Should I Finish My Playroom Mural or Paint Over It?

Let’s talk about unfinished projects. Specifically, the type that involve wildly ambitious plans, bursts of creative energy, a bit of paint in your hair, and then… life happens.

That’s how I ended up with a mostly-complete Julia Donaldson mural in what used to be a nursery, that’s now a half-finished playroom, which then became a bedroom, and might actually just be a storage unit with bunk beds at this point. The mural was going to be magical. Enchanting. A full-blown storybook wonderland.

Now it’s mostly hidden behind furniture, my son is more interested in Ninja Turtles, and I’m standing here asking the question: Do I keep going and finish it anyway, or do I paint over it and move on?

It All Started with Bunnies and Big Ideas

This room was once the nursery. The kind with delicate bunny rabbit wallpaper and soft tones that whispered “shhh, the baby’s sleeping” even when the baby was absolutely not sleeping. It was sweet, calm, and entirely innocent, like a time capsule of that early parenting phase where everything smells faintly of talcum powder and you spend 80% of your day wiping something.

But babies become toddlers, and toddlers grow teeth, opinions, and an ability to launch toys with terrifying accuracy. So the nursery had to evolve. I peeled off the bunny wallpaper (this wallpaper was very high-quality and thick, so I managed to reuse the wallpaper and send it to my sister for her girls bedroom), and stood looking at blank walls that begged for something more… adventurous.

I didn’t want to just paint the walls a colour. Oh no. I had a vision. This was going to be a mural, a full-room landscape where Julia Donaldson characters could come to life. Something my kids would remember. Something that would turn bedtime stories into something they could quite literally see all around them.

So I painted a background: soft blue skies, cloud details and rolling yellow hills. It was cheerful, open-ended, and full of possibility. The idea was simple, I could add characters gradually, as and when I had time. A clever little trick to make it look like it was meant to be a work-in-progress. Ha.

Zog Takes Flight… Sort Of

Zog was my first character. Big, bold, orange, and full of charm. That’s also when I learned an important lesson: if you don’t paint a white base layer under your character, the background bleeds through and everything looks a bit haunted. But once I got the technique right, Zog looked great. He really did.

Then came the Snail and the Whale, and a few other friendly faces. It was all coming together. Slowly, because life is full of interruptions and snack requests and tiny humans who desperately need you the moment you pick up a paintbrush, but it was happening. And I felt proud.

Until my boy needed his own room, mostly for my own sanity, if I’m honest. He and his sister had been capering about far too much in the middle of the night, waking each other up and then the rest of us for good measure. The kind of nocturnal chaos that slowly chips away at your will to live (or at the very least, your ability to function before coffee). So, the playroom had to grow up a bit. We reshuffled, reassigned, and gave him his own space.

In came the bed. Not a full bunk, but one of those mid-height, raised ones that sits right in the centre of the wall, perfect for tiny dens underneath, but absolute murder for a mural. Just like that, Zog and his pals were cut in half. Still there technically, but now peaking over a bed. Lucky my boy is obsessed with dinosaurs and dragons, otherwise it would have been pure nightmare fuel for him.

Wall Number Two: This Time For Sure

But I wasn’t defeated. No, I simply adjusted the plan. I moved to another wall. That wall wasn’t taken. I’d learned from my past mistakes. This time, I would add the Room on the Broom dragon. Big and glorious, curling around the corner, almost triumphant.

And then, in what felt like a cruel twist of fate, his bedroom furniture needed changed. There is now a wardrobe right in front of it. As if the house was conspiring against me.

There was a point, somewhere between wrestling with paint pots and furniture placement, where I just sat on the floor (probably on a rogue piece of LEGO) and thought: what exactly am I doing?

The Ninja Turtle Era Begins

You see, my son has moved on. He’s growing up. Julia Donaldson is slowly being replaced by comic book turtles in masks, and a firm belief that wall space is meant for posters and shelves of “cool stuff”, not hand-painted dragons that only Mum cares about.

So here I am, with half a mural, most of which is hidden behind heavy furniture, and a child who is actively requesting to hang his Ninja Turtles poster.

It’s not just a practical question. It’s an emotional one.

Do I finish it anyway, knowing no one will really see it, and that I'll be the only one that cares?

Do I preserve it, like some kind of secret artwork that lives behind furniture like a forgotten Banksy?

Or do I accept that this phase is over, pick up the roller, and start fresh?

When Plans Don’t Go to Plan (Because, Life)

This mural was meant to be a labour of love. A creative outlet. A lasting memory of that sweet in-between phase, when books like “The Gruffalo” ruled bedtime and your kids still climbed into your lap without being asked.

And for a moment, it was exactly that.

But life has a funny way of rearranging your plans. Sometimes literally. In this case, with a bunk bed and a wardrobe.

It’s such a small thing, really. A mural. A paint job. But it’s also not small, because it represents one of those many invisible shifts in parenting. The ones that creep up on you quietly. One day you’re painting Zog on a nursery wall, the next you’re arguing over whether a dinosaur poster can go above eye level.

There’s no big announcement when your child outgrows something. No grand finale. They just stop asking for the storybook. Or stop noticing the painted dragon on the wall. And it’s always more bittersweet than you expect.

The Guilt of Letting Go

I’ll admit it, part of me feels guilty. Like I’ve abandoned something. I started this mural with such purpose and optimism. Doesn’t that mean I should finish it? Even if no one can see it? Or will painting over it remove the guilt I feel every time I see it?

But also: does it matter?

Maybe this is one of those things where the effort was more important than the outcome. My kids saw me painting. They saw the characters come to life. We talked about who should go where. It was a moment, one we had, not one we need to keep frozen in time forever.

The Messy Middle of Parenthood

I think so much of parenting, and honestly, life in general, lives in this weird middle ground between starting something and finishing it. We have these Pinterest-worthy ideas, these dreams of how things will look, how they’ll feel.

And then real life shows up, with toys and posters and furniture that ruins your angles. With kids who change their minds. With bunk beds that crush your dreams, literally and figuratively.

But maybe that’s okay. Maybe the magic isn’t in the finished product, it’s in the attempt. The mess. The half-painted wall behind a wardrobe that only you remember was ever supposed to be a dragon.

So… What Now?

Honestly? I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.

Part of me wants to paint over it. Give the room a fresh start. Let my son choose what his space looks like now, not what it used to be.

But another part of me wants to leave it there, quietly existing behind the scenes. Like a secret message to myself that says, “You tried. You made something beautiful, even if no one else can see it right now.”

So I’m putting it out there, into the wilds of the internet.

Have you ever started something with all the right intentions, only to have it go completely off course?

Have you ever clung to a project because it felt like you should finish it, even when your heart had moved on?

Did you keep going, or did you give yourself permission to let go? (and hopefully let go of the guilt of an unfinished project)

Because sometimes parenting isn’t about finishing the mural. Sometimes, it’s just about being willing to repaint the walls.

P.S. the Gruffalo Wardrobe will hopefully still live on for a little while in my daughters room.