Much to our parents’ chagrin, we live in a smaller house than either of us called home as children. It’s a bungalow, the third bedroom of which is quite narrow and mostly serves as a way to get to the back door. This house was built in 1946, and that date alone should give you some idea of the amount of closet space we have. We are fortunate to have a full-height basement, although the lack of insulation and the way the ductwork was designed have made it a warm-weather-only destination. The front entryway is small and its closet door is placed most inconveniently. We have upgraded the kitchen and the bathroom, both of which involved a good deal of sledgehammer action, but otherwise the dimensions and features of the house are largely unchanged.
All this by way of explaining that we don’t have a dedicated playroom or even a “family room” that is separate from the living room. The living room has to function as a playroom, entertaining space, laundry-folding station, and a spot to read. The dining room is equal parts computer space, crafting spot, and eating area.
Now, call me crazy, but I’d like to live in a home we can all enjoy. A home that doesn’t look like the big-box toy store just threw up in the living room. A home where kid stuff and grownup stuff mingles without the space looking either juvenile or unfriendly to kids.
I think that, inspired by K’s school – a Jewish Montessori program – I’ve figured out how to achieve that. I’ve decided to Montessori my home. Yes, that’s a verb now. I just decided.