i have had more than one childhood bedroom. i have no idea what it would be like to be born, raised and then leave only one home. the whole concept is as foreign and bizarre to me as my "constant" moving is to those who remain firmly planted in one location.
the first one i remember, i also shared with my mummo (my mom's mom). i fondly remember being tucked in by her after i had fallen asleep reading. i remember because most times i only pretended to fall asleep, so i could relish the feeling of the blankets being literally tucked all around my wee 7 year old form.
one of my most cherished memories for sure.
then we moved to a different part of the city, to a big house with a ravine and corn fields to explore. i no longer shared a bedroom and had carpeting EVEN IN THE CLOSET! wow. talk about heaven. i used to play barbies in that closet, happily, until i discovered the neighbour boys preferred dinky cars. so the dolls were mostly abandoned for the dirt and fresh air. part of the time, i slept downstairs on a cot, in my sleeping bag, since we didn't have central air in those days. tons of amazing memories in that house.
then we moved again, this time buying a house, and i, once again, had a bedroom to myself. in fact, my brother and i had the whole upstairs to invade and i relished it. my room wasn't carpeted for long (vomiting incident) as we revealed beautiful hardwood underneath. i do have one regret about this bedroom ... i took the darkest blue paint i think i have ever seen and painted a very ugly splotch beside my bed, so i could write notes and phone numbers in chalk.
i did not ask for permission first.
it did not go over well.
i was too proud to admit that i, too, hated it.
two more bedrooms were "mine" before i got married. this is the last one i have a picture of