I recently converted my children’s old “playroom,” really just a spare upstairs bedroom, into my home office.
After sorting and bagging a childhood’s worth of toys, books, dolls and games, I was left with clean white emptiness, a vast fresh canvas on which to create my vision.
I purchased a colorful rug to add warmth to the room. And a modern desk and funky brass lamp so I’d have a well-lit place to do my writing. A pretty ladder bookshelf and big comfy chair were my next additions.
The room was coming together, and I proudly texted my son, who is hundreds of miles away in university housing, a picture of the progress I’d made. His response — “You need a few more plants, a small end table and some string lights.”
