Our master bedroom update
Here’s a brief history of our master bedrooms: it was dark, it was grey, it was beige, it was dark green, it was bland, and then it was bright.
Just for fun, I thought I’d go back as far as our master bedroom in our condo …
I was so proud of the colour I picked for the walls — English Toffee, I think it was called — the poorly-sewn cotton curtains, and the “fancy” silky bed-in-a-bag. Oh, and of course I had the “Two Angels” print — so artsy! — and the Walmart lamps with yellowy bulbs. This was, of course, like 2008.
A couple of years later, we upgraded to NICE bedroom furniture, painted the walls grey, and bought a thin grey coverlet.
I sewed more cotton throw pillows and cotton curtains (and clearly didn’t purchase enough fabric to make more than one skimpy panel per window), and created my first gallery wall above the bed. Lots of white, grey, and yellow. I was super proud of it.
When we moved into our current home almost EIGHT (!!!) years ago, in October of 2011, the walls were creamy beige and the curtains were dark brown. Total blank slate.
Shortly after moving in, we painted the walls a deep, dark green. We’d painted one of our bathrooms at the condo the same colour, and I’d really liked it. Somehow, that translated into WE MUST PAINT THE BEDROOM THIS MOODY, INTERESTING COLOUR I HAZ FOUND.
We kept the brown came-with-the-house curtains, used existing beige bedding — a thin coverlet, just like our grey one — and bought two Target pillows that had beige, green, and brown in them. I printed out black and white photos of us (pre-kids us) and hung a gallery wall with all thin black frames.
Overall, I liked it a lot at the time. Dark and moody. Frugal. Fine.
Once the bedroom started feeling TOO dark, we embarked on another master bedroom makeover. I was over the green.
I had my Handy Husband repaint the walls — Revere Pewter, when it was just starting to be THE paint colour everyone wanted — but we kept the black and white gallery wall and the bedding.
Within a couple of weeks, I’d sewn new curtains (a white, grey, and red print I’d fallen in love with) we’d built pelmet boxes to go above the windows (oooooh, felt so fancy), I’d sewn new throw pillows to match the curtains, and I’d painted some clearance mirrors red and hung them between the windows. We went back to our grey coverlet and kept the gallery wall.
For a long time, nothing really changed in here. The only difference was that I didn’t like that Michael didn’t have a nightstand, so we built a “fake” one. It wasn’t similar to mine in any way except for the height was the same, on purpose, to trick the eye into seeing a symmetrical set-up.
I also bought two big old lamps at a yard sale, painted the bases black, and kept the original shades.
Up until the other day, this was EXACTLY what our master bedroom still looked like …
… and now it looks like this!
Even though we hardly changed anything, it looks a LOT better, doesn’t it?
What we kept the same: curtains, wall art, throw pillows, furniture, lamp bases, wall colour, etc.
What we changed: bedspread, sheets, lampshades, light bulbs.
I used birthday money to buy this fluffy white comforter + sham set from Winners the other night.
I’ve been wanting a white comforter for ages — not a duvet, as I didn’t want to deal with stuffing it and my allergies mean I can’t have anything down-filled. I liked the idea of a comforter — one piece I could throw in the washer/dryer easily.
I was also determined to buy a KING-SIZED one, even though our bed is a queen, because I wanted it to hang down nicely all the way around. Our bed is extremely tall, so king-sized blankets are a must.
This one’s made by Kort & Co. and has grey piping around the edges and a small grey polka-dot pattern on the underside. I can’t find it anywhere online, but if I do, I’ll link to it!
I also bought these gorgeous red buffalo check flannel sheets. I LOVE flannel sheets in the winter. Plus, they bring out the red in the curtains and throw pillows I already had!
Once I had the bright white bedding on the bed, I knew I had to lose the yellowing original lampshades from my yard sale lamps. Their black spray-painted bases were still great, but the shades … nope.
So I replaced them with these two plain white drum shades I stole from another project-in-progress. I also replaced the old “warm” bulbs with my new FAVOURITE bright white lightbulbs* and instantly the room felt brighter and more modern.
Everything else in the room is exactly the same.
The old red clearance mirrors I spray-painted red years ago. The curtains I sewed years ago — with the blackout lining that I still haven’t finished sewing in place, oops.
The Bon Jovi “Livin’ on a Prayer” lyric art I made for the wall.
