I was cleaning during nap time one afternoon. Bend down, pick up a toy, raise up, put it away. Rinse and repeat about a thousand times. When all was in its place I plopped down on the couch with a diet coke and started reading. It didn’t keep my attention long so I looked up and just scanned the room for a minute.
Most of our house is painted builder’s grade beige. I wanted beige. I wanted calming colors that made my house look like Pottery Barn. I had grand plans to place decor all around and fill our walls with fancy paintings and frame galleries. Everything would look clean and inviting and perfect.
Perfect is such a silly word, isn’t it?
Right now our house is filled with toys. Instead of a gorgeous plant in the corner there is an orange drumset. Instead of pretty baskets in our bookshelves there are bins filled with hot wheels.
I look around and I’m surrounded by primary colors. It used to bother me but in that instant I realized it doesn’t really bother me at all anymore.
Because if I didn’t have my boys there wouldn’t be any primary colors. Our house, my life, would only be beige and boring. And who wants to live in a Pottery Barn page anyway? I’d like to live in Oz or in Wonderland or in Sesame Street. It seems like it would be more fun there anyway.
Red, orange, blue, yellow, green, purple, pink. Everywhere I look my kids are there too. Little reminders that I have the amazing privilege and blessing of being a mama.
Nothing is better than that.
The expensive lamps can come out when they leave for college. I’ll appreciate the primary colors in my house for as long as I have them.