Every Saturday in 2013 I’ll be sharing a post for the Mom Before Mom project. The goal is to tell the stories of life before motherhood, the stories which root the woman in every mother. So much of memory keeping is focused on capturing our children’s experience but what of our own? Who will capture the mother’s journey as a woman? Who will honor our journey if we don’t honor it first? Every week I’ll be answering a question, journaling my life stories. Read along or write along with the wonderful bloggers linking up every week.
Prompt #2: What did your childhood bedroom look like? Give a tour. How did it change as you matured?
The first room I had was at our home at 321 57th street. I don’t geuinely remember it but I recall it easily from photographs. Shiny orange and white lacquer furniture comes quickly to mind. Small, cozy, full of toys. The room I remember most easily, though, is the one at 6113 Adams Street. It’s the one where imagination and childhood ruled. The one my memory goes to when I think of home.
My mom and I lived on the top floor of a three family house; my grandfather on the first floor. It was all brick with two balconies the length of the front of the house. Three bedrooms and I got the master suite, a massive room with it’s own full bathroom, bidet and all. My queen sized bed was surrounded by walls full of stuffed animals and on my nightstand I had a bright red phone in the shape of a stilletto.
The bathroom sink was just outside the door of the bathroom with a huge mirror the span of the wall. I remember in 6th or 7th grade, standing in front of that mirror toying with the idea of summoning Bloody Mary. I lost my courage and ran to bed instead. I can’t remember the color of the walls or if I had pictures or art on the walls but I have a rolodex full of moments like this, playing and exploring and letting my imagination reign supreme.
There was the time I stood on my bed with an old broomstick using it to row my ship towards a secret treasure. I hung a necklace on the edge of a dresser and as I got closer to the “x” on the map, I used the broomstick to snatch it up and row back to safety.
Then there were the nights, after going to see the horror movie Child’s Play not realizing it was a scary movie, when the My Buddy doll in the corner of my room scared me to pieces. I remember covering my head many a night with my blankets.
After we left the house on Adams Street, I had three other rooms before heading off to college. The one in my grandfather’s apartment which was really his bedroom where I slept when I stayed over. Then the one during my early teens which I don’t remember so well. Though I vaguely recall a Legends of The Fall poster with a chest baring Brad Pitt on the walls. The one worth mentioning is the one in Bloomfield. A two level condo with all the bedrooms nestled upstairs.
I had a tiny little room with a captain’s bed. Two large drawers for extra sheets and nothing important to me. A computer table with an old school desk top and to the left a few shelves with a special locked area where I kept my secret trinkets and diaries. The room itself isn’t so much something I loved immensely but it was my space during those teenage years of growth, heartbreak and discovery. Hushed and giggly conversations with best friends and boys, late nights reading books that would change my life, tears over struggles with my parents, laugh out loud visits with friends – all of that and so much more within the walls of that little room give it a cherished place in my heart.
I’ve loved every place I’ve lived. I’m a homebody and melt into my home. It’s my place to recharge, my refuge. I’m grateful for somehow learning to find so much comfort at home. The places themselves were unremarkabel but were made home by the people and experiences had there – the the people who lived there, the loved ones they invited in and the memories created together.
Next week’s prompt: 1/26 What was your favorite home cooked meal as a kid? Did you help make it? How did it make you feel? Share the scents and sights and flavors.