Those with boys will certainly commiserate with this blog entry. Recently, we reinvented our lower level complete with new furniture, fresh paint, and a desperately needed floor cleaning. My vision was to create a more grown up vibe with durable yet stylish decor. My audience consisted of two teenage boys and one hairy man-child. It turned out very well and represented their “manhood” without making me want to vacate the premises because of the lack of style. (I am now patting myself on the back.)
Fast forward six months later. I don’t spend a lot of time down there as it oozes testosterone. So much in fact, I fear growing more facial hair than I am currently. The laundry room is generally the only pit stop I make – until today. My first day free this summer with NO boys home. I cautiously ventured into the darkness of this area predominately inhabited by men. Good GOD!!! Actually, I think I uttered more vivid expletives, but we shall keep it G rated. Apparently, an old step ladder serves as an accent table (yes, the trend is to repurpose, so I guess I will give marks for creativity), while blankets are strewed everywhere. A deflated air mattress is draped over the treadmill. Someone’s clothes are thrown on another accent table. I didn’t find any lost dishes or petrified food, but after I folded the blankets, I got the hell out of there.
I am very much in favor of everyone having their own space. Which is why I bite my tongue when I enter the boy’s rooms. Yes, I am a control freak and like for the rooms in my home to appear orderly. Today, my goal is to try and wipe the vision from my brain and have gratitude that it doesn’t spread like a disease to the other rooms deemed for public use. Fortunately, I can regroup and spend the rest of my day relaxing in my breezy writing studio, where the air doesn’t reek of body smells and its brightness brings a smile to my face.