Space retainer

Is it only me . . . or do most people who buy houses with extra bedrooms eventually live to regret it? My mom was the main reason we purchased our current home. She had suffered a stroke and needed someone to keep an eye on her. Now, my mother and I have always understood one another; we are birds of a feather who very much appreciate separate nests (each with its own bathroom!)

Unfortunately, living with two young boys doesn't do much for a senior's much needed peace and quiet. Given that both of my boy’s brains are coated with Teflon when it comes to hearing "Keep it down up there!" (The instruction sticks but only for a moment) I knew it was just a matter of time before Nana would be looking for a nice little apartment of her own – in an adult building.

I did give my mom the courtesy of waiting until her moving van had at least pulled away from the curb before descending on the recently vacated room, my fingertips twitching in anticipation, and my mouth watering over the extra closet space. I realized later that history had repeated itself but reversed our roles. When I was a young women moving out to live on her own for the first time, my mom kissed me goodbye with a tear in her eye and a sledgehammer in her hand. Quicker than you can say 'renovation', my childhood bedroom had become a dressing room.

Scientists tell us that nature abhors a vacuum and, apparently, so does a growing family. Any big empty space just calls out to be filled. It only took our little group less than a year to fill up a double garage (whose pristine floor has never been sullied by car tires). If we keep up this pace we’ll be totally displaced by our posessions by the time the kids start high school and evenings will find us drawing straws for who gets to sleep in the van .

No one can say I don't try, though. I do a thorough culling of the clutter every six months. These occasions find me crawling around on all fours, digging in closets, and sorting through drawers looking for items to ‘age’. These toys and other knick-knacks are hidden away until they are forgotten and then they’re donated to a local charity to sell. It's only rarely that the boys find the stash and I'll hear indignant cries of "Hey, I wanted to keep this!" (once reclaimed, the precious item will be found a week later discarded under a bed)

My problem is with Happy Meal toys. No matter how many times I bag those incredibly lame lumps of plastic, more seem to take their place! I’m not usually a superstitious person, but I suspect that MacDonald’s has programmed these toys to come alive after dark and infiltrate houses where their numbers have been depleted. One night, I’m going to get up for a drink of water and be cornered by a hostile herd of ‘My Little Ponies’.

Giddy up!