When A House Doesn't Feel Like Home

I get choked up over the weirdest things. Today, we dismantled the playroom and I feel like I've lost a really cool friend.

When we moved into our house five years ago, I declared the living room utter wasted space. "When will we ever use a living room?" I asked Mike. "We swill beer and love to hang in the den. We are not mature enough to handle a space like that. I'm turning it into a playroom for the kids." Mike protested. He leaked my plan to everyone we knew in hopes someone would talk me out of the make-over. Luckily, no husbands would get involved and, the mamas all loved my idea. So, the transformation happened. Hardwood floors were covered with colorful, spongy mats. Walls went cheery yellow. Safari pictures were hung and I painted a magnetic chalkboard on the wall. That was enough to send Mike over the edge. "What if we move? How the hell are we going to ever paint over that?" I ignored him. Oops. Can't always be right, right?

Today, the playroom was gutted. Toys were relocated. Safari animals were banished. Mats were dismantled. I got sad. For the past five years, the kids spent countless hours in that room. They'd stare out the windows, watching geese swim in the pond and deer trudge through the snow. They'd yell cheerful greetings out the windows when our neighbor walked his dog. They'd patiently wait behind the panes, watching to see which friends gathered at the common area next door to play baseball. Then, they'd race to put their shoes on and run outside to join in the fun.

No more. The playroom has been forced to grow up and become a mature space. A living room, which, by the way, is a terrible name for a space that will now be sucking the life out of this home. Except for Madan's wobbly Pac Man sketches on the magnetic chalkboard, the room is empty, devoid of any emotion or fun. It's ready to be staged for a new family to envision its potential. I wish I could tell them how many fond memories that room contains: hotly-contested Hotwheels races, infinite iterations of train track formations, countless art projects, rounds of Trouble that resulted in Madan losing and crying plus so many impromptu picnics.

This house is still our home, but as we get ready for showings, it lacks everything that made it special -- from family pictures hung with care to the little touches -- like the road painted on the basement floor -- that told visitors a little bit more about our personality and quirkiness.

There's a queer saying: "Love makes a house a home." That is probably true. But, for me, it's the eccentric additions that really make it special. At least I know this stage is temporary. Once we're in our new crib, we'll make our mark again!


Madan's Pac Man chalk renderings. No idea how I'm going to paint over that.

P.S. A few months after the playroom came to fruition, I had a few beers and pitched Mike on turning the dining room into a pool room. I got a huge, 100% smack-down on that one. I might have to reintroduce that idea in Detroit!