It's Oh So Quiet

I have laryngitis. I don't know if this has ever happened to you, but it's really very annoying. Thank goodness I can still type (although watch me get fingeritis next, because that's how the MF cookie has been crumbling around here). I do realize things could be much much worse (I got to eat pizza last night!), and so I hereby do solemnly swear that no talk of illness shall issue forth from my fingers next week. It will all be sunshine, rainbows and sparkle puppies licking bubblegum ice cream cones with unicorns on top.

But that's next week. Today we are headed to the quiet box.

Tom Scheerer

Via Nero Chronicles

I think you can read.

Via Head Over Heels

Erin Martin Design

I'm not dead yet (imagine my best Monty Python impression), so I would like to spend my convalescence in a room that is quiet, yes -- relaxing and soothing. But also interesting. There has to be a little something something going on to inspire me to fully recover and conquer truly urgent, earth shattering problems, like how am I going to wean Ike off all this horrible TV I've been letting him watch while we both lay on the couch like plague infested slugs?

I promise. No talk of sickness next week. Not one word.

Bedtime Story

Yesterday I regaled you with exasperating tales of bedding shopping and decor waffling. Let's back track to the beginning of this convoluted plot arc, shall we? For over a month now a new bedroom plan has been percolating, largely inspired by Karly's suggestion to use a wicker screen as a headboard for our hulking king size bed -- our bed for which an inexpensive, conventional headboard cannot be found. I mean seriously, could Ikea not make this dumb bed in a king? Could West Elm not make prettier beds? Could craigslist not throw me a vintage bone instead of listing after listing of gross Haverty's sleigh beds? Apparently they cannot. And I can't find a wicker screen large enough to stretch behind our ginormous, now white be-duveted king bed, heretofore known as Moby Dick. Pun intended.

Anyway, here's what I'm thinking. Sort of.

I mean, how could I go wrong with a Miles Redd inspired room, featuring an awesome vintage screen as my bedding focal point?

Here's how: I have two big windows behind my bed. They are ruining my life.

So, if I use a normal size screen, then I am effectively blocking our beautiful windows. And while the mole in me approves of this idea, the sunnier, sparklier me knows it's dumb.

Even though that's exactly what's going on in this picture. Surprise! There's a window behind the bed! Yeah, I'm not fooled, either. Plus our wall is much, much longer than this one.

What I really need is a low, long screen that won't completely cover the window wall. And this entire bedroom. Hot diggity dog.

This screen would also do.

Because the necessary dimensions are so particular (at least 72" wide, and rib cage height), I'm thinking about buying one of these blank canvas screens and recovering it:

This is exactly what I suggested Elissa do when she wrote in for decorating advice, so I'm not sure how it's taken this long for me to apply the solution to my own conundrum... I'm really not too bright.

Anyway, I like the idea that this plan would allow me to pick a nutty fabric, and my white duvet and neutral wall paint will be totally understanding and supportive. Plus, it would be easy to change up the scheme when I tire of it, which will probably be about three seconds after I finish the project.

Now, I just need to commit, pick a fabric, and decide what to do about my window treatments... curtains? Roman shades? Scrap this whole idea and waffle some more?

The forum is open to suggestions.

[Miles Redd, Michael S. Smith, Trad Home, House Beautiful x 2]

Two Crazy Bedrooms and One Mayonnaise Sandwich

Yesterday I made the grueling trek into the northern wilds, home of Ikea. Land of milk and honey. Or so I thought. See, I have long been incubating radical plans to radically update our completely unradical bedroom -- our bedroom that is now headboardless, directionless, and a complete mess (if you don't have kids, judge not lest you be immediately impregnated). Before I headed to Ikea and was completely destroyed by the juggernaut that is ubiquitous Swedish decor, my plans to revolutionize sleeping through the power of psychedelic design were maybe somehow inspired by these rooms:

Minus the barfy dress.

Minus the funny face.

As I stood in front of the racks and racks and racks of duvet covers (while Ike melted down t-10 seconds to naptime), I thought about how I'm supposed to buy a blanket instead of a duvet cover, because duvet covers are so fall 2010. But all I saw were duvet covers. About 5237866 of them. And I know I probably should have gone home and bought a blanket off the interwebs, but I was under pressure from fluorescent lighting and toddler tantrums. Plus I'm tired of looking at the stupid mauge comforter (suspiciously close to this color) on our giant bed. So there I stood -- endlessly, painfully pondering the duvet cover conundrum.

First I picked this up:

And then I put it down, because it had flowery flowers on it and I suspected it would not play well with the giant black panther picture hanging beside our bed. Or the Oriental nightstands. Or the chrome bench. Or pretty much anything in that room.

I bought a white duvet cover. It's not even worth picturing. It's white.

How did my technicolor dreams turn to dust in the wind? Damn you, Ikea, for overwhelming me with your conspicuous overstocking. Whatever. I'm moving on, and I think things are headed in this direction:

Just kidding. It's pretty, but I have too much stuff to live in here.

I have a new plan. It has elements of crazy, but also supports the new white duvet cover theory formula corollary.

Alas, we'll have to discuss it ad infinitum later because I have to go to a biggo photo job right now... someone has to pay for all that crap I bought at Ikea.

Have a good Monday. Do some psycho shopping for me.

[Desire to Inspire, Elle Decor, Magnus Marding]