After five years of babies and toddlers and the occasional toddler-tripped grandparent falling into those doors, they couldn't hold onto the hardware that held them in the rails any longer. So there were a few weeks where our kitchen boasted a naked closet. But now new doors are hung, and we can once again properly hide all of our skeletons.
The new doors come ready-to-paint, and that chore will be attended to later this week. But I drilled the holes for the handles today, and the girls came upon me with my pencil and my measuring tape, marking up the doors.
Why are you allowed to write on the doors? they seethed in near unison, chafing at the implied double standard under which I'm always reminding them to relegate their writing implements to boring things like paper.
A good point, my young friends, and carpe diem, and all that. We found a second pencil and told them to have a good time.
You know how you have to say 'no' a thousand times a day and when you get an opportunity to say an unexpected 'yes' you feel like a total hero?
This was a hero's yes.
Obviously #1: there were about a kazallion reminders of "just this time and just on the doors."
Obviously #2: they still thought this was about the coolest thing ever.
Obviously #3: the glossy paint job is not going to be unanimously considered an improvement.