I haven’t talked much about it, because I’ve been terrified that things will fall through, but… We seem to be on track for a (local) move the first week of April. Jeff and I love the new house, the new neighborhood, the new yard, the new school, the new everything and are anxious to get settled. The kids? Not so much.
As part of the bribery tool to help make the transition smoother for the them, we’ve built up the new rooms they’ll be moving into. New wall colors! New blankets! New clocks! New curtains! New, new, new! Exciting, right? I certainly think so.
Now, I thought it went without saying that I, as their mother, would be the one responsible for said rooms. Sure, I’d work with their passions (dinosaurs for the boys and sweet little illustrations for Lily,) but this was my project. I’d get to pick out the bedding and decide on the wall art for them. I’d choose ballet slipper over hot pink for Lily’s walls. I’d decide that timeless Tyrannosaurus Rex was a far better choice than the trendy Transformer quilt. Me, me, me. For them, of course.
My husband, on the other hand, seemed to have some other ideas. He had the nerve to whip out the paint chips last night and steer the kids the direction he envisioned. At IKEA last weekend? He had the gall to encourage a brightly colored quilt for Ben that totally clashed with the well thought out color scheme I had decided on. The nerve!
The decor of my children’s rooms simply is not debatable. It’s fun for me and I’m good at it. That makes it my job. And, the fun filled process helps balance out the fact that I’m the default laundry do-er, lunch maker, puke and poop cleaner-upper and middle of the night go-to parent. That’s only fair, right? Should my husband decide to take any of those off my plate, I’m willing to let him choose the pillow shams.
But I still get veto power.