say it’s because of me and when things go south, it’s because of him. He’s so useful that way.

“How about some lunch?” Mr. Wonderful said taking the cheese and sandwich meat out of the refrigerator.
“Nah,” I shrugged not looking up from my 900-page book.
“What’s wrong with you?” 
“Fall. Vacations. Life.” He kinked an eyebrow.
“It’s HGTV,” he said clapping his hands. “Ever since HGTV didn't choose to redo our room, you’ve been bummed out.” 
“Nah—” I shrugged. But he had a point. It just so happened that HGTV vetoing me coincided with the fall nip in the air, returning home after some great getaways, and being married. To be fair most things coincided with me being married now.  “Okay, yes,” I said closing the book. I hate it when he’s right. But more than his correctness, I hated moping around. 
“Just because HGTV doesn’t want to redo our house doesn’t mean that we can’t,” Mr. Wonderful said sitting down at the lunch table with a loaf of warm bread.

My eyes scanned the room. Then moved moved to the hallway, and buzzed through the whole house. How right he was! Yes! We could still improve things. My breathing increased with pent-up excitement. We could redo the bathroom, expand the closets, build a wine cellar!

I sprinted to the bedroom swapping the robe for my painting pants and sweatshirt, my slippers for work boots. Yes! Dirty work! This is what I needed to lift me out of my funk! HGTV be darned! I want my own DIY-ing!

“I’ll start stripping the bathroom walls of paint and you can rip out the closets!” I said marching into the kitchen with a hammer.
“Whoa,” my spouse said dropping his turkey sandwich. “One project at a time.”
“Then let’s build a wine cellar. I want one just like Baron de Rothschild—”
“Let’s start smaller.”
“Expanding the closets?”
“Think tiny.”
“Putting in a whole new bathroom?”
“Itty-bitty.”
“The bathroom door needs to be stripped of paint.”
“That’s perfect,” he nodded. 
“We could remove the door from its hinges, set it on its side and pour paint stripper all over it.” Starting small was a good idea. I love it when he’s right. 
“Are you going to help?” I said tying my boot laces.

“You get started. I’ll be there after I finish this,” he said lifting the sandwich to his mouth and opening my 900-page book to the first page.