My daughter has painted her room orange. Conventional wisdom would tell me to be worried; neutral colors sell houses, and we plan to be out of the house after she graduates high school, just a few years from now. But really, honestly, hey. The economy! The recession! The crashing real estate market! Why not paint a room orange? It's a good thing I really, really dig our house.
Besides, I like this better than her last color choice- grey. Not a soft lovely sweet grey, not fog or mist or smoke, but dark, deep, steely grey. Agh. I like to imagine that this orange thing indicates a move away from the doom and gloom of her earlier emo- self into something… well, a little less mopey. I don't need her to be a cheerleader or even chipper; I'd just like a wee bit less mope, that's all.
I'm settling down about having tended notice, although it still makes my heart flutterkick in my chest if I think about it too long. Sam sent comforting emails and I made lists while eating chocolate, so now things look a lot less terrifying. It's such an enormous transition, I'd be crazy and possibly stupid if I weren't just a little scared. (I don't know exactly what my occasional moments of ohmygodwhatamIdoing– terror mean, but I tell myself that they indicate absolute sanity and sage decision- making.)
I'd write more, but the snow outside is having a pretty strong negative affect on my connection. And hooray for snow! Here's hoping to stays around until the morning.