A room of my own

This week's installment in the "Me before Mom" series asks the question, "What did your childhood bedroom look like? Give a tour. How did it change as you matured?”

I would love to say I had the same room, in the same house, for all of my childhood, but my reality was quite different. My parents divorced when I was 3 years old, so I always had 2 rooms no matter where we lived. The earliest room I can recall was the one I shared with my brother in our 2 bedroom, light pink house, with the giant stone front porch. We moved in when I was 6 and it was the first house I remember calling home. Our room had light brown, not-long-enough-to-be-called-shag-but-close-enough carpet, a bunk bed in the far left corner, a dresser on the right wall, and a window that looked out to the street, but my favorite space in the room was the closet. The closet was fairly large and all white. When you walked in, it had two rods on the left side for hanging clothes, and a built in dresser with 3 large drawers on the right. There was a small rectangular window high up toward the ceiling and a light with a pull chain. On top of the built-in was the space I would go to dream. It was a little higher than I was tall at the time and I would climb up there every day. I had pillows set up and I would sit in the closet and read or listen to "A Very Merry Unbirthday" on my fisher price record player. That spot is where I memorized my first poem for recitation (The Village Blacksmith, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, which I still remember) and where I cried when, at 8 years old, my mom found out that she had Multiple Sclerosis.
 

Some other snap shots that I have in my memory of that room were: my mom singing to me and playing with my hair as I fell asleep, sleeping on the bottom bunk because I somehow managed to fall out of the top bunk...and not even wake up, and meeting my maternal grandfather for the first and last time. While I didn't exactly enjoy sharing a room with my brother, I loved our room in that house and was sad to move.

I would have to say that my favorite bedroom growing up was my room throughout high school. My mom let me have the master bedroom in our house after she got tired of my brother and me almost killing each other every day fighting over the bathroom. I had my own bathroom, mirrored closet doors, a pop-out bay window seat, and more crap under my bed than should have been humanly possible. I had moved on from my middle school obsession with The New Kids on the Block, so my posters were removed and the ridiculous neon NKOTB bedspread, that adorned my bed for 3 years, was replaced with a hunter green one with a southwest theme. I had a dream catcher hanging from my ceiling and a framed picture of a Native American girl on one wall and a wolf on the other. My favorite thing about that room was the bay window seat. We lived in the dessert and had frequent electrical storms. I could watch the lightning for hours. I guess when I reflect on my favorite rooms, the thing I liked the best was that both had a special spot to think, read, and just be me.

I had 9 bedrooms from birth to high school graduation. The first (that I can remember) and last were my favorites, and in homes I lived in the longest. I hope my children have fond memories of their bedrooms...and far fewer of them than I did.