Done, done and done.

It's Friday night, late. I'm sitting here at my parents' house, planning to spend the night in a real bed for the first time in a couple weeks. And, my bedroom floor is almost completely done. I say almost, because I still need to do the transition pieces and quarter round. But, the floor is basically done, and tomorrow I can begin the process of putting my bedroom back together. Cutting the quarter round and transition pieces will create some dust, but nearly as much as cutting the floor boards themselves.

So, really, I should be sitting here happy, proud of myself for what I've accomplished. Instead, somehow, my mom has managed to pull the joy out of this moment for me. She doesn't think that I should take on a project like this again, and she doesn't think I should have taken it on alone. In fact, she specifically told me not to do it again.

I'm upset by this, partly because I really hate it when my mother forgets that I'm 27 and tells me what to do. But I'm also upset because I really enjoyed doing this, and I worked hard, and I'm proud of myself for accomplishing it. And, I want to do it again. And I think it's okay to be proud of what I've accomplished.