Who lives here?

Yesterday I was opinionated about the fact that there should be no decorating rules.  Here's just one suggestion (very different than a rule, OK?).

Ask yourself, who lives here?

The houses I most love to be in share one common trait:  they are comfortable.

There are comfortable places to sit, a feeling of ease and belonging by those who live there.  The people who live there are reflected in rooms and possessions.  I love seeing personality and rooms that are lived in.  To me, they are authentic.

For several days last week, our living room looked like this:

It was added to over time and all courtesy of the creative inner workings of my favorite nine-year-old.  He had rummaged around and sifted deep in his Bionicle stores and one freakish creature after another emerged.  He gave me a running commentary on their strengths and construction.

I've never been one of those you-can't-get-out-a-new-toy-until-you've-cleaned-up-what-you're-done-playing-with sort of mothers.  I don't mind being surrounded by a certain degree of chaos because it doesn't look like colorful plastic mess to me, it looks like Mark has been here.

And I love that.

Here's what I don't love:

Mark's friends insist on pressing their hands and faces up to the little window by our front door after they ring our doorbell.

Some messes I don't mind.

Some I do.  (Pardon me while I go get some Windex.)