The Hidden Playrooms & Where it All Began...

Growing up in Tennessee, Wyoming and Georgia brought new adventures and environments to my childhood.

In Tennessee, my father ran our family furniture store that had been in business since 1903. We lived in a beautiful 3 story house on Wellington. My mother was a stay-at-home mom raising 4 girls with the occasional help from Deloris. A maid, a nanny? Not quite sure, but either way she was my friend. I loved coming home from Kindergarten with a big hug from Deloris and a PB&J on the table.

Our house was immaculate, beautiful and well furnished. My eldest sister lived on the 3rd floor. It was originally an attic that my parents remodeled into a large room, bathroom and playroom with an enchanting staircase. Now, the other playroom was hidden. From my room, I would crawl through my shared closet, sneak through my next eldest sister’s room, stealing some licks of her jawbreaker along the way, then walk through her Jack and Jill bathroom into my baby sister’s nursery. Army crawling across the floor to not wake her, I would slowly creek open her closet door and shut it quickly behind me. Phew! I’d made it. The other playroom had a secret entrance through this closet. A tiny 4 foot door.

I entered paradise. A tilted ceiling leaning to a large window seat and a narrow hidden staircase that extended around the corner, down to the laundry room. I played here all day, rocking my baby dolls, watching it rain, while coloring in the window seat and playing trolls on the ABC rug. I often “borrowed” my sister’s pristine American Girl Dolls for a tea party that ended with broken porcelain dishes and new hair styles for Molly and Felicity.

Obviously, she’s never let me forget it. All this happened in just one of my 3 playrooms, my favorite by far. One day, I’ll never forget entering my playroom to find my baby doll on the floor and something else in her bed…a raccoon! Yikes! That gave me the heebee jeebees for quite a while. So, I moved on to my under the stairs playhouse. I was in kindergarten heaven…until 1st grade.

Then, we moved. Boxes and boxes stacked safely on our high end, heavy furniture. We had 4,986 sq ft of living space packed into the moving trucks. All of which ended up in storage as we camped out in a single wide trailer with a built on living room. A Morman man who had taken his family on a mission trip for a year, let us rent out his home in exchange for caring for his farm. Here we stayed while our father became a Cowboy in Wyoming. Midlife crisis in the making. I shared a room with two of my sisters. We made the most of it, having never had bunk beds before. Obviously there was no playroom, but the farm and all it’s weird buildings, single trailers of hoarded storage became a never ending land of strange exploration. Thankfully there was a trampoline in the backyard and a tire swing in the barn.

We had late nights of delivering calves, fun days of running from goats, ducking from horses as we rode on the hay trailer, hoping they wouldn’t mistake our hair for hay again. Then, having competitions to see who could run the farthest up the A-frame roof of another random building on the farm. In the winter, we’d often miss the school bus as our front door was frozen shut. My mother would grab the hair dryer and melt the ice until we could pull it open. We rolled like marshmallows to the end of the driveway in hopes to catch the bus.

One of my most grateful memories of riding the bus, with my older sister, was the day I had a ring of chocolate around my lips from the Oreos I had eaten. The boys in the seat behind us started laughing and making fun of me. I began to cry from embarrassment. My older sister, who hardly spoke a word unless she was quoting the encyclopedia, stood up in the seat and laid into the boys behind us. I’d never heard her be so loud and strong. She put those kids in their place and they never said another word to me. I felt loved and protected in this new world, next to my quiet older sister.

We finally bought a new house in town. A 3,000ish square foot home. As one can imagine, with 2,000 less square feet, our beautiful Tennessee home was now in boxes piled high in the garage, attic and basement. My parents finished the basement with an office for my father’s outfitting business, a room for my sister, a small bathroom and a sewing closet for my mother.

My mother was kind enough to let my younger sister and I take over the living room for days on end with our Barbie Wonderland. The sofa was a mansion, the recliners were castles and the orientaial rugs made great roads for convertibles and RVs. The guest bathroom made for a neighborhood hot tub (wish that was thing) and my mom’s garden tub was for lavish trips to the beach. If we weren't immersed in Barbie World, we were playing outside on the oddly dangerous, neighborhood play set.

