We’re right in the middle of painting our kitchen and the adjoining sitting room. More truthfully, my husband is in the middle of painting while I watch from the sidelines. If you think that’s unfair, well, yes, it is. But Simon likes to do things his own way and — oh, who am I kidding? Simon just wants me out of his hair while he’s working.
I’m very excited about our kitchen redo. We’re going from bland tan walls to a cheerful shade of lemon yellow. All our walls were painted this particularly revolting shade of brown when we bought the house but we said we’d repaint a room at a time until we had the whole house done. Last month, Simon got a bee in his bonnet about the kitchen, so I’m thrilled to let him paint away.
However — you knew there’d be a “however,” right? — I have a difficult time with the disarray that has to happen while he’s painting. It’s hard for me to relax around the chaos, since everything that used to be on the kitchen counters and walls and atop our cabinets had to be stacked in other places around the house. On one level, I know it’s not a big deal. Stuff has to be moved to paint the walls, right? And in the end, we’ll have a bright new kitchen!
But when I look at the mess, it pokes something inside my brain that wakes up and says, “NO. NOT RIGHT. BAD.” I feel jittery and unsettled as I drift through the mess of drop cloths, protective plastic sheets and green painter’s tape. Simon knows that I’m suppressing an urge to put everything back where it belongs. I can see that I’m being ridiculous, of course. All I have to do is sit tight for a few days and project an air of unruffled calm.