I have promised time and time again not to write about my family, as they have asked me not to. But I’m not a good promise keeper. Isn’t that terrible?

You can see that I feel guilty.

One of my children got married recently, and it has been a source of joy to watch this beautiful couple settle into married life. There has been much amusement, poignancy and joy watching young folks figure it all out.

I’m not one to push my ideas or suggest things unless I am asked for advice.  I have to feel pretty strongly about something to offer up a suggestion.

The other night, we were video chatting and were being shown around the stylish love nest of the new couple. They have done quite a nice job decorating and organizing their little apartment, and we were just as pleased as punch for them as they scanned the perimeter showing us every little nook and cranny with pride.

When the camera panned to a little corner coffee nook with lovely shelves and coffee items, we were in awe. Our new daughter had written and drawn on some chalkboard labels, with the artistic flair of someone who had worked and made signs in a coffee shop (which she has). 

As we oohed and ahhed, my son made the announcement that he had hung those shelves without using a screw gun and the screws had gone right into the wall easily.

“Did the screws go into a stud?” I couldn’t help myself. “Or did the screws sort of poke right into the drywall?” I was on a roll now.

“They went in pretty easily,” said my son.

“Can you pan the camera over there one more time?”  Two beautiful little shelves.  Heavy looking glass coffee canisters on the top shelf and a collection of hip and happening coffee mugs on the bottom.  

I could smell potential disaster.

Even after a good amount of discussion, I couldn’t get satisfied. I wanted to save these poor kids from losing their lovely little coffee nook. Michelle, who was also watching, continued to gasp and take short, worried breaths as we spoke.

Finally, at the end of our conversation, I told my son that I was glad he was coming for a visit in a few days and we would discuss drill bits, anchors and screws.  

I told him that I hated it when I was excited about something and then had a person question me or seem to burst my bubble of excitement. But in this case, I was just trying to help him avoid disaster.

Thankfully, both of them understood.

 I remember shelves falling when I was quite little, so my parents, who are now all knowing and ready to dispense wisdom in moments of excitement, had to learn it all once, too.

That memory helped me feel a little better about my “buttinski” cautionary stance with my son.

For now, say plenty of prayers until he gets the shelves fixed.