Now, when winter came along, I began my hunt for new playrooms. I loved dreaming up new spaces and diving into imagination land. My parents cleared the 2 car garage out just enough to fit one car in the winter. This gave way to my dream of a roller skating rink. So I set to it, asked for the car to be back out and began going through boxes, rearranging, discarding, condensing and decorating. A few hours later, I had made enough of an impact to crank up my new Boombox with the very first NOW! CD and began roller blading in winter with my sisters. It was fun while it lasted, but places like this seem to reestablish themselves as storage space from one activity to the next.

Therefore, my elementary self moved to a new space. The attic above the garage. My favorite part about this room was yet again, the secret door. To find the attic one must find their way through the jungle of my mothers closet. In the back corner, a hidden door. My mother is a champion hider and shelf builder. She had decked out the attic with sturdy wood shelves all around. However, this seemed to be the “Toss It” room. Things from the shelves were in a state of disarray as they could barely be reached due to the build up in the front of them. There were steps down into the attic from my mother’s closet…but you wouldn’t know they were there. We were monkeys on point, tip toeing atop the piles of loved and wanted things, upon things, upon things. I knew somewhere in the attic was a beautiful child’s chaise lounge and my ABC rug. I had a vision of a room in which I could play house. The decluttering marathon began, and in I dove, literally.

I didn’t yet have the concept of a home for everything, or the common saying: “A place for everything and everything in its place.” I just went to work rearranging the clutter within the attic. I didn’t move much out, as I assumed this was its home and A LOT lived here. I organized as much as I could, making use of every shelf inch and finally cleared the floor…only on one side of the room. That was enough for me, I just wanted somewhere new to play.

My family was always amazed at the reveal. We’d walk in together in awe, just breathing in the new air. We’d twirl around and have a seat, gazing at how everything was put away in an orderly fashion. I’d give the tour and tell my tidying story. With a beaming smile I couldn’t help glow at the excitement and relief we all had exploring our new room. The possibilities seemed endless and our minds grew with ideas.

The day after my13th birthday, our move to Georgia began. I don’t know how I managed to miss out on the packing, but I guess my grandparents were flying me to join them at our giant family reunion. I was the single representative of my father's family of 6. Odd. After the reunion, I moved to the farm in Georgia. My father had been there for a few months already, while my sisters and I finished the school year in Wyoming. I guess I was there to help him with the horses, or meet his girlfriend and her daughter. Whatever type of dysfunction, I was just a new girl hoping for friend in the South. Baggage…somehow it all ties together, but I’ll unpack that box on another day.

Looking back, I’m sorry I missed the time of closure, as my Mom packed up the house in Wyoming. All I remember is my Dad flying out at the end of the summer to help my mom drive the 2 moving trucks back to Georgia.

The uHauls arrived the day before I started Middle School. We began the daunting task of trying to fit our original Tennessee lifestyle of 4,986 sq ft, into a double wide trailer. Why do I feel like my life was spiraling downward? Our houses just kept getting smaller and my naivety was fading. Our double wide modular home was placed on a beautiful, 2 million dollar farm. The farm however, was not ours.

It felt cool to live on a beautifully maintained farm with our horses in view from the backyard. I loved my new room and my mother did a wonderful job of decorating with her beautiful furniture and decor. It was stunning on the inside. Our neighbors were kind enough to give us storage space in their warehouse to hold our excess things. We placed some boxes there that hadn’t been opened since they were originally packed from our Tennessee home in 1995. Our storage seemed to have a life of it’s own, just following along from move to move.

We were only supposed to be renting this house for a year or so, until we bought a bigger home in a nearby neighborhood. While we lived there, with no basement, no garage and no attic, the sitting room in my parent’s bedroom became storage. The room was bigger than a nook, but half the size of a regular room. There was a daybed in there with a trundle, I guess for when my maternal grandmother came to visit. The bed quickly became piled high with blankets, bedding, dresses and who knows what else.

The room was supposed to be my mother’s sewing room. She is an incredible seamstress. She sewed costumes, tutus and leotards for our ballets, musicals, church plays and equestrian events. When my eldest sister was crowned Miss Wyoming, my mom tailored all her suits and even made the dresses or costumes as needed for the Miss America pageant. I used to love sewing doll clothes alongside my mother. Sewing was my mother’s happy place, but unfortunately, she sacrificed her happy place as the “Toss It” room. “Toss it in the sewing room” was a much too often used phrase.