Last night was the first night in our “new” old bedroom, and I’m happy to report the fluffy white comforter is just as soft and dreamy as I’d hoped. The sheets are still a bit stiff after one washing, but I expect that’s because they’re nice and thick (and not cheap — $49.99 for the set) and they’ll soften up with more washings.
It’s interesting to see what changes over the years, and what stays the same. The black and white gallery wall is STILL hanging in there — and I still love it.
Who knows how long our bedroom will look exactly like this, since you know I like to change things up. But I’m happy with it at the moment, and that’s what matters.
xoxo
Products used in this master bedroom makeover:
Stuck in the ‘in-between’
He’s nine years old.
He’s too scared to go on the Round Up, but he doesn’t want people to think he’s a chicken. It doesn’t help that his little sister is riding it over and over, gleefully standing between two teenagers and waving down to us as she whirls through the blue sky. He doesn’t want anyone to see him crying into my T-shirt.
We wander around the exhibition grounds for a while. He doesn’t want to go on the Crazy Bus, the Merry-Go-Round is “babyish” and he’s tired of the Tilt-a-Whirl and the Spider. His friends are going on the more daring rides — we call them “teenager rides” — and he’s feeling left out.
Mostly, though, he’s mad at his height. He had to stop going on his very favourite thing, a funhouse called Raiders, when a different employee took over line duty and told him he was too tall for it.
But that was a few hours ago, and he perks up when he notices there’s now a different person running Raiders.
“Look short!” I tell him, and we both laugh.
I was joking, but he bends his knees and slinks over to the line like a cartoon bank robber tiptoeing between security cameras. He pauses as the employee looks at him and waits to see if he’s going to be turned away, but she motions for him to go ahead.
His little face lights up. He’s grinning as he climbs the rope ladder and walks across the bridge, being careful not to run and get banned from Raiders.
(Hilariously, that is exactly what will happen to his little sister just a few hours from now.)
He cruises down the slow, tall slide at the end, and lands expertly on his feet.
I flash him a thumbs-up as he hops down to the ground. He’s beaming. He heads straight back to the line, slinking lower so he blends in with the six- and seven-year-olds rushing up the ramp.
He goes back again and again until it happens: the employee who’s been guarding Raiders is replaced by the same lady who turned him away.
He notices before rejoining the line, and his shoulders slump. “She’s back,” he sighs. “I really wanted to go on a few more times.”
“I know, babe. I’m sorry.” I put my arm around him. We’re both sweaty and dusty from the August sun, the dirt, the hay from the animals.
“How about the Tilt-a-Whirl?”
“Nah.”
He looks back up at Raiders wistfully, and then shuffles off towards the big-kid rides. He’s nine years old — halfway to being an adult — and he’s stuck right in the middle of everything. Too big for some things, but not ready for what’s next.
He is tall enough for the Zipper, but says he never, ever wants to go on it — not even when he’s a grown-up. He doesn’t want to go on more of the spinny rides with his friends and his sister. He’s feeling a little sick.
He is too tall for Raiders, according to some employees (but not others), but he doesn’t feel too old for it. He loves the rope ladder. He loves bumping his away through the maze of inflatable posts. He loves landing feet-first on the giant crash pad below the slide.
I convince him to try the Go Gator, which was always one of his favourites. He sits in one of the green kiddie cars between a four-year-old and a two-year-old. He is the tallest kid on the ride and barely cracks a smile as he moves slowly around the curving track.
When the Exhibition returns next summer, he’ll be 10 years old and heading into Grade 5. Too tall to go on Raiders at all. He knows that, I think, but we don’t talk about it.
***
The sun is setting now. We loop around the grounds again and head back to Raiders. (“Just to see!” he tells me.) There’s a different employee there. He pauses, considering. Is she going to be a stickler for the height chart, or is she going to wave him past without taking a good look at him?
He looks up at me and I nod encouragingly, gesturing that he should give it a try.
“Look short!” he whispers with a giggle, ducking down slightly.
I smile as he crouch-walks his way up to the front of the line and is waved through.
The last bit of golden sunlight glows on his cheeks as he climbs the funhouse stairs and makes his way across the rope bridge. I tell myself to memorize the way he looks right now, the pure happiness shining on his face.
