Brent mentioned something a couple of months ago about starting the remodel on the one room left un-re-done since we bought our 1965 home 5 years ago…
The Pink Bathroom.
And when Brent mentions something about tearing walls down, it’s typically not an ‘I’ll-get-to-it-sometime-in-the-next-few-years’ comment. It’s a ‘hammers-will-start-flying-in-just-a-few-hours-Honey’ type remark.
And they did.
Demolition is like a big party around here. (And Kirsti took most of these pictures…I’m going to hand her the camera more often.)But because Brent is a fast mover (Have I ever told the story about how he kissed me before we had our first date…and uttered the ‘M-word’ a couple of weeks after our first date? (M-word = ‘Marriage’ for all the non-Utahns.) No? Ahh…future post. We have such a cool love story.) I hardly had a chance to say good-bye to Pink Bathroom. *tear*
All I can do now is reminisce the life lessons Pink Bathroom taught me.
Lesson 1. Potty training is way more fun when you have a Pink Bathroom. Who wouldn’t want to take time out of their busy play projects to tinkle in a pink toilet in a Pink Bathroom?
Lesson 2. Ditto #1 with bath time…because Pink Bathroom also had a pink tub.
Lesson 3. My husband is darn cute when he’s wearing a tool belt (but I already knew that)…
or when he’s surrounded by kids wearing them (I guess I knew that already, too…but it sure was fun to witness it again around here).
Lesson 4. When my child spills red fingernail polish all over the bathroom floor some day, I will be patient and forgiving. Because I did exactly that all over Pink Bathroom’s pink little 1960s square-inch tiles. I accidentally dropped the bottle about a year ago and it shattered everywhere. Ooops. It stayed for several days because we were out of nail polish remover and it took me multiple shopping trips to remember Pink Bathroom’s messy floor while I was bustling around for milk and eggs. Most of it came out nicely. But every time I stomped across the remaining red marks in the cracks, important mental notes ran through my mind: “Breathe deeply when things slip through my child’s little fingers. It’s normal to drop things that splatter a blood-like substance all over the place. It’s just a little mess. And it’s just a bathroom floor.” I’m pretty prepared for the future now.
Lesson 5. The interior design part of my brain is underdeveloped…still. Because this is the last (as opposed to the first) room we’ve redone in this house and this is the 3rd (as opposed to the 1st) home we’ve remodeled, one would think I could confidently march into the home fashions isle and pick dazzling decor with a gleeful grin on my face…but no.
I’m very plain. Most of our windows don’t have curtains hanging and I hardly notice. Anything in my wardrobe that is remotely stylish is a hand-me-down or came from my mother-in-law or both…she’s awesome…But the point is: I’m not wired to notice fashion. I simply don’t pay much attention to it. I daydream about how brains are wired and what motivates my kids to eat their dinner (or not). Fantasizing about the perfect centerpiece or the latest and greatest hair accessories?? Not so much. It’s just not me. Maybe I should contract out those details to my many stylish friends…oh wait…I’m also cheap…(actually frugal…it sounds so much nicer)…But my dilemma when Brent and the kids started scraping off the pink wall tiles in Pink Bathroom is obvious isn’t it? Crucial design decisions were on the horizon…and that’s out of my comfort zone…which makes me grumpy.
So, with Pink Bathroom in disarray, we (kids and all) jumped into the van to head to the hardware store. Brent stayed in the van with napping children (I almost got to stay, but the fakeness in my snore was easily detected) and I had the tedious job of painfully staring at samples of sinks, countertops, paint colors, and toilet paper holders while the other half of the kids bounced in and out of all the shower samples…begging for me to choose the tub with a handy door on the side for entry and a seat at each end for convenient sit-down bathing (because it reminded them of the Rosey Teacups ride at Great America…Perfect). I nearly went for it because I doubted that my choice would be much better…and a child’s innocent pickings are always cute.
By the time Brent cheerfully appeared with another cartful of kids to ask my final opinion, I growled and grimaced…and we picked white stuff…and cream…done. **big sigh**
(Side note: I may not know much about color mixing, but I do know that even adult brains are changeable. Neuroplasticity is the scientific term..what a cool word…it just fills me with delightful chills. But it basically means I still have time to cultivate my design neurons…if I put forth the effort…hmm…stay tuned.)
Lesson 6. Painting Parties are kind of fun (kind of being the key words there). I think MaryAnn is sad that her nap made her miss it.
Lesson 7. It’s really hard to re-wire our brains (hence Lesson #5). So, we hear, “…in the Pink, I mean the White Bathroom” many times a day…and hopefully forever because even though Brent and the kids did a fabulous job modernizing this well-used room, ‘White Bathroom’ just doesn’t have the same comfy ring to it.
Lesson 8. I’m grateful I married someone who loves to do nice things for his mother. Brent’s primary motivation for giving Pink Bathroom a make-over was to provide ample upgraded space for Nana’s recent visit (Papa came, too, and we love him dearly, but he uses the Brown Bathroom) because our girls (and we have lots of them) love to mimic Nana’s every move when she’s digging through her enormous make-up bag and is actually using hair care products that require electrical power.
We’ll miss you Pink Bathroom. You taught us much. You were good to us. It feels kind of like when we had to say good-bye to Green Van. (I kid…I’m really not that sentimental about out-with-old and in-with-the-new. It actually feels quite refreshing…especially since I don’t have to worry about picking colors for something substantial for a very long time…I hope.)
Thank you Brent and Kids! Your hard-working hands do awesome work!!