The light in our playroom is some of the best in our house – so it’s a treat to spend lazy Sunday’s lounging here.
Or for the 1-year-old-in-residence to “read” a book.
This room won’t always be a play room – at times I find myself anticipating the day that we can reclaim it as an adult space. Perhaps with leather club chairs, bookshelves, and a game table for poker and 1000 piece puzzles.
Yet in the same instant, I feel the panic of time slipping past. I know with utmost certainty that the moment I sink into that future leather club chair, I will mourn the playroom that it had been, and everything it signified: The messy, chaotic, perfectly imperfect years of raising our babies.