toy mountain

Growing up, my husband and his brother shared the smaller of two bedrooms in a cozy, Queens apartment. Due to space limitations, most of their belongings were either closeted or relegated into piles. One such accumulation, lovingly dubbed "toy mountain," bore the most coveted of childhood booty: G.I. Joe's, Transformers, He-Man and his arch nemesis, Skeletor. Over the years the stockpile has dwindled, lending it's contents to younger relatives' toy baskets and Salvation Army bins. But from time to time, my husband still waxes nostalgic over that tall mound of goodies in the corner of his bedroom.

In our apartment, our daughter has created her own "toy mountain," so to speak. It similarly rests in a corner, though one demonstrably more noticeable in our living room. While I've provided D with a basket to contain her treasures, the majority of toys usually find themselves in it's vicinity, but rarely within.

Lately it seems mountains are popping up everywhere in our home. We have Shoe Mountain at the top of the stairs, Laundry Mountain on the living room chair (do we really go through this many clothes?!), Ziploc Mountain (mainly of the sandwich and freezer varieties) under the kitchen sink...the list goes on.

I'm a big believer in everything has its place. The problem is that with just 825 square feet, we simply don't have enough places. And so there are always shirts without drawers, shoes without a closet, and toys without boxes. Amazingly, I can almost always find what I am looking for in our "organized" mess. But still, its too chaotic for comfort.

I know I shouldn't complain. We are certainly lucky to be home owners (or rather apartment owners). But I still can't help but dream of the day when a drawer or two sits empty, collecting dust.

Perhaps one day our children will reminisce together about their own "toy mountain" in our old two bedroom. Until then, as the saying goes, Bless This Mess.