Toy Box

This was my toy box when I was a little girl.  My mother made it in a woodworking class when we lived in Kansas.  I was not known as a neat child by any means, and I found the toy box to be a great place to hide, rather than a great place to put toys.  Inevitably what I wanted was always at the bottom, which meant that everything was always on the floor, rather than in the toy box.

I held on to this toy box for probably about 30 years.  My mom always said it could be my hope chest someday.  Does anyone do that anymore?  I didn’t.  But I lugged it from place to place, always finding it handy for stashing something away.  It got painted a couple of times.  Once it was black.  (I know, what was I thinking?) But I stripped it down a few years back, and it sat, 95% done, for years.

I was on one of my get-rid-of-stuff kicks when I decided that this sad thing just had to go.  The front panel was loose, The Boy had scribbled on it with crayon, and it was dirty and dingy from not having any varnish or paint.  I sheepishly asked my mom if she wanted it before I sent it away.  She declined, not having anywhere to put it.

But I still couldn’t get rid of it.  It sat for another year.

I’m on a major fall-cleaning kick around here: cleaning up, clearing out, and organizing.  I decided to fix up this sad old thing and give it to my own children.  I scrubbed and sanded it, and removed the last of the black paint.  I made a homemade non-toxic furniture polish out of mineral oil and beeswax, and polished it up.  I repaired the loose front.  Then, to make it a comfy place to sit and curl up with a book, I made two cushions for the seat.  I can proudly say that the cushions didn’t cost me a cent.  It was all materials from my stash.  The foam, the batting, the fabric and thread were all from previous projects.

So now it sits in my own childrens’ room, holding all their dress-up gear.  There is alot of it.  And now my own boy likes to climb inside to hide.