We got to spend a day with you this past month… albeit you were sick with the flu. But you still chose to come home and let us nurture you rather than stay at your mom’s house alone. Small step for mankind, but we were thrilled to take it.
It’s been nearly ten months since your last trip to pick up more of your belongings. I must admit that I had a momentary flutter to think that it would be the first time you would see what we’ve done with your room.
You aren’t the same as you were ten months ago. Your style will likely change several times over before you return to live with us as you explore and grow. And yes, we absolutely anticipate the day you run away from mom’s house after a fight and want to live with us. To hold that space frozen in time, adorned with a version of you that has long since passed, felt stifling.
Especially when there’s warm sunshine shining through the windows and spilling down the stairs onto the living room floor.
Your room is beautiful and welcoming. We painted two accent walls in a dark charcoal hue that instantly turned the room from pre-teen cute to tres chic. There’s a mis-mash of warm and happy bedding – periwinkle blue sheets, a new fluffy white down comforter, decorative pillow shams I bought in Spain, and a softly worn quilt I hand stitched when I was about your age.
We arranged all your belongings on shelves and added a bright royal blue side table and even brighter floral rug to add a little whimsy. Dad redesigned your closet to add shelving and double your hanging space. I tidied up your bathroom and closet – Lining drawers and shelves with pretty paper. I added a wall decal over the tub that says: “Today I Choose JOY” – What better way to start the day?
I hung a big beach sign that I built over your bed. Well-loved from my last house with a pool that felt like my own little version of a beach house. Perhaps in hopes of building a beach house together some day…
I added a little Buddha statue with a night light to keep you company and light your way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. A bowl of colorful sea glass fragments and seashells collected from my coastal walks over the past twenty years that softly smell of vanilla. A charcoal thermos with a “day of the dead” skull brightly painted on it by a woman I met in Mexico.
Every morning when I pass by your room on my way to do Pilates, I smile.
