Is there a room that sold you on your house?
There was for us.
The instant we all saw this room, we knew this was the house that would become our home.
A dream bedroom and playroom, custom made for a little boy and with features like built-in storage and bookshelves, an adorable mural, a chalkboard, a clubhouse and two closets. that made his mama’s heart swoon.
It was love at first sight. We knew this was the perfect place for our boy to grow up.
This is one of those two cup of coffee (or two glasses of wine) posts with lots of photos. And you may need a tissue for those bits where I get mushy and nostalgic about childhood.
Welcome to Jackson’s bedroom and playroom.
Here are a few photos to give you an overview of the space.
Here, you can can a glimpse of the playroom which the previous homeowners decorated with a North Carolina sports mural.
Thank goodness they were Carolina fans, or we would have had some painting to do.
Go Tar Heels!
I don’t know what to say about the Carolina Panthers.
Jackson’s bedroom is truly a reflection of his passions and interests.
There are dinosaurs, dinosaurs everywhere.
On the bed.
Beside the bed in a repurposed wooden bolt box.
Hanging out atop a bookcase.
This is Resa the T-Rex, Jackson’s best friend and superhero sidekick, and the rest of the Kota and Pals gang. Meet Terry, the wisecracking pteranodon who’s’ always making trouble; Paris-Paris, the baby parasaurolophus; Belle, the giggly stegosaurus; Stomper Heddington Shakespeare, the prim and proper British triceratops who uses the loo and takes the lift; and Kota, the slow-moving, slow-talking responsible triceratops.
Brenda, the shy brontosaurus, and Tank, the tough-talking ankylosaurus, apparently missed picture day at Greensboro Dinosaur Friends School.
We really get into our dinosaur role-playing!
Of course, it’s the playroom that really makes this little boy’s bedroom.
There’s plenty of built-in storage throughout the room for art supplies, puzzles, games…
…books, journals and more dinosaurs. (Meet Simon, the head of the D-Lab. Also British, and a scientist with MacGuyver-type skills.)
There’s even a place for a lazy dog to take a nap.
My favorite part of the playroom might be the “Clubhouse” with its cut-out windows and kids-sized doors. This is where Jackson’s dozens of stuffed animals live. (Please, never ever give a stuffed animal to a child as a gift. They’re all “special,” which means you can’t get rid of them. I am convinced stuffed animals multiply like Gremlins, even if you don’t get them wet or feed them after midnight.)
Sure, the “Clubhouse” is the perfect storage spot for the way-too-many stuffed animals we own. But that’s not the reason why I love the space.
The clubhouse reminds me of my childhood bedroom.
When I was a kid, my brother and I both had awesome closets. In fact, they were more like playrooms than closets. Mine was L-shaped. I loved crawling back into the long part of the L to play or read or write in my journal. It was my own little sanctuary.
My brother’s closet was like a tunnel, with a door on each end. We’d climb into the toy box inside his closet and pretend we were magicians sawing our assistants in half. His closet was also dark, so it was the perfect place to hide things he didn’t want my mom to find.
Like the 2-liter soda bottle full of “bug killer’ he and a neighbor concocted. It was, if I remember, a putrid mix of pee, shampoo, soda and other ingredients the boys mixed. Ah, boys.
I imagine that Jackson’s clubhouse closet will hold a special place in his memory someday.
Who knows what he will contemplate there or what imaginings will be born behind those doors.
I’m sure he will hide things from his parents inside the kid-sized space. (No pee-filled bottles, please!)
He may even try to sneak a kiss from a girl once they’re allowed inside the clubhouse.
Only time will tell what kind of memories and adventures he will make in this space.
Now, do you understand why we fell in love with this room? It is truly the perfect room for this little boy.
If you’d like to see more of my home tour, click here.
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