The Overwhelming Satisfaction of Fixing a Broken Picture Frame.

Because adulting is hard.

Frederick Buechner once wrote, “My assumption is that the story of any one of us is in some measure the story of us all.”

The story I’m about to tell you is not deep or profound, but I believe it is—in some measure—the story of us all.

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I can’t remember when the picture frame broke. I’m tempted to tell you it broke four years ago, but that feels dramatic and exaggerated and in reality, I’ve likely been dealing with this broken frame for months, not years, although is it just me or did every month feel like a year in both 2020 and 2021?

(It’s very possible my entire sense of time has been warped.) 

(Here’s what you need to know: the picture frame has been broken for a while. A long, long while.)

The broken picture frame sits on a prevalent wall in our home. To get from one part of the house to the other, you have to walk by it. For example, if you wanted to get from Presley’s bedroom to the backyard, you’d walk by this wall. If you wanted to get from the family room to the kitchen, you’d walk by this wall. If you wanted to get from the master bedroom to the laundry room, you would—yep, that’s right—walk by this wall. 

By my best estimates, I walk by the wall with the broken picture frame at least 43 times a day. 

The frame has somehow become loose in the left corner, but barely—by a fraction of a centimeter, if that. I notice the sliver of space between the edges of the frame, because, well, I notice things like that. This is a particular superpower of mine: I have a magical radar for things that are out of place. It’s how I am the only person in my family who can spy a single LEGO piece in the rug, a rogue cheerio near the base of the piano, or a growing cobweb lurking in the corner of the windowsill. 

In other words—most people probably wouldn’t notice the barely broken picture frame hanging on the wall, but because of my superpowers, I do.

At first, I try simply pushing the wooden edges back together. The frame stays temporarily, kind of like my son’s cowlick when I spray it with water. Everything holds for a bit, but not forever. Eventually the frame comes apart again.

Over time, the break gets worse and worse, until anyone walking by the wall would notice it immediately—if not for the gap in the corner of the frame itself, certainly for the fact that the whole gallery no longer features straight lines and a pleasant sense of symmetry.

Can we pause here for some conservative math?

If I walk by this wall 43 times a day, and let’s say—again, this is conservative—that the frame has been broken for three months (at least), this means I have walked by the broken frame something like 3,870 times without fixing it.

It’s not that I haven’t been bothered. No no, the broken frame bothers me deeply. Day after day, I walk by this busted picture frame and feel a flash of irritation, disdain, and general overwhelm. 

I have thought, again this is conservative, no less than 3,870 times, Gosh I need to fix that frame.

I know I have a glue gun, somewhere, but the thought of searching for it in the teeny, tiny, Harry Potteresque hall closet makes my eyelids twitch with anxiety. I consider myself a minimalist, an organized woman, but the hall closet tells a different story. I am all about “putting things in their place”—but what about the things that have no place? The hall closet is where I often stash anything and everything that doesn’t have a proper home within our home. Also. Even if I manage to locate the hot glue gun, do we have any hot glue sticks? 

I am not willing to open the hall closet to find out.

Brett tries to be helpful one day by shrugging and simply asking, “Why don’t you just buy a new frame?” 

Why don’t you just buy a new frame? Darling husband, need I remind you that this broken picture frame is part of a set? And the other frame in the set is currently on the wall as part of the gallery? You know, the collection I spent time and effort arranging until it was just right, perfectly imperfectly spaced out and balanced and moderately feng shui? Need I remind you about the 47 other home projects that are not complete at this time, and that I do not have the mental bandwidth to go around redesigning gallery walls on a whim?

I walk by the picture frame another 293 times before heading to Target one day for essentials (shaving cream, red vines, new lipgloss, if you must know). In an effort to be a Fun Mom™️, I spontaneously pick up painting supplies, along with a set of paper mâché pumpkins. I figure Presley and I can spend the afternoon painting in the backyard, a la a Mommy + Me Artist Date. 

I’d like to pause here, again, and tell you real quick about how many times I have thought about the broken picture frame at an inopportune time / location. Here is an incomplete list of the occasions in which I have found myself thinking about the broken picture frame:

At 3am, tossing and turning in bed
While taking a shower
While driving
While walking around my neighborhood, making to-do lists in my head
While cleaning the house
While reading a book in which a picture frame is mentioned
While scrolling social media and seeing an ad for Artifact Uprising

Do you know where I have never thought about the broken picture frame? When I am actually at a store that sells glue.

(You know where this is going.)

I reach the end of the arts and crafts aisle where sunbeams start shooting down from Heaven.

I cannot believe it’s really happening. I am staring at a four ounce bottle of Gorilla wood glue and thinking of the broken picture frame at the same time (!).

Cue the training song from Rocky. Cue “Unstoppable” by Sia. Cue “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys. Cue every walk-up song Spotify has to offer as I approach the checkout lane.

The wood glue costs $3.59. I bring it home. I fix the frame. The entire ordeal takes me less than 30 seconds. 

I am a champion.

Forget running marathons. Forget hiking half dome. Do you have any idea how good it feels to fix something that’s been broken for months for the mere price of $3.59 and twenty seconds of your time? THIS IS THE ACCOMPLISHMENT OF A LIFETIME.

I’m still not over it. I walk by that beautiful fixed frame 43 times a day and flash a smile at my reflection in the glass.

#thisis36

Because I believe this is the story of all of us, please tell me your thing. Tell me the thing you need to do that will take three minutes or less that you’ve been putting off for six months. Adulting is hard. Let’s laugh about it together.

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I wrote this post based off a prompt in this workshop, which is happening again in January, 2023. We’d love for you to join us!