It took approximately two weeks of quarantine for me to turn into my mother.
It started simply enough — me staring at my living room wall and deciding I had never really liked the color. And down the rabbit hole I went.
I was brought back to when I was 12, and a friend commented that my mom always had a home improvement project (or three) going at the same time. On any given day, a floor could be torn up, cabinets could be refaced, the kitchen sink could be moved to the other side of the room. She never hired a handyman, simply relying on the help of good-natured friends and relatives, and teaching herself the rest along the way.
And now I get it. My mom was a stay-at-home mom in the 80s and 90s. She spent a good deal of time at home, envisioning what she really wanted. Steadfast and determined, when she had a vision, nothing stopped her.
So, two weeks into quarantine and nowhere to go, I slowly became more like my mom. I didn’t realize it at first. That is, until the day I stood at the door, paint speckled in my messy ponytail, waving at the delivery guy with a drill in my hand while calling out my thanks for the cabinet refinishing stain he had just dropped off.
There she was. Mom 2.0.
Since that day, my kids have helped me paint walls, balanced the bottom of my ladder as I painted a 12-foot ceiling, watched me stain baseboards, and guided me as I cut down a tree in our backyard.
I hope that someday, when they remember this time in their lives, they will tell their own kids about the neverending projects in our house. And I hope they attribute it to inspiration from their grandma.
My mom’s house is beautiful. It is everything she dreamed of. And when her dreams change, she simply picks up a paintbrush or a saw and starts creating a new dream.
I am proud to be her daughter.
I miss you, Mom. I can’t wait for you to see what you have inspired in person.