The toys are picked up for once, except for the stuffed ice cream cone the cat left in the middle of the floor. The children are taking their afternoon naps. I hear the gentle rush of the furnace blowing warm air through the vent behind me. It’s quiet enough to hear the wall clock ticking. The sunlight filtering in through the bay window softly brightens the walls of my living room.

I still love the color I chose for these walls: sky blue, with a slate accent wall to match the kitchen. It was like a breath of fresh air to cover up the browns and yellows left behind by the previous homeowners. I carefully pulled the masking tape off the baseboards and ceiling to admire the crisp lines of the final product. It felt bright, peaceful, and like it was finally ours.

Four years later, the paint has chipped off the doorways where we regularly put up safety gates. The soft blue is marked by a few green spots left over from the night my son got a little too creative with a marker. Family pictures hang behind the couch and above the toy shelf, held there with small nails, reminding me how fast the children are growing.

These walls held the moment my son first latched and successfully nursed, the way he fell asleep in my arms with his belly full of my milk, and how I sat and held him, so proud of us, savoring the cuddles now that I didn’t have to pump. They held his first, second, and third birthday parties with all four of his grandparents in attendance. They’ve held the times he puts on his guitar or turns on his keyboard and sings Good God Almighty.

These walls held the night my husband and I spent scrolling through lists of girls’ names to make sure we both loved the same one. They held the moment my daughter took her first steps, just for me, then fell into my arms and beamed with pride. They’ve held her many overzealous attempts at befriending our cats.

This room is the place where my children have started their growing-up. It has housed many types of moments: quiet, exciting, tense, mundane, and chaotic. But here, while the children are sleeping in their rooms and the autumn sunshine drifts into even the corners of the room, I mostly remember the sweet things:

Birthday balloons and Christmas presents. My son building towers for my daughter to knock over. Her giggles and squeals. His rambunctious creativity. Hugs and contact naps and two children climbing on me at once. The way our family experiences ever-present love in a room I painted blue.

This post is part of a blog hop with Exhale—an online community of women pursuing creativity alongside motherhood, led by the writing team behind Coffee + Crumbs. Click here to view the next post in the series “Mellifluous”.