I was once one of those women, naive and ignorant.
Buying furry teensy baby shoes with satin lining and engraved leather soles instead of something off the registry for my expecting friends. Eyeing the family at the restaurant whose child was littering the floor with pasta and trying to gag down my food after seeing said child’s pureed sweet potato face. Feigning a look of not-digust when entering a home with plastic, primary-colored toys strewn about like wreckage.
I was a childless snob. **side note: in my defense, I was in my early 20s and had no clue…but older/wiser Mommy me grimaces at such judgmental memories.**
Here’s the thing — I wanted my friends to STICK to the registry. My kids TRASH restaurants and any other public place I take them to. And I have TONS of plastic brightly-colored and in no way coordinating with my house toys…but they are not strewn about.
That is my line. There will be no toys strewn, do you understand me? There is a special place – a bright, cheery, schoolish organized prison where the toys live and it is called the playroom. I feel so strongly about parents of toddlers having a playroom that my own 2 kids (now almost 3 & 4) SHARE a bedroom just so the configuration would work in our home.
The playroom can be a rainbow hued chaos zone and mommy will be just fine as soon as she closes the door and inhales her special juice, ok hunny? Now go back to your bunkbed please.
ps: i desperately need to take better pics – these were from an old nighttime shoot with poor lighting. meh.