When we bought this 1952 farmhouse in Birmingham about a decade ago, we had different priorities. Because our kids were still little, we were less concerned about decorating than managing the chaos of childhood. We designated an extra space upstairs as a playroom, which eventually filled up with board games, American Girl doll outfits, Lego blocks, costumes, a Nintendo Wii, a sizable collection of Thomas & Friends train cars, an upright piano, childrens’ books, and a small teepee. It was the kind of place where you could injure yourself by stepping on a Matchbox car or tripping over a Stormtrooper helmet, but it defied attempts at organization, chewing up whole Saturdays with no discernible progress. Other than some Ikea bookshelves, the only furniture was an old blue sectional couch that at times had Goldfish crackers wedged between the cushions. We occasionally talked about fixing it up, but other things always took precedence.