We moved into the house my parents still live in when I was 4 going on 5, in 1988. This is my room. There is so much to love about this picture: the Miss Piggy bedspread, the grandpa-made cradle full of stuffed animals, the mini quilted housecoat hanging on the end of the bed. Dad took the above picture from my doorway, and he took this next one looking right from the same spot:
Look at all those clean surfaces! On my desk is the classic magnetic alphabet board (which I saw in mom and dad’s basement the other week), the My Little Pony dance studio and a Care Bears Care-a-Lot playset, among other awesome stuff. You can tell by the dresser in the foreground that my things are starting to take over, but at least they’re still somewhat contained at this point.
My room looked like this (with ever-increasing levels of clutter and tchotchkes) until I was about 15, when we painted it yellow and I got a big-girl bed. It cracks me up how spacious and tidy it looks; I guess everything is big when you’re tiny.