When we built our current home several years ago, we considered things specific to having a dog. For instance, instead of a wood floor, we opted for scratch-resistant tile in the kitchen. I just don’t know why we failed to consider specific needs for our planned child.
A year later our daughter was born and so was a new toy collection. At first, we put everything upstairs in her bedroom. That didn’t work. No one ever goes upstairs other than my 16 year-old son.
The collection grew. In the great room. That didn’t work. It’s the one room I must find spotless. Always.
Earlier when my husband and I married, his beloved blue leather couches came with him, but I opted for a microfiber sectional that better suited my assemblage of mind-numbing beige stuff. So what should have been a study became a never-once-used formal room—indeed a showcase for those blue couches.
Back to the toys.
The collection was growing fast. I was in a real pickle. I needed space for my daughter’s toys and books, but not within immediate view. Since hubby repeatedly warned against use of his blue couch room, I would be forced to improvise if I was going to appease my spotless great room OCD.
My dilemma eased some when I discovered my beige sectional could finally earn its status as a suitable replacement for the blue couches. I used the sectional to separate and hide one third of the room. The toys fit behind, and there was enough room for two children to sit and play. Problem solved.
The toys soon grew legs and migrated from their new home back to the middle of the great room. I tried everything to contain those toys; I even gave up precious kitchen cabinet space to hide them.
Finally, I’d had it. And evolution of a proper playroom began.
I bribed my son to move toy cubbies from a very pink and purple bedroom upstairs—while hubby was at work, of course. Just one wall. My husband was reasonable enough to share just one wall, I thought. I removed a few things, but all three of those blue couches remained. Problem solved.
Another Christmas. Another birthday.
One evening my husband declared he would visit his mother though the kids and I weren’t able to go. I encouraged him. You know what’s coming next, right?
I hired a painter. I removed everything from that room including two blue couches. The third and largest wouldn’t fit through the basement door. I rushed out to find cute sheers for the windows. I bought a table and four adorable little chairs. I found a slipcover for that remaining blue couch, since it had to stay there.
By the time hubby returned, a playroom had taken the place of the blue couch room. And there was no going back.
Not long after, on a Saturday afternoon, I found him lying on that covered blue couch reading a story to our daughter as she cooked “sabetti” on her pretend stovetop.
That unused blue couch room is now a little girl’s playroom. It sees more traffic than many other rooms in our home. On any given day, you’ll find grandparents coloring in that room. You’ll find aunts, uncles and cousins in that room when they visit. You’ll find my husband secretly napping while our daughter prepares a tea party in that room.
You’ll find a caffeinated mommy, sometimes writing, watching adoringly over her little girl as she grows up in that room.
Remember that dog? That dog doesn’t exist.