By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist, novelist, and Northwest Arkansas mom of 3
We just wanted a new color. Just paint. No big deal, right?
But first we had to decide on a color — something lighter than the terrible taupe we’d come to dread over the past decade. After years of raising kids and pets, I wanted our neglected bedroom to finally whisper “upscale hotel” instead of “We keep this door closed for a reason.”
So we went to Sherwin-Williams for paint samples and immediately felt overwhelmed by more than 1,700 options. I can choose an option when there are three, but if there’s more than a thousand, I’ll flee to the closest Sonic.
I asked Google for two off-white paint options with a subtle sage-green undertone. We bought two samples and tested both on the bedroom wall, ultimately settling on one that looks off-white during the day and a bit like pale pistachio ice cream when the lights are low. After years of tedious taupe, this color feels calm and refreshing.
Since we’d picked our paint, we thought the hard part was over. But then the painting crew said we’d need to take everything out of the bedroom, bathroom, and the his-and-hers closets. We figured the clean-out would take only half an hour, which is laughable in hindsight. At that point, we had not yet realized that we’d slowly become packrats living in a gnarly nest of our own making.
Before moving the bed, I lay down on the floor and peered under it, and that’s when I realized it had turned into an invisible junk drawer. Not sure where to store something? See if it can slide under a bed. Not only will you never have to see it, you’ll also forget it’s even there.
After what felt like a thousand trips out of the bedroom and closets with armfuls of stuff, we piled it all in a spare room. Then while the painters freshened up the walls, we whittled down our stuff.
Over the next two days, I spent several hours sorting things into three piles — keep, donate, and “not sure.” Ironically, the “not sure” category let me keep moving forward. Instead of wasting time in an internal debate, I tossed things into the “not sure” pile and moved on to an easier decision.
I put the “not sure” pile into a storage box and marked it with the date. If, after six months, I haven’t needed to dig through that bin, then the whole thing will get donated.
When the paint fumes finally dissipated, we moved back into the repainted bedroom and bathroom with only the things we actually use. Instead of filling every nook and cranny, I looked for ways to leave the bathroom counters clean and bare. And the nightstands are breathing easy now that useful odds and ends have been tucked into the drawers below.
To celebrate the return to our fresh, dreamy room, I lay down on the new area rug and peered under the bed, just as I’d done when the project began. Except this time I did it to admire the expansive stretch of clear space under that mattress. I can see all the way to the sunlight on the other side of the room with nary a dust bunny in sight.
Now that it’s done, I’ve realized that repainting a bedroom is the colonoscopy of home improvement projects. It forces a clean-out so you can see what’s important and what has to go. And when it’s over, you have a clean slate and a renewed commitment to treat the room right going forward.
The space becomes a place to sleep in beauty instead of closing your eyes to an accumulated mess.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.
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