Across our house we try to maintain the cool, sophisticated shades that help us remember we're not all about the kids, but our children's colours creep through, cannonballing out of every gap, peaking cheekily around corners and out from under chairs and tables, laughing at our attempt at grown-up decor.
There are lime green and vivid blue ride-on cars on the dark-brown hardwood living room floor, revealing it as the playroom it really is. Silver swords and viking hats sit on the kitchen table alongside vases and candlesticks. Primary-colour jigsaw puzzle pieces are scattered in the front entry way, welcome people into our
Dinner time is a medley of lettuce greens and bright orange carrots, crimson radishes and mauve kidney beans, ivory rice and pasta and brown meat, as we endeavour to smoosh as many nutritionally-required foods onto one plate. Sometimes, there's a very superficial bubbly pink in a glass.
Winters, once gray, white and black are now flecked with cherry toboggans, navy winter hats with green bobbles, yellow vests embroidered with little engines, turquoise shovels against the white snow.
The black of nighttime is more welcome than ever, pulling sleep down over me like a cloak of luxurious rest.
As for my sons? They're sunshine and bulldozer yellow with splotches of chestnut mud, mint-choc-chip green dripping down sleeves, bouncy-castle red, popsicle tangerine. They're the colour of finger paints, fireworks and rocket ships.
They're every colour you see when you shine light on water.