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Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, you just need to get away. Not far away, just far enough away. A space of your own.

I have four children. Two girls and two boys.
I have a house with four bedrooms. A grown-ups’ bedroom, a boys' bedroom, a girls' bedroom and a guest room.

Rooms, in our house, have always been shared.
Until last year.
Last year, my husband and I divorced.

The master bedroom became my room. I moved furniture and painted the walls tea green. I hung my favorite pictures, the ones that remind me of Hawai’i and of my children. I put an antique red and white Hawaiian quilt on my bed and bought lovely side tables made of sustainable hardwood by Javanese craftsmen. I made myself a space. My own space.

My oldest daughter chose to live with her father. The things she wanted to leave here were moved into the guest room. Much of what she left behind represented her childhood -- her blankie, her stuffed animals, her fairy picture – things she felt she needed to escape in order to grow up.
But I wanted her to know that she could always come back. So we made the guest room into her room. The namby pamby pale pink walls were not a color that said, “Come back and stay a while.” Together we selected Divine Gold and I repainted the walls the rich, warm color of a sunny beach. The color plays off the yellows and greens of her quilt, making the room sing, “Welcome Home!” We moved the desk out of my room and into hers and hung a beveled mirror over it so that she would have someplace to sit and put on makeup. We no longer have a guest room, but we do have a room for my oldest. Her very own room.

The girls’ room became my youngest daughter’s room. To make it her own, she picked a lovely color called China Silk for the walls. It’s a deep blue that looks purple in some lights. It’s a royal color that exactly fits my little princess. She has a lilac vanity, a tangerine yellow desk, hot pink curtains, a soft, slouchy pale pink chair and ottoman and a bed that is overflowing with her babies and pillows. Her room is an explosion of life and color that reflects her secret soul.

The boys’ room, remained the boys’ room, shared by my 16-year-old son and my 9-year-old son. Neither of them complained, but when I asked my oldest son if he would like his own room, his face lit up like the first spring sunrise following a drippy, grey Portland winter. I told him he could move down to the basement, carefully pointing out that I would not be putting in a bathroom down there anytime soon. “We have two and a half other bathrooms,” he pointed out. “I’m okay with no bathroom in the basement.”
So we began remodeling the basement.
We worked all summer and fall to fix up a room for my oldest son. We sheet rocked and put up molding. We painted evergreen walls and laid hazelnut carpet. We found a marvelous chest of drawers at Goodwill and uncovered a comfy, but stylish chair at a neighborhood garage sale. Fabric Depot had the perfect fabric and, as soon as I get the sewing machine fixed, he will have a perfect set of curtains hanging over his windows. He moved in just before Christmas. He loves his new Manland.

Today, my youngest son and I started working on his room. It was knee deep in the clutter and mayhem that his older brother left behind. We began in the closet, sorting clothes. We filled three shopping bags with clothes that no longer fit or are otherwise unsatisfactory. Toys were next. Three Tupperware under-the-bed boxes filled with toys have become four shoeboxes on the shelves of his closet. The metal bunk bed has turned into a loft and separate twin bed and the space under the loft is now a “tight” fort, complete with soft, squishy pillows and a blue rope light. His Lego trunk makes the perfect bedside table. He still likes the pine green color that he and his brother originally picked for the room, so no painting will be required. Tomorrow, he will test out his newly decorated digs by having a sleepover with a couple of his neighborhood friends.

It’s been fun watching my children create their own space. Each room is a completely unique reflection of the child who dreamed it. We have spaces to come together and spaces to be apart.
My house has finally become our home.