Ever since watching Molly recycle a sixties prom dress in Pretty in Pink, I’ve been obsessed with pulling things apart and refashioning them into something new and fabulous. There wasn’t a single outfit I didn’t repurpose in my twenties, and a few mishaps(leather jackets are not meant to be restitched with lace collars) and decades later, this compulsion has translated into home remodeling projects. My latest endeavor to expand my kitchen has started with a serious bang, and as the walls were being stripped down to the studs, my angst has rivaled that of a teen-ager with a best friend for a prom date.
To get my kids on board, I’ve romanced them with the notion that we were moving upstairs to our new “apartment,” like living in Manhattan, which they’ve experienced whenever visiting their Aunt Sora.
They may be humoring me, but they seemed genuinely enthusiastic about the temporary living arrangements. Gaby my shih-poo, on the other hand, is unconvinced and keeps wanting to bolt downstairs to the dust cloud.
An unexpected upside is that the kids are getting ready much quicker in the morning. Having the guest bedroom as our satellite kitchen means they can roll out of bed and into the kitchen. If only I can move the shower a few steps away from my son’s bed.
Thank goodness the crew working downstairs is speaking Spanish, which I don’t speak a lick of; well, that’s not true, there are a few words that I know, but if the crew uses them, I will definitely have to kill them with kindness. Not understanding them makes me less of an eavesdropper.
Sounds and scents carry exponentially in an almost empty house. I can get used to the Latin music, but I could do without all the cologne.
Too late to turn back now. Plus, our upstairs apartment is bringing the family together, for now.