Like most children growing up in the United States when I am, I was granted my very own bedroom from a young age. As expected, the room was a mess early on. Toys, clothes, and books everywhere in sight. My mom attempted to tidy things up a bit, but having a job, two small children, a husband, and a number of other small pets, the cleanliness of my and my brother’s room were usually the things that suffered.
As I grew older, the “clean your room” fights began. And as I became more and more experienced in the field of argumentation, I would respond with “I like it dirty!” then, “I know where everything is!” And, although my parents tried their best to keep my room livable, there wasn’t much they could do. This was also true of my brother’s room; he liked it messy and would often fight with my parents about it.
About three years ago, my mother took a full-time job, so my parents hired a cleaning lady to come and clean our house every other Thursday while we were away at work and school. This woman was paid to vacuum, sweep, and use a lot of Pledge on the piano and china cabinet. Looking back, I do feel bad for her and the feeling she must have gotten just before attempting to tackle my room every other week. I would come home Thursday afternoons and for just one day, have a fairly clean room. When showing the woman the house, my mom told the woman not to even bother with my brother’s room. (She never has).
As I grew older, I began taking a little more care of my room. I cleaned more and more often until I decided that it was time to change things up a bit. I switched my old bed for a bunk bed. At the time, I thought it sounded like a great idea. But here is a tip: if you want less room, less light, a smaller bed, and a lot more work to make your bed, get a bunk bed. It will, in the end, accomplish all of these things, and really nothing more.
After about one year, I had had enough of the bunk bed: it was time for a complete room redo. My grandmother was the only one willing to help me take on the task. So I began the preparations. I selected a weekend in the middle of the summer when my brother and father were conveniently out of town on a basketball tournament. I began Friday afternoon to empty my room of all its contents. I either threw it away or gave away many stuffed animals and other mementos of my young childhood, and put many bags and boxes of things I was unwilling or unable to part with into our overstuffed shed. My grandma helped me decide on paint colors. I selected a light shade of blue for the walls with white for the ceiling.
We washed the walls and ceiling, and thus began the prep work. That was the first time I ever painted a room. I worked tirelessly all weekend and into the next week on painting my bedroom. And let me tell you, there is nothing like a fresh layer of paint to make a once very dirty room, clean and fresh. I also traded my bunk beds for a futon that my family had kept in storage. With a little help from my grandmother and my mom, I was able to get the room I had always wanted.
Since that summer almost two years ago, my room has changed quite a bit more. New posters on the walls, new bedspreads, and new arrangements of the furniture are just some of the things that have changed in my room since the paint job. I try my best to keep my room clean as possible (unlike my brother).
As soon as my brother left the house for college, I stole his queen size bed and replaced it with the futon I had been sleeping on. So now it is I, that has the great bed. Overall, the room has gone through a lot, and I am proud to say that I am very pleased with what my room has become. While my brother’s room remains the filthy mess it has always been, not depending on whether he is home or in his dorm room.