He’s nine years old and he’s stuck in the in-between, but for now, he can forget about all of that. He has a rope ladder to climb.
xo
Fabric panels are the new posters
We are not a poster household. I loved thumbtacking posters all over my walls when I was younger, but as an adult, I shudder at the idea of hanging ragged paper by poking dozens of holes in my walls. No, thank you.
The thing is … kids love posters. They’re big, colourful pictures of their favourite characters from video games, TV shows and movies. But the only attractive way to display a poster is by buying a proper poster frame, and those suckers are sometimes $40 or $50. Poster frames are shockingly expensive.
Luckily, I’ve found an expected replacement for posters (and their grossly overpriced frames): fabric panels.
That probably sounds weird at first, but hear me out …
Continue reading in my weekly DIY column, My Handmade Home …
It’s going down
I talked to my doctor yesterday, and he confirmed what I had been feeling for a while now.
It was OK to go down.
***
I started taking antidepressants in the summer of 2015.
(Let’s not even get into how I SHOULD have started taking them in 2012 when I suffered from a bad case of post-partum depression.)
I had a surprise hysterectomy that spring that sent me down a dark path, and some other stuff went down — stuff I will likely never write about in this space — that made 2015 feel like the year my whole life went to shit.
” … Mental illness isn’t always obvious. It’s not always the inability to get out of bed, or gaining weight, or withdrawing, or losing interest in what you like to do. Sometimes it’s struggling to breathe while you panic about all of the balls you’re juggling, and wondering how you can possibly get through another day. Sometimes it’s looking at the people you love and feeling like you are completely, utterly failing them. Sometimes it’s laughing and making small talk when you’re not sure you want to be alive.” Me, in 2015
I summoned up my courage. I went to my doctor. I cried. He wrote me a prescription and I gladly accepted it.
I started taking Sertraline. One little yellow pill to get started (25mg) and then two for a few weeks, then three. At some point, I went up to 100mg which meant a big fat orange pill — the equivalent of four yellow ones.
I got a semi-colon tattoo. I started feeling braver about talking about my mental health. I’d been so freaked out at the idea of taking medication, but really, it wasn’t a big deal. It was a relief.
I started feeling better.
“… I’ve heard people describe depression as feeling like they were moving through life underwater or in a fog, and they said taking antidepressants helped them feel like themselves again — helped them feel clearer. What I learned was that I wasn’t in a fog or under water. I was clinging to the edge of a shore — just my head and shoulders in the heat of the sand, and freezing water rushing over the rest of my body. Taking antidepressants has allowed more of my body to crawl up onto the sand. To feel the warmth of the sun. To feel like myself again.” Me, in 2015
I complained to my doctor at some point of being cloudy and in a haze. We decided I should step down from 100mg (big orange pill) to three yellows (75mg). Then I tried just two (50mg).
And then … for a long time … I did nothing.
I didn’t dare to adjust my dosage again, because whenever I went up or down by 25mg — one little yellow pill’s worth — I would have 24-48 hours of being a hot mess who cried ANGRY TEARS OF RAGE over not being able to find her hole-punch. Really. That happened. It was easier to just … stay.
Pills were fine.
I was fine.
Life was (mostly) fine.
If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.
But was I actually still broken?
And if I am, had the pills ever “fixed” me anyway?
The thing people almost never discuss about antidepressants is when to go off of them.
It’s very strange. You choose to go on medication because you are depressed and/or anxious and you need help with your brain’s wiring, and yet you’re supposed to trust THAT SAME BRAIN to tell you when it’s time to stop?
In some cases, I suppose people use them to get through a bad-but-temporary situation and then they know it’s time to taper off.
But what about those of us who have struggled with depression and anxiety since they were teenagers? Those of us who spent 20 years living with mental illness before taking any mediation? How do we know?
Sometimes I look back through pictures of me, BP and AP — Before Pills and After Pills — to see if I can detect something different in myself. How was I really feeling back then? How did the pills change how I feel?
I don’t find any answers.
In some BP pictures, I look heart-breakingly sad. But then that same day, there are pictures of me being silly and laughing.
But it’s the same with the AP (After Pills) photos. There are no clues.
There are just smiles. Poses. Brooding expressions. Who the hell knows how I was actually feeling, other than (apparently) in a selfie-taking mood?
That’s just it, isn’t it?
There is no “before and after.” Antidepressants are not a life sentence, nor are they a miracle cure. In all of those photos, there’s just me — happy, sad, depressed, motivated, excited, anxious, silly, cranky, all of it. I’m the one who’s been here all along, medicated and otherwise.
