when we bought our home just over a year ago, there was one room that i was the most excited about: a tiny bedroom that would be perfect for a nursery. really, a nursery is the only practical thing it could be, it’s that small. and for a long time, that’s how we referred to it. but as time went on, it became the “little bedroom” and the dumping ground for all the crap that didn’t have another place to live. it would get cleaned out periodically when we need to have someone sleep in both the guest room and the little bedroom. but for the most part, it was the closed door that i just ignored. except sometimes, i would stand in the doorway and just cry. this empty, purposeless room represented everything that we couldn’t do.
so that is how we celebrated. the boxes are gone, the futon is listed on craigslist. when we first moved in, we scraped decades old paint and wallpaper off of the walls in there, until we were down to the original plaster. this weekend, we went back to those walls, scrubbing and washing the residue and gunk off of them. we even picked up a few paint samples (because after two years, we have the nursery all planned out already too), and slapped them up to test.
and that door? it’s been open all weekend. and i smile every time i walk past.