When I was a little girl, I had a wooden roll-top desk. It was child-sized, and I used it extensively. In fact, by the time I was done with it, it had crayon scribbles inside the drawers, scratch-and-sniff stickers on the back that were no longer sniff-worthy, and the roll-top…well, let’s just say it didn’t roll too well anymore.
Both of our kids used this same desk when they were small, and though it barely survived the three of us…we still all enjoyed it.
There’s just something special about having your own desk. A place to scribble, drawers for storing secrets, a creative island all your own.
High school found me doing most of my homework on my bed or bedroom floor. In college, I shared a desk with roommates. And since Chad and I have been married, my “desk” has been the dining room table or kitchen table, or my own lap while sitting on the couch.
On Saturday, a truck pulled up outside our home and some very nice men carried in…my new desk! (I am not a person who says “Squeeee!” but in this particular instance, I was very tempted!)
Our new house just happens to have a den right off the foyer, and I didn’t have to work too hard to persuade Chad that I needed a desk for that room. The den was already home to a filing cabinet, bookshelf (of course), and a few chairs. But what it really needed was a desk.
Looks a little empty right now, doesn’t it? I still have to fill it up and deck it out. I’m thinking of a nice task lamp, perhaps a small clock, plenty of paper and pens. Pictures or a cork board on the wall above… And if you know me, you can imagine that there will eventually be
tons of a few books stacked on the desk.
Just looking at it, though, makes me think I need to grab a notebook right this second and start journaling…or writing a novel…or doing some other very important writing. Like I said, there’s something special about those creative islands all your own.
My kids aren’t too sure about this turn of events. To some extent, they think I’m going to claim this entire room as mine and mine alone, shut the door, and spend all my hours alone at my desk. I’ve assured them I won’t.
Yes, there will be times when I’m paying bills or writing or working on a project, when I’ll request some privacy. But I also envision quiet time together in the room — reading and writing together, homework projects and writing projects being done at the same time, a quiet spot to get away from the everyday craziness.
I think I might have convinced L.(5). Saturday night, he dragged a little blue plastic chair all through the house, finally got it to the den, and set it up nearby, proclaiming, “There! Now I can work with you forever!”
Sounds good to me!