I was depressed.
I am depressed.
I was anxious.
I am anxious.
I used to think the pills had fixed me. I used to think they bubble-wrapped my emotions and kept me safely protected from the demons in my head.
But the truth is that I’m not necessarily any different than I was, on that summer day four years ago, that I cried in my doctor’s office and asked for a prescription for antidepressants.
I was happy.
I am happy.
I had bad days.
I still do have bad days.
I’m the same.
I’m different.
***
I can’t explain why I started feeling like I wanted to try life without Sertraline. I have no idea what brought it on.
Maybe just a feeling of … curiosity? Would life feel better and brighter, or terrible and depressing? Would I feel happier and more engaged with everything, or would I be filled with feelings that were too strong?
I always joke that ever since I’ve been on antidepressants, “I can’t cry human tears.” It’s true. I literally CANNOT cry while taking them, unless I’m adjusting my dosage and having temporary rage-cries over office supplies. What would it be like, I wondered, to be able to cry? Is crying a good thing? Am I actually glad to not be able to cry?
(It’s a little like having a period — another regular experience I haven’t had in 4+ years and have trouble remembering.)
There’s also the matter of being in a very different place than I was 4+ years ago.
Four years ago, I had two small children at home with me. I was recovering from a life-changing surgery I hadn’t expected. I was struggling to earn a living as a work-at-home journalist. I was dealing with the aforementioned “other life shit” that was making me feel like I was drowning on a daily basis.
I want to go back and hug 32-year-old me. She was very tired. She was going through hell. She was struggling, and she talked to her doctor about it. I’m very grateful she did.
But now …
Life is different now.
I am different now.
I’m four years older. I’m four years wiser. I’m four years stronger. I’m a 36-year-old mother, wife, business owner, and all-around ass-kicker.
I’ve also learned SO MUCH about managing my own mental health. I understand more about myself now.
I know that I still have bad days when I’m on medication. I know it’s possible that I might feel those bad days more strongly without the gentle fog of the pills. What I don’t know is how I’m going to react to them since it’s been more than four years of having that cushion.
That isn’t to say I didn’t need the pills, because I did.
I’m not saying I don’t need them now, because I’m not sure that’s true.
I am saying that I could easily be BACK on them at any point.
I am not too proud to start them back up if I feel I need them again. Believe me.
***
My doctor’s appointment was yesterday.
He suggested I start taking just one pill (instead of my usual two) and maintain that for a week or even two, before tapering off to just one pill every second day, and then none at all. He isn’t anticipating I’ll feel many side effects, but he wasn’t there when I screamed and cried and probably threw a hole-punch the last time I adjusted my dosage. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I wasn’t sure when I’d start tapering. But then I slept like hell last night and came down with a cold. My throat hurts and I feel like crap, so I figured I might as well combine the feeling-like-crap days.
I brushed my teeth, slathered on my day cream, and took only one pill.
I feel spacey today, but that’s likely just having a cold. I feel a little sick to my stomach, but I often do when I’m sick. I have not yet cried over office supplies, but that’s potentially happening tomorrow or the next day when my system realizes shit is changing. But who knows? Maybe I won’t feel much of a shake-up.
I don’t know if going off my antidepressants is a good idea or not, but it feels like something I need to try.
Something I want to try.
And so I am trying.
I am always trying.
Colourful makeover for an ’80s telephone table
As soon as I saw the heart-shaped tiers of the old black telephone table, I knew I wanted — needed — to paint them like heart-shaped rainbows.
The table was a hand-me-down from a friend* who moved to the area and passed it along, knowing I’d do something fun with it.
P.S. This friend happens to be an awesome author, so maybe buy her book?
Her dad built her the table back in 1988 to hold the brand-new telephone connected to the jack that had been installed in her bedroom for a Christmas gift.
I knew a hearts-and-rainbows table would be perfect for our seven-year-old daughter, with whom I share a dizzy love for Taylor Swift’s ME music video. There’s a part where the scene spills into a kaleidoscope of bright pastel hearts — a nod to the lyrics of an earlier song. “Kaleidoscope of loud heartbeats under (paint) coats.”
Sometimes I don’t know how a DIY project will turn out until I’m finished, but I could see this table perfectly in my mind …
Continue reading in my weekly DIY column, My Handmade Home …
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