We are all just products of our environment. In the case of our children, raised in an old house, under near-constant restoration, our children were raised in an environment that was basically old plaster, paint and more than a fair amount of sawdust and sweat. As they grew, language arts included terms like “crown molding,” “Phillips head” and swearing (optional) if plumbing repair was involved.
BoyWonder was approximately 18 months old the first time he picked up a hammer — true story. We didn’t let him do anything dangerous, obviously. He just carried his tiny hammer around and lightly pounded on things whether they needed to be pounded or not. Obviously, he didn’t operate power tools until at least first grade. We aren’t crazy.
Chip
By the time he was a teenager he took it upon himself to tackle a kitchen full of porcelain tile and chip through it to help renovate the kitchen. It was not even remotely a good time. I cannot tell you how tickled I was when earlier this week he sent a photo of his current project at his own home: chipping nearly identical ceramic tiles off his own floors. I can only imagine the flashbacks! A decade apart and yet here he was, right back at it. In the case of his home, there were at least three layers of flooring hidden under some questionable laminate. As they revealed layer upon layer of damage I’m not sure “tidings of comfort and joy” were the prevailing emotions.
On that note, it really ‘tis the season to undertake renovations. Not only does it make perfect sense that BoyWonder would tear apart the back entrance and half the bathroom facilities in his home, just weeks before a major holiday, it was inevitable. Three decades and one house ago, his father and I renovated our ONLY bathroom on Christmas eve. I’ve almost completely blocked the experience out — much like childbirth — but if I recall correctly that was … not fun.
So here we are all these years later and it’s entirely possible our children are either irretrievably broken — or really intrepid. GirlWonder continues to traipse through open houses across three counties looking for that perfect “fixer-upper” awaiting her loving touch — along with a dumpster and a sledgehammer. BoyWonder, having already scored such a place, is forever taking down, putting up or revamping something. It is glorious.
In every renovation there is a moment between excited optimism and the “after” when anyone with a lick of sense believes with all their heart that they have made a terrible, awful mistake. This is what I call rock-bottom. You have nowhere to go but up from here.
I knew I had succeeded as a parent when Girlwonder sent these comforting words in a group text chat to her brother and (future) sister-in-law who are currently in the depths of that complete gut renovation. Dirt is flying everywhere. Water is off. Electricity is disconnected. It’s dirty, expensive and inconvenient. To this GirlWonder sent, “If you aren’t questioning why you ever started it, you aren’t doing it right.”
We are so proud.
Home — like Rome — is not built in a day. It’s a lot of hard work, but it’s also worth it. Not to mention the gift of experience to last a lifetime. After all, BoyWonder is 27 years old with 21 years of construction experience.