I cleaned this room out on several occasions, certainly when my grandparents were coming to visit. I know it stressed my mom out trying to live in a smaller space than she was ever used to. Our lives were highly active and we had everything we needed and more, but not a place for everything. I loved feeling my mother smile when she’d see her sewing room was back. Her whole body relaxed and her eyes glistened. However, it didn’t take long for this empty space to be erased, along with the smile on my mother’s face.

* * * * *

That’s when I started to realize the relationship between family, things, feelings and energy. We were all embarrassed by these types of rooms in our houses & hearts. Shut the door and don’t let anyone in! Hide your family secrets! Dysfunction, pain and the past is more easily avoided when voided spaces are cram full of memories and To Do Lists. What are we really hold on to?

During my teenage years, my neighbors, Zac and Michael, were my best friends. However, I carried this weird feeling of embarrasment and subordination, knowing their family was storing ALL our extra stuff in their warehouses. That was not a healthy feeling for me as teenage girl, but that’s another story. So, somehow, our stuff sat in their building for 5 years, I was now 18. How had this stuff followed us for so long? Through yard sales and donations, we still had more than we had room for at the time. It was draining and toxic, depressing and overwhelming.

Is all that stuff worth this? Is this what it was meant for; to drain the very life out of us, while it loses itself to dust? Are there other things we could be thinking about or was this a mental tactic of avoidance?

At one time it must have brought us joy, but now, the hope of it bringing us joy once again, coming back to life, is a total loss. The negative outcome of worrying about these items, stressing over the clutter, distracting our minds with it. The energy to constantly reorganize, the toxicity of frustration and embarrassment, the feeling of never being settled or satisfied, the expectation of children treasuring these objects in their future, and the let down that comes with reality. The cost of storing and moving over decades. The mind capacity to think of each object, where it is supposed to go, beating yourself up for it becoming damaged. Depressed over what could have been; missing a former life. Losing the space you pay for with a mortgage that could make room for hobbies…losing your joy.

Imagine yourself at the point of purchase, did you tell yourself that this item must be kept forever? Did you buy it because the price was right? Did you take into account the square footage it would take in your life, and how much it would cost after decades of storing it? Be thankful for the memories that is brought and the stability that you could afford to purchase when you did.

If your past self knew how these items might drain on your life today in either storage or clutter, would that be reassuring, comforting? Or did it serve its purpose and bring you joy? If its time has passed, then let it go. Either for a new life on its own or for the sake of your heart and relationships.

“Everything has a home” and “Home is where the heart is”. Is your heart a home squeezing everything in and busting at the seams?

Every item in our life is not meant to be cherished forever. There is a season for everything and everything has a season. First and foremost we must treasure our mental health, relationships, time and peace of mind.

* * * *

The one year we were supposed to live in the double wide, turned into 7 long years and a world of broken promises for my mother. I moved out after graduating high school, packing up my Dodge Ram with all the cute dormroom bedding and decor my mother helped me buy. We all cried at my departure, my school just 3 hours away. I love my family, but I was ready to start my own life.

It’s funny how similar relationships have a way of following you. I was going through a rough break up in college when a good friend of mine said I could stay with his family in the next town over. I just needed a break from campus. His family had always been so kind and welcoming. He told me I could have his room for the week. I never imagined what would be behind the door of this clean shaven, well dressed, cool kid from school. I opened the door to a floor I would have to ninja jump across to reach the bed. I was shocked.

I think I was even more surprised by the fact that he seemed unphased to let me stay in his room. How was he not embarrassed or apologizing for the utter clutter? Kudos to his confidence.

And so…after asking for permission, I preoccupied my mind and distracted my broken heart by decluttering his room. After 2 days, I surprised him with a home for all his things, a floor he could see and a bedroom with his treasured items on display. His beautiful life story there for all to see. I was energized, and his family was thankful.

Little did I know that my childhood had set the stage for a career and hobby, I’ve loved ever since…bringing new life to unused, messy spaces!

To be continued…

Madeline Olson

“Life isn’t easy, so make it an adventure!”