Because Mama Rules

Let’s get one thing straight—when it came to decorating the house, I had Mama Rules. And Rule #1? Mama picks the colors.

When I was a kid, my “choices” were laughable. I got to pick between yellow and red… or yellow and red. I’m pretty sure those weren’t even my choices. They were just the two colors my mom picked out of her pea-brain. So yes, my bedroom looked like it was sponsored by Heinz (you know – ketchup and mustard).

It wasn’t until I hit my teenage years that I finally got to have a say in my space. And oh, the thrill of actual choices! I could finally pick something that didn’t scream hotdog stand.

So when I became a parent, I did what many of us do: I made the rules. And those rules included color palettes, design choices, and general veto power. I picked out their themes, their bedding, their walls—everything—at least until middle school. That’s when I began loosening the reins. A little.

Jessica, the youngest, got the most freedom. Maybe I was tired. Maybe I was evolving. Either way, when it came time to decorate her room, she had full creative control—any color, any combo, zero input from me. Her walls were her playground. Neon green? Go for it. Glitter? Fine. I just closed the door and reminded myself that she was expressing herself, not committing a crime against good taste.

The boys, though? Their choices came with guardrails. We stuck to strong, simple, Mama-approved colors. Grey, black, white, red—it was a nice, coordinated look. When Brad moved into his own room, I gave it a more grown-up vibe: black, tan, white, and brown. Still masculine. Still neutral. Still very on brand for a house run by a woman with a color-coded planner.

Now let’s be clear: posters were never allowed directly on the walls. If you wanted to hang something, I’d gladly put up a bulletin board. That way, you could change it up without turning your room into a thumbtack graveyard. Personalization? Yes. Wall-destroying chaos? No thank you.

When Brad went off to college, he finally had complete control over how he decorated. And let me tell you—it took every ounce of my being not to add my two cents. I saw the choices, I had thoughts, but I kept my mouth shut. (Mostly.) His room, his choice.

But then came the twist.

After graduation, Brad moved back home and into his old bedroom. All good… until he decided that he should also get to redecorate the basement. Ummmm—wrong idea. I mean, he’d had freedom, yes. But let’s not get confused. Still my house. Still my rules.

And then—oh, then—he hit me with this:
“Mom, I thought you always said this is OUR house.”

Oof. Direct hit.

And okay, maybe I had said that. Maybe I meant it, too. But in that moment, I had to remind both of us:
Yes, it’s our house…
with Mama Rules.

Now that Brad’s officially moved out on his own, I’m trying to gently guide him toward a cohesive color palette. You know—something that flows from room to room. Not just a random blue room here, a green room there. I’m offering helpful suggestions like any normal, non-controlling mother would.

Unfortunately, his younger brother has thrown a wrench into things by declaring that some of my ideas are “too girly.” (Insert dramatic eye roll here.) As a result, my contributions aren’t exactly being requested with the same enthusiasm anymore.

And it still kills me that Brad refuses to let me put a patterned bedspread in his bedroom. The room is blue and grey with a solid navy comforter. That’s it. No texture, no flair, no visual interest. Just… navy.
BORING.

But hey, deep down I know this is part of the process. Decorating is never just about furniture or paint—it’s about growing up, expressing yourself, and learning when to let go. Even if it means watching your son commit to a solid navy bedspread like it’s the peak of design. I may not get the final say anymore, but let’s be clear: the spirit of Mama Rules still lives on—quietly, stubbornly, and with excellent taste.

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