My Turn: I've resolved to live like the royal family

It was comforting to read in the biography of Queen Elizabeth II that she liked her residence, Windsor Castle, to look “lived in.” I say this because my husband recently gave an unauthorized tour of our home to a first-time visitor while I was at work, and when my husband apologized that his wife would not appreciate his showing the house without cleaning first, the visitor commented that it “looked lived in.” I take this to mean I am in good company with the royals.

There was a time when I took pride in the appearance of my home. After Superstorm Sandy in 2012, the entire first floor was refurbished from flooring to restoration of antique furniture. (It was a remake paid for by FEMA that we’ve been paying for ever since with our flood insurance premiums, but I digress.)

One rule I had was that the wine bar hold nothing but the antique pitcher on its fake granite top. The wine bar now houses sippy cups. Many other norms were thrown out with the arrival of a puppy and a grandchild.

At first, I sought to manage the mess. I bought a bin with a decorative label “TOYS.” The toy bin was inadequate to house the accessories for my granddaughter, from hand puppets to extra-large craft pipe cleaners. She received the gift of an easel that didn’t fit into the toy box, nor did the supersized tower of linking plastic building blocks. I scavenged a large shipping box for dog toys, but that didn’t improve matters. The puppy became confused about which toys were his and which were for the human baby. Lego firefighters appeared in his dog toy box, partially chewed, and jumbo water-based markers became fair game for him to chomp. The cardboard box itself became a chew toy.

The toys were only a part of the disorder. There were also baby and dog accessories: the highchair with multiple bibs, the inclement weather dog coat, leash, poop disposal bags and pet bed. I thought the bathroom was the one room that could remain untouched by this sprawl. There was a shell theme on the towels and an authentic framed Woodstock poster of Aquarius, the Water Bearer. Then my grandchild became a toddler, and a potty chair was placed in the bathroom.

The condition of my home caused me to suffer a silent shame, which was compensated for by having my granddaughter and puppy in my life. They give me more laughter and smiles than any of my household furnishings. In my book, “Forty Years of PMS,” I told the story of my friend’s son visiting his cousins in the Philippines and commenting that they lived in dusty houses, but they were still happy. I can relate. As I reflected on it, I came to my own resolution that “lived-in” is what a house should look like.

My home isn’t a museum or an art gallery. It is where we eat together, laugh and comfort each other. It is a place my granddaughter calls “Meh and Papa’s Home,” which is a joyful place.

Linda Nanos,

Bellmore