Growing up I desperately wanted a TV in my room, but it was not allowed. My parents had one in their master and I remember how much fun it was to curl up in their bed on a Friday night to watch Donnie and Marie. There was nothing like watching TV in bed. I can vividly recall a time when I had the chicken pox and my mom moved the small black and white TV from the kitchen into my room. Being able to watch The Brady Bunch and The Monkees, while I was all snug, made that incessant itch almost worth it. Almost.
Of course, once I was well, bedroom television privileges were revoked and that sucker was promptly returned to its countertop perch.
Fast forward to my first house as a wedded wife, I couldn't wait to get a TV in the master (if you can call such a tiny space that), we watched it regularly. That box was always on, whether we were falling asleep to it, waking up to it or listening to it while getting ready or dusting.
I was addicted.
It came in pretty handy when the babies were little, too. Barney episodes, Baby Mozart, Blue's Clues and the like provided the perfect company for early morning risers, while mommy and daddy squeezed in another thirty minutes of sleep on a weekend morning. That TV kept everyone in bed, at least until the sun came up!
Then we moved.
Of course, we put the TV in the master again. The kids, now preschoolers, were sleeping in on their own and with a new teaching position, I didn't have time to watch TV while I was getting ready or cleaning up. I was all business. As time went on, the kids started staying up later and we would watch the tube together, in the family room.
The TV screen was remained dark. The box was unused for months at a time. Eventually, I put the remote in the drawer. I think the batteries actually died.
Then one day, I looked over at that ugly, dusty eyesore and decided it was time for it to go. I was paying for a cable box that was never used and let's face it, TVs are not a decorator's dream.
It offended me.
My room was so perfect and even though the unit was petite and white, it always looked out of place. The bedroom was supposed to be our country cottage sanctuary, our pretty escape from the rest of the world.
If you Google the topic of bedroom TVs, debate abounds. I really don't care about scientific findings and sociological or marital studies. I just know what works for us and that, most importantly, it offended my sense of aesthetics greatly.
It was not an item we loved or needed, so we disconnected it and put it in the basement. It's be gone for almost a year and I don't miss it a bit.
I love the room now.
The kids used to love to flop on my bed and watch their shows and will occasionally bemoan its absence.
Surprisingly, however, it's our guests, friends and family, people that don't even live here, who find it most unsettling that we don't have a TV in our room. It's like a giant character flaw.
Where is it? Where do you watch TV? What do you do when you get into bed? How do you keep up with your shows? It's 2015, life revolves around TV, where is yours?
Ok, truth time...are you ready?
I don't really like TV. I don't watch HGTV anymore, I am House Huntered out and have never tuned in to a Fixer Upper episode. Not even one. I have never seen Downton Abbey (insert your gasp here) and I get my news online. Occasionally, I watch something alongside my husband or kids, but it's rare and never in the bedroom.
So why is it necessary and moreover, why do people care?
I guess it's human nature.
I guess it all goes back to one of my earliest pieces, decorate for yourself. I live in the house and it should work well for me, look pleasing for me and function well for me.
Now it does.
Um, and reality check, if I needed to watch something in my bed, I can always pull it up on my phone or tablet and then tuck the technology away, where it can't be seen!
Now I can sleep!
Do you have a TV in your bedroom?
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