The Decorator

This last Sunday, Rheanna (busy-body little helper that she is) was tired of waiting for us to get lunch on and asked if she could do it for us. She often gets tired of waiting for us. I told her to knock herself out, and she did, and soon everyone was sitting down to eat a lovely meal of peanut butter sandwiches. I was feeding Mitchell in the other room and overheard this:

Tim: "Everyone say 'thank you' to Rheanna for making lunch."
(Dutiful mumblings of 'thank you')
Tim: "Now everyone say 'thank you' to Daddy for making Rheanna."

Immediate protests followed.

Rheanna: "You didn't make me!"

Nope, she still doesn't know, and she still believes in fairies, too. No one is allowed to spoil either of those things!

Ian: "Mommy made us!"

How nice of him to notice my part in this. I'm not saying that sarcastically. I'm perfectly pleased. Now, I'm not at all certain about the next thing he said since I was in the other room, but I like how I heard it.

Ian: "Mommy decorated us when we were babies."

There are a few traditionally wife-ly and Mom-ly titles that I am pretty loath to be saddled with. "Dishwasher" is obviously one of them, as is "Maid" and "Laundress." If my children see me as any one of these, then it means that they feel no shared responsibility for fighting back the chaos that daily threatens to consume us all. Cleaning is a family chore. But I rather like owning the title of "Decorator."

I don't know if teenager Tim looked into his future family life and imagined that he would have any say in how his home was decorated. He certainly made more of an attempt to decorate his college rooms than most guys I knew by hanging bedsheets on the walls to add color. But he seemed much more concerned with making things look unique rather than making them aesthetically pleasing. These sheets were sheets from the 70's picked up from 2ND hand stores with orange, olive, and yellow flower patterns. For those who are angry with me for panning the sheets, I will admit that they gave his room a certain sense of flair, and the attempt still makes me smile. At any rate, when we started decorating our various living quarters together, I began democratically enough and with all the intention of melding our two styles. His lava lamp had a prominent place for quite a while, and I did not resent it. But I guess I slowly began to take the whole thing over. So right now I am facing a wall painted pale yellow utilizing a ragging technique rather than . . . who knows? I just tried asking Tim what color he always wanted to paint the room. He gave me a confused, blank look and muttered something about "taupe." It appears I have successfully brainwashed him. Let us all observe a moment of silence in honor of the Tim that is no longer with us.

So I take care of the house decorating details. And the kids have ample opportunity to observe me covering walls in "Honeymilk" and "Dried Moss," as well as instructing Tim to pick up bead board paneling for our dining room, and informing him that I'm considering painting the outside trim of our house a dark plum color, all the while neglecting to ask his opinion about any of this. I have also adopted the same authority over the children decorating details. I make sure that the shirts don't clash with the socks, that the pants are facing forward, and, in extremely rare cases (due to an overwhelming lack of time), that the girls have bows in their hair for church. If I had my way, they would have a bow in their hair every day. There has been many a time that Tim has dressed the kids for church and marched them out for my approval, only to have them sent right back with instructions to change everything. Sometimes even I wonder why I care so much, but one thing is certain. My kids will have the strong knowledge that Mommy is the only one who cares enough about this stuff to run after a screaming 2-yr-old with a comb in one hand and de-tangling spray in the other while yelling, "Come back here, Meriel! Mommy has to make your hair pretty!" I really don't expect Tim to worry about these things, and I don't mind living up to the stereotype of having the eye for these details. Someone has to make sure the house is approved for viewing by the general public. Someone has to make sure that everyone is pretty before heading out of the door. And when the babies are still in utero, Mommy really is the one that puts on the finishing touches and makes sure everyone looks beautiful before they greet the world. So while my kids might naively dispute over who made them, at least they know that Mommy did the decorating.