Transparent Tuesdays

Issue 237

You guys,

Overnight I decided wall sconces were not, as I had previously believed, antiquated and ugly. They were, in fact, everything. I stalked Pinterest for all the different kinds—up light, down light, up-and-down light, candle, swing arm, picture light, lantern, wallchieres—and now imagined them in every room of the house. 

It started when—in the span of three days—Sam and I made two unexpected life decisions: We would stop trying for a third baby and we would not move to the beach. A 12-night staycation in our local beach town was intended to solidify my desire to live there, but I missed our house, the one in the suburbs sandwiched on all sides by similar mass produced floor plans.

When we returned home I sat in the chair in my daughter’s room and read her a book. When I thought we were going to have another baby I wasn’t sure if the baby would be in Layla’s room or my office, and I just didn’t want to commit to doing something in a room if there was a chance we’d change it. Now I looked around the space. It had the essentials of a nursery—crib, diaper changing station, Pottery barn swivel chair that clicks when you rock, books piled in a bin on the floor, a small rainbow area rug on the floor—and that was it. The walls were still gray from when we moved in four years ago, and the only thing on it was a laminated collage of family pictures that her daycare made for her, which I stuck to the wall with Scotch tape. There was no color scheme, no theme, and the only lighting was the overhead ceiling light that turns on when you flip the switch. 

Sometimes when I walk into my bedroom at night Sam is already in bed and the overhead ceiling light is on. I ask him the same thing every time, “Why is the light on?” and he never has a good answer. We have bedside lamps that emanate a soft glow and that is how it should be. The overhead light is a personal attack on our wellbeing. He should know this by now. 

Our downstairs half bathroom had the same effect so I hung a string of white Christmas lights around the mirror with the leftover string wrapped around the base of the sink. The incandescent twinkle made me smile and our bathroom looked like a college dorm room. 

Speaking of Christmas, every year, for three weeks after December 25 I get the post-Christmas blues and that’s putting it lightly. I cry as I take down decorations, silently so Sam can’t hear because if he asked what was wrong I would have to say, “I’m just sad that Christmas is over.” I never equated it to lighting but I put Christmas lights all over the house. Colored strings on the tree and lining the play room windows, little Santas on shelves that light up, white lights strung on the columns in front of our house. Our home is a cozy den for one month out of the year and then it transforms back to a dull, depressing office space. The answer is not to get outside and do a workout and have a good cry and replace the Christmas mugs with new fun ones for January. The answer is lighting.

How many solutions to my struggles have been staring me in the face and I just haven’t noticed? It’s like how I made egg salad twice a week for nearly a year but never thought to buy an egg slicer, or how I dreaded the drive every afternoon to coach field hockey practice but never once entertained the thought that maybe that was an indication I shouldn’t do it, or how I hated belts but my pants kept falling down and I finally remembered I love suspenders. 

I walked through our house and looked at every room, every wall. We were not moving. There was no third baby coming. We were locked in as a family of four and this was our home. It was time to make it feel like one, starting with Layla’s room, or rather, George and Layla’s room. Ever since we took away Layla’s pacifier bedtime has been hard. She used to grab her “passipire” and lay right down. Now when we put her in her crib at night she says to us, in her cutest little toddler voice, the syllables punctuated so clearly, “I don’t want to be by myself,” so we asked the two of them if they’d like to share a room.

We want to do this right. We don’t want to throw a mishmosh of furniture in a room and call it decorated. There should be a campfire feeling, a hot chocolate mood, and lighting that isn’t Christmas lights. There will be shaded lamps, pendant lighting, and at least two wall sconces, but I’m pushing for four. 

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Until next week,

Charlie