Taking back the living room

 By Phil Stott

So my mother-in-law-Maeve's "Nana"-visited us over Memorial Day weekend and, as seems to be a pattern when you only see your relatives once in a while, identified an area where Meghan and I had given a little too much sway to Maeve. Fortunately for us, it was nothing major, and nothing to do with Maeve's behavior or development. It was, however, something that had been tugging at my subconscious, and nagging me for a solution. In short, we'd given over most of our living room to Maeve's toys, meaning that it had begun, as my mother-in-law put it, to look like a branch of Toys R Us. And it's not like we had that much room to begin with.

The thing is, I know exactly how the problem started, and I was happy with it at the time. With a newborn, there's no point in having a playroom or separate space allocated for toys and the like; you need to keep an eye on them at all times, so it makes sense to have a few things to hand that they can play with in the room where you're most comfortable and spend most of your time. In our case, that meant storing toys in a basket by the TV-an area that later became a de facto dumping ground for any and every toy that came Maeve's way-even as they became too big and way too numerous for the basket. As such, until last weekend, the major material in our living room was brightly colored plastic, in many different shapes and sizes-from rocking giraffes to dolls houses-and the place just never looked completely tidy, let alone like a house where two adults also lived.

As I mentioned above, both Meghan and I knew that this was something of a problem-we just hadn't figured out what to do about it. Or, at least, I hadn't. Meghan had a plan that I'd half listened to and then forgotten about, as the amount of work involved seemed like way too much effort-cleaning out a large closet under our stairs, furnishing it as a storage/playroom, and (the hardest part) finding new homes for all the junk that had been in there.

Once Meghan's mom arrived last week, however, I knew the game was over. Suddenly it was two people willing to do something about the problem against only my apathy, and I was easily outmaneuvered. That meant I spent a good part of my holiday weekend lifting and carrying stuff, assembling IKEA furniture, and, um, cursing as I racked up the usual litany of scrapes and injuries that seem to accompany any hands-on home improvement task. (One saving grace: I did get out of the torment of the IKEA trip by volunteering to stay home and supervise a sleeping daughter-a task that saw me catch up on some much-needed mindless internet gaming.)

Anyway, long story short: we now have a bona fide playroom for Maeve, and I can't believe the difference it's made to our house. I haven't tripped over a toy or stepped on a LEGO in my bare feet all week. It's like being on vacation! More importantly, though, Meghan and I have what feels like an oasis of adult calm in our own home again: a room where we're not constantly staring at toys even as we try to watch a movie; a place that we feel comfortable inviting other adults into, without having to apologize for the toys strewn everywhere. It's one of the best things we've done in a while, and it reminded me of an important rule that I find all too easy to forget: that being a parent doesn't have to mean giving up life as you know it. Well, that, and another one: if you've got stuff in a closet that you haven't used, thought about or even seen for over a year, it's probably safe to get of it.