(NOTE - Clearly I am off schedule for the Blogging A to Z Challenge. I really struggled with a topic for Y and I was also pretty busy yesterday so I took Saturday off.)
When Scott and I bought the old house, painting the girls’ rooms was easy and done before we moved in. The downstairs however, was one giant L shaped blank slate. Very open concept, the living room/dining room had so much wall space it was really hard for Scott and me to decide on a color. Quite honestly, Scott didn’t care at all what colors the walls were and left the decision mostly in my hands.
Mom and my sister, now pretty much next door, had lots of opinions about the walls. They would come over with fabric samples and color swatches trying to help me make a choice. The white walls were covered in bright splotches of spackle where Kirsten and I had filled in nail holes and small cracks. I was okay with it, for the most part, but mom and Kirsten were not. They got frustrated with my indecision.
For over six months I hemmed and hawed about paint colors. Finally, one day in early autumn mom came over with fabric swatches for me to look at, three different patterns in golden yellow, teal and orange.
“What if I make curtains with them?” Mom asked.
“Sure.” I said. “I like them.”
“What about the walls?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I really don’t care all that much, honestly.”
I liked the colors, but on the wall? I wasn’t so sure. It wasn’t that I didn’t want the walls painted but with so much wall, I was nervous of the color being overwhelming. After a few minutes argument about the wall colors – me insisting that I liked the spackle spots just fine, I finally gave up and told them that if it bother them so much they could do something about it.
The following week after a particularly hectic day, I picked up the girls and headed home. It was getting dark and I could see lights coming from inside.
“Did I not turn off the lights this morning?” I asked as we pulled in the driveway.
I was a bit nervous about going inside at this point, but in we went. All the furniture was pulled away from the walls, tarps were thrown on the floor, blue painter’s tape covered up the trim and my sister perched on a ladder happily painting the walls of my dining room yellow. The smell of fresh paint clung in the air despite the sliding glass doors being wide open. Mom painted around the trim between the dining room and kitchen. The living room was mostly done except for a corner behind the entertainment center.
“Wow,” I said slowly. “Yellow.”
“Isn’t it great?” Mom asked.
“It’s really…yellow.” I said slowly trying to wrap my head around it.
“You said you didn’t care.” My sister said.
I nodded. “Yeah…I didn’t…” I looked around the room.
“You hate it,” Mom said disappointment heavy in her voice.
“No…no, I don’t hate it.” I replied. “It’s just really yellow.”
“If you really hate it, we can change it. It’s just paint,” my sister said.
“No,” I sighed. “It’s fine. I’ll get used to it.”
And I did. I like the color despite there being so much of it. The one drawback? Every single photo taken inside made people look sallow and jaundiced.
|This is an old photo and one of the only ones I could find were I wouldn't be embarrassed by clutter or large piles of socks.|