We Might Just Agree

When I was about a junior in high school, I had a brief love affair with Southwest style.  A Georgia O'Keefe phase?  I loved cacti, painted pottery, and muted colors.  I decided that I wanted canvas bedspreads for my bed and Marianne's bed.  (She was gone to college and her bed was sort of a staging area for my laundry but I wanted a new bedspread for it as well.)

I asked my mom to make me two canvas bedspreads.  "Canvas?" she said incredulously.  Yes.  I liked the texture.  It was spare and seemed like...sand.  It took a little convincing but soon enough, I ended up with two canvas bedspreads.

One day I came home from school to find a prickly pear cactus my dad had dug up from the sagebrush and put into a pot for me.

Another day I came home and found a cow skull on my shelf, which delighted me.  It was perfect.

My parents thought my decorating ideas were weird but they supported them just the same.

So now there's Emma.

As mentioned earlier, we've gone back and forth about her bedroom.  I thought her ideas were cheesy.  I had such better ideas.  Neither of us could get the other one to see reason.   Then I remembered my parents--my mom sewing canvas bedspreads, my dad digging up cactus and gifting me with a cow skull.  (If I can align my parenting as close to my parents' as possible, I think I'll do OK in the world.)  I also considered that the part of Emma that is self-assured and independent is (usually) one of my very favorite parts about her.  Who was I to squelch her ideas, her vision?

I told her we would do whatever she wanted.

Yesterday afternoon, we were driving to the store to gather paint chips.  She said, "I've been thinking about what you said and I think I see your point."  I nearly fainted dead away (which isn't safe when you're driving to the store to gather paint chips).

Here's the thing about Emma.  You just never know.