Transformation

We celebrated Bear's twelfth birthday this week. Back in December, she mentioned that what she really wanted for her birthday this year was to redecorate her room. It was the first she'd mentioned it, and I was surprised. She explained that she'd like something "more grown-up" and "stylish." The more we discussed it, the more clear it became that she'd been thinking about this for quite some time. She began to tick off the elements she was hoping for:

-blue and brown color scheme

-NO flowers or floral designs

-geometric patterns

-neater and less messy (which I was quick to point out was, um, kind of HER deal. The whole Webkinz Warehouse After a Typoon effect was all her doing.)

I agreed. Nana signed on as Chief Painter. Most of her gifts this year revolved around her new bedroom decor: comforter, curtains, mirror, nightstand, desk set, etc.

We ordered and returned eight comforters before finding The Ultimate Comforter. Bear pored over paint samples, taping them to the wall for consideration. She winnowed them down to two: teal for the walls and chocolate brown for the trim. She wondered whether we could do polka-dots on the walls. I thought not. We compromised on a stripe and one wall painted in contrast colors (brown wall, aqua trim). Bear's Bedroom, Version 3.0 was a go.

Bear had her last room re-do in April 2005. She chose a soft shade of blue for the walls with pale butter yellow trim and white ruffled curtains. It was a dreamy, girly haven with butterflies hanging from the ceiling and a throw-rug shaped like a daisy. Gradually, posters of pop stars began to find their ways onto the walls, and she started griping when I put the Disney princess pillowcases on her bed.

Just to be perfectly clear, here is a photo of Bear from that month. She was eight-years-old and cute as a button.
And, now, not quite four years later in her newly redone bedroom:

HOLY GOD. Who is this teenager, and where did she hide my little girl?

This is one of Bear's favorite parts of her new room. Posters were a must in her book, but I hate the cluttered look when they're taped haphzardly all over the walls. As a compromise, I helped her mount her bazillion posters, carefully torn from the pages of Tiger Beat magazine, in a massive collage on her closet door. Eventually, we'll cover the other door, too, but we're waiting for the next batch of magazines. I have to admit, I think it looks pretty cool. You know, if you're into underage boys. KIDDING.

Here's a wide-angle shot from the doorway. It still takes me aback to walk into this not-a-little-girl's-room-anymore and see a lanky preteen sprawled on the bed talking on the phone. I mean, it doesn't seem that long ago that I was twelve (and if you're doing math in your heads, you can just knock it the hell off).

My twelve-year-old Bear: dreamer, dancer, writer, hugger, laugher, runner, singer, musician, videographer, joker, reader, and preteen sweetheart.
I can only use "preteen" to describe her for one more year. And that is killing me.