My old room in my parent’s home
Tonight I’m tucked up in bed, in my parents’ home, in my old room. Not that it looks anything like it did when I was growing up.
This room is very much my mum with the addition of a few touches from my niece, Porsha, who stayed here in this room for some time.
The walls are white, the furniture is white, the bed is white, the bedding is white: very clean, very crisp, very fresh.
The things that are not my mum are: the deep purple curtains; the pink and silver wind chime; a coat stand that looks like a purple coloured pencil; a groovy little pink chandelier-type light fitting; and a purple feature wall.
My red velvet curtains are gone. My mum told me that I could have anything I wanted, and she hated them, but I was totally in love.
My wallpaper had tiny red roses all over it, the furniture that I painted so many different colours over the years, my little pink alarm clock, the cream shag pile carpet (what was I thinking?) and the New Kids on the Block posters – I was obsessed!
This is where I did my homework, listened to the radio, had friends up for sleepovers. This is where I lived a happy life with no real worries; nothing to keep me awake at night. This room, this house, is filled with so many happy memories. Most importantly, this house is home to my mum and dad … Mother Dear and Father Dear as I call them – the two people I admire most in this world.
Check out the view from this One Girls parent's deck
I fear I don’t do this enough – re-visit my childhood and be my parents’ child again - life has become too hectic. I want to do this more: slow down; enjoy what I have; spend time with my parents, while I still have the chance to.
Tonight I commit to doing this at least once a year. Except next time, I’m going to sneak in a poster of New Kids on the Block. I wonder how long it will take my mum to notice!