Playrooms are actually pits made out of toys. Located in a forgotten room that you want your kids to get lost in to give you a moment of freedom or peace and quiet. However they actually turn into these gigantic messes that you find yourself lost in cleaning. Crap from wall to wall.
Oddly enough my kid’s playroom doubles as my workout area. This morning, as I mastered the poses of downward dog and warrior two I looked around at the sleeping chaos around me as my kids were still in their beds. Gross. A forgotten pink toothbrush lay just peeking out from under our garage sale find lazy boy. Stale Cheerios spot the carpet around the edges of a cabinet swelling with toys. Mickey Mouse hangs from the synthetic hair of a pony while his clubhouse lay open and disheveled across the room. In the middle of the room is a small trampoline frayed and tattered from daily jumping. Under the trampoline a puzzle piece that belongs in a box that no longer exists. A play kitchen stands against the wall holding odds and ends, from fake plastic food to magnetic letters to what my kids deemed acceptable on their menu the previous day. Captain America, Spiderman and Hulk are having a debate on a pink fleece chair.
To the untrained eye these items strewed across this open room may look like a land of misfit toys from a fairy tale, but to my kids it’s their world, their treasures, their cherished pieces of childhood. As much as this room drives my organized driven, control freak mind crazy I relish in the love and innocence smeared across every inch. There are definitely days that I want to take a couple of large black trash bags and fill them with half of this room, but after doing a “summer cleaning” of this room to sell at a consignment sale I found that I was just as attached to these misfit pieces of wonder as my children were. Each piece carries a memory and/or milestone of my kids or a moment that solidify our bond as a family through play.