"But I wanted to turn the apartment over to you as a pristine jewel of a place," I told her.
"You will be giving me an even greater gift if you allow me to learn how to do it myself and enjoy the process of making it mine."
How could I argue with that? She manages me, that one.
The painters and I met for breakfast at the diner across the street from the home improvement store, then went and bought the paint and brushes and spackle and scrapers and paint pans.
"Oohhhh, this is just like icing a cake," my daughter said later as she smoothed spackle over picture hook holes in the wall.
She is so wise.
ReplyDeleteShe is as wise as her mother...
ReplyDeleteI love you and your family so much! How can that be, I know. But I feel real emotion when I read your posts. I don't have a blog because I am not a writer but if I met you in real life I bet we would be friends.
ReplyDeleteShe's right, of course. And it's hard to let go in spite of that.
ReplyDeleteLike icing a cake ... she's right about that, too. And that gives her an advantage that non-baking types don't have!
Yay for your daughter! I always enjoyed painting my homes. I think it made them more mine.
ReplyDeleteI must admit, I find spackling and painting rather therapeutic.
ReplyDelete