Once again mine and Jamie’s inability to live civilly with another adult has left us roommate-less. Well, not quite the case this time around, but in an attempt not to make matters more ill at ease than they already are, I digress. Like every other time we are left without a human to occupy our basement dwelling I come up with the brilliant idea that, HEY this could be a playroom for the kids! We could have a toy free living room and life will become glorious!
So for the millionth time, we gather up all of the toys from the living room and their bedrooms, lug them downstairs and set up the most awesome playroom that we can conjure up in our minds. There are problems we have encountered in the past with this downstairs playroom idea. These being our basement is very dark, which terrifies Lars, there is a storage area under the stairs which could provide dangerous for the inquisitive Sophie Anne, and since our children are TV hounds we need some sort of viewing aid to accompany their play.
Done and done. We hang up bright colored sheets and put in more lamps for lighting, so it doesn’t seem the least bit scary for Lars and completely block off the danger zone for Soph. I am feeling first-rate right now, thinking that my living room will once again become mine for the taking. Oh how I revel in the idea of no fingerprints on the windows, the ability to only vacuum once every few days rather than a few times a day, not to mention the bulk of their toys localized to one area (a seldom seen area to boot!)
We have even hooked up the cable to a TV we found in our storage vicinity, a place that is quickly turning out to be the beginnings of a future episode on ‘Hoarders’ but at this point I don’t care. Our unfortunate habit of keeping everything that we have ever owned has quickly assisted me in my predicament of alleviating my children’s mess from the living room. Hooray For Hoarding I say, Hooray!
Three days now, the children have occupied their new basement play area for three whole days! They are happy and I am hopeful that this time our scheming will finally pay off. At long last we have succeeded in creating an acceptable even joyous place for them to carry out playtime. Just as I am about to indulge in a noon-time glass of celebratory wine, I hear a heart stopping scream from their new sanctuary. My heart drops, because it does not sound like a regular ‘I’m annoyed with my sister’ kind of yelp that Lars usually gives into. A million things race through my head as I race towards the basement, has Sophie somehow scaled the barrier we created to the storage area? Has Lars knocked over the lamp I placed in the room to make him feel safer? It could be anything. As I near the basement, I hear a strange muffled sound coming from the far end of the room, the area in which that thousand year old TV was placed. Lars is still screaming bloody murder and Sophie sits staring at the thing, eyes wide in amazement of the odd sound it resonates.
“MAMA THERE’S A MONSTER IN THE TV! ITS GUNNA COME AND GET US!!!!!” I sprint to the television just to simply turn it off so Lars too will turn off his yelling regime, but when I try to turn it back on, the whole thing is dead. So much for my lucky find from my stockpile of junk.
I have several options at this point; put the money out for a new TV and place the eldest one from upstairs downstairs, try and teach my kids that it is not that important to have a television on at all times (this is a long shot and to be truthful, I’m not going to even attempt this one. Just thought I’d throw it in for good measure.) Or I can simply say good bye to my diminutive life of a child-free living room.
One day I will again attempt this dream of mine, perhaps sooner rather than later. I just yearn so badly for it. The suggestion does not give way to the screams of annoyance that burden my brain as I try to type these words. The kids currently find themselves coddling our upstairs television, with fruitful attention. I do hold onto the hope that someday soon I will be granted the allowance to get up out of this chair without stubbing my toe on a ‘Pony Pal’ or stepping directly on a ‘Thomas Train’ that will more than likely puncture the fragile skin beneath my foot. One day, I will have my living room back. One glorious day.