We spent the day reorganizing the living room. I don’t know why we do this. We have obviously forgotten how to have fun. My poor husband, Barry, looks at me like “Yeah, moving a lot of heavy furniture around sounds way better than watching a Lakers game. It’s, yes, the perfect Saturday afternoon activity, apart from a medieval duel or invasive dental surgery.”

I dragged an old rug out of the garage, we moved stuff around, then friends came over (one, who, thank God, is a production designer and all he does is move stuff around) so we had a professional—it wasn’t like we were doing it blind anymore. And by the end of the day, the place actually looked kind of nice. Less like we just moved in (it’s been four years) and more like we have a flailing artistic flair (with emphasis on the flailing).

With a cozy living room, we can imagine having tea and friends over instead of sitting, irritated, amidst the previous piles of children’s books, puzzles, dog hair, and toys. Sure, the kids ended up in their underwear on the trampoline, dumping buckets of water on their heads, and we spilled warm tea on the baby by accident, and we ate standing up by the sink. But really, when there’s a new path through the house, it’s the closest thing to living in a hotel that we can get with three little kids. For now, our exotic has to be right here in our own living room.

—Juliet Johnson