It’s Tuesday morning. I walked into the house, engrossed in my thoughts.
After three days of listening to my five-year-old’s chatters, the silence is always welcoming. I sighed, feeling contented and ready to enjoy a morning of peace until I peered from the corner of my eyes… a smattering of toys with garish colours, a mish-mash of weird, inexplicable creations.
Worlds collide — Thomas the Tank Engine staring down Optimus Prime, Mrs Potato Head missing a nose, and Lego T-Rex on its back.
I looked around the house again: an assortment of knickknacks adorn my mid-century coffee table, and a wooden Kinderfeet trike has become a permanent decoration in my lounge. What a mess!!
For years, I’ve obsessed over Vogue Home and features in Architectural Digest, the type of home that screams Zen, where nothing looks out of place, and every single object in the house looks like it belongs. When my husband and I bought our first home as working professionals in our late twenties, we painstakingly ensured our house would look like something straight out of the catalogue: sleek, polished, clean. It’s like we have finally got our act together.
After my son was born, it seemed like overnight, our house was flooded with things: nappies, teething toys, baby gates, and, can you believe it, more toys! My son, the only grandson and nephew from both sides of the family, was spoilt beyond. For a while, we contained the toys in tubs and cubicles. Yet, as teethers and rattles made their way for Legos, Hot Wheels and balls, we suddenly found a play area for my son in every corner of our house.
This is unbecoming! What are we? Feral people?!
I set up toy storage systems. I reprimanded. I tried a reward system. Nothing worked. Gone are the days of my Pinterest-perfect home. For a while, I despaired. Such is parenthood.
Yet, on that Tuesday morning, as I was getting ready to dismantle and put away my son’s latest Lego creation, I couldn’t help but notice this:
The nonsensical Lego structure I held was a fire rocket that saved Toysville from the monstrous Lego T-Rex. Optimus Prime was preparing to fight Thomas the Tank Engine because the Evil T had harmed Mrs Potato.
My home, imperfect and slightly messy, is my son’s imaginary wonderland. Instead of a catalogue-worthy home, I have created a safe space for my little human to indulge in the beautiful, magical world of play (and role-play).
If Architectural Digests ever features my home, the headline for my home feature would be: lived-in and much-loved.