There are paintings over 64,000 years old, stencils of hands likely made by Neanderthals, in the Cave of Maltravieso in Caceres, Spain. By the time they got to the Chauvet-Pont-d’Arc in France, they drew mammoths and bears. Later, horses, bison, and ibex.

It’s a bit late to ask any Neanderthal: Hey, why did you daub that woolly rhinoceros on the wall? Scientists have guessed that they were totems or made up for a lack of words. A few have suggested graffiti. Archaeologist Abbé Breuil proposed this was early magic, a way of influencing the hunt.

My own theory: The caveman had a cave-wife or cave-husband who asked, “Don’t you think it’s about time we freshened up the place?”

Back in South Ozone Park, Nurse Vivian used to wallpaper rooms. My mother had a deft hand, able to match patterns exactly. Other people gave toasters and blenders for bridal showers. For her gift, Nurse Vivian would instead cover their kitchen with Sanitas wall coverings that read “Bon Appetit!” My bedroom had repeating footballs and baseball gloves, perhaps a little ironic given how I turned out.

Wallpaper was out of fashion by the time I got my first apartment, one floor of a brownstone, on the F Line in Outer, Outer, Outer, Outer Brooklyn. My roommate/boyfriend at the time, a bank teller, unexpectedly moved in with the guy downstairs, and, given my mood, I painted the walls a vivid scarlet.

By the time I moved into a cold-water flat in Jersey City with my now-husband Brian, my palette had mellowed. We had only one painting disaster. Brian found a can of Paris Pink on sale in a hardware store on Christopher Street. The label showed a soft rose hue, and not until the dining room was saturated did he realize that the label had faded in the store window. The pastel he imagined turned out to be Highlighter Pink, one shade away from Barbie. It was like living in a Pepto Bismol bottle.

We moved into the Bedlam Blue Bungalow 25 years ago this summer. It was not yet blue, and the bedlam had only just begun, but we went with a safe approach and rollered every single wall with a light blue. This was before Tim moved in with us. And the triplets. And our sons Zane and Aidan. And, altogether, nine dogs.

This is to say that the home has seen a fair amount of wear and tear. Spaghetti stains in the kitchen. Science experiments in Aidan’s room. Peanut butter sandwiches down the furnace vents. The mystery of the bathroom towel rack falling off the wall.

Some of those walls have been repainted. Some have not. When Aidan got his own room, we let him choose the color. I spent three days in the brat cave with a brush only to have him walk in and cry: “You promised me I could pick!” I had. But Aidan, we learned, was color blind, and what I saw as Meadow Mist, he saw as white.

A few weeks ago, Zane “accidentally” punched a hole through his wall. I said to my husband, “Once we get to senior citizen status we shouldn’t have to paint anymore.” I began looking for a professional to restore Zane’s chamber.

Remember that cave-husband? Brian lifted his club and responded, “We should get a quote for the whole place.”

It should have been simple. But then we had to take down the paintings. And the pictures. And the curtains. And empty the shelves. And move the furniture to the centers of the rooms. As Tim would say if he were still alive, “Sometimes you got to make a mess of your life before you can straighten it out.”

I’ve admitted in these columns that although I am not tone deaf, I am the one in the barbershop quartet most likely to sing flat. Same thing with color. We stood in the dining room looking at samples and Brian asked me which I preferred, Goldfinch or Forsythia, and I couldn’t tell the difference.

A week has gone by, and I’ve grown tired of not knowing where the dryer sheets and the dog brushes are. But my bedroom is now a lovely shade of Skyfall, and my bathroom is Demure. Zane’s boudoir will soon be Hyper-Blue and Aidan’s will be Jitterbug Jade.

Perhaps 64,000 years from now, when archaeologists explore the Outer, Outer, Outer, Outer Excelsior, they may wonder why we painted the dining room Confident Yellow. The a