Supposedly the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

It’s also lined with peel-and-stick wallpaper.

Last summer, Angela helped me hang wallpaper in the kids’ bathroom. I chose her for my partner because she is patient. And tall. We managed to finish the project but not before I pushed her to the absolute limits of patience. It didn’t help that I kept falling into fits of laughter at the complete debacle.

The finished project is presentable, especially when viewed with the correct attitude. I learned this approach from my friend Chrissy who is outrageously gifted when it comes to using her hands. She was learning a new quilting technique when her instructor gave two options for the project: You could either make sure every seam was exactly 1/4″, or rip it out and try again. Or, if you wouldn’t notice a mistake while riding by on a galloping horse, then keep going.

Too bad a horse can’t fit in the kids’ bathroom.

Anyways, my relationship with Angela survived the evening on the promise that I would never, ever wallpaper again. I meant to keep that promise until I found the sweetest little pattern. Full of hope, I trusted that it would go better this time. It didn’t and I’m still not done with the project. But I am fit to be tied.

By the time I gave up, I felt a little like Becky.

In this groundhog season of life, I’m often drawn to things that will stay finished. Unlike the laundry or my children’s never satiated hunger for pumpkin muffins and homemade rolls. So I occasionally start ill-advised, ill-timed DIY projects without the requisite skill. All to fulfill my need for closure and permanence. It rarely goes well. Especially when Becky is crawling around and the kids are coming home from school.

In my frustration, and teetering on the brink of losing my soul, I texted Angela. I admitted to what I was doing. Then the child became the parent.

At least the road to perdition is lined with a cheerful print.