With every good intention imaginable, we’ve had some flavor of table and chairs in this corner of the family room since we moved into this house. Though instead of a consistent place to either eat dinner or sit and make fun of drug-addled celebrities when we have company over, ninety-five percent of the time our table and chairs functioned as a mail bin or coat rack.

So, our Saarinen repros got thrown on craigslist (reaping an assload of money), and Munchkin Corner breathed its waking breath. At least now I don’t have to cringe every time one of our friends called our table and chairs “Jetsons furniture”.

The first order of business in furnishing any young boy’s fantastic toy extravaganza: find a LEGO table. A quick glance at the hundreds of dollars some places wanted for what amounted to a little short stack table with plastic plates on it immediately violated any notion I had of buying one.

Coincidentally, my eBay trolling wife almost immediately found a Pottery Barn Activity Table in perfect condition and snagged it for 39 bucks. With the table retailing for almost $350, somebody lost their shirt on that one.

The next step is to prime and paint it, and epoxy enough building plates to the top surface to create a nice, sturdy LEGO wonderland for our little midget.

We’ve already had to pull up the red area rug we covered the floor with, as he would run his metal shopping cart up to the edge of the rug and scream at the top of his lungs when it stopped dead in its tracks. But add in a hand me down IKEA bookcase, a whacked out scary, nightmarish painting E found at a tag sale, and the first iteration of L’s play area revisions has begun.

My son, however, knows exactly what time of year it is. While I tend to have grown up worries about things like the pipes under the house, the tree that needs to be taken down, the shifts in the foundation from Texas weather fluctuations, he is conscious only of how long we let him stay in the pool, or how wet he can get us if he manages to get ahold of the hose.

As a parent, I fall into the trap of hovering and being too restrictive. Underneath that is simply the desire to protect my son from mishaps that can unwittingly cause harm (or cost a lot of money). Despite those intentions, a major early lesson staring me in the face is the need to let go, and let out the leash. It’s more difficult than it sounds, I’ve discovered it takes practice on a conscious level. The payoff is the expression on his face when he discovers something wonderful or experiences something new.

Though I’m sure every parent has had well-meaning rules they’ve enacted for themselves related to their parenting style (that probably last about as long as “I won’t become my parents”), I’m resolving now that if I succeed at nothing else, I would hope I just don’t grow him up too quickly.