Exhibit A: Work of genius.

The gifts are all unwrapped and put away (and there were a whole lot of them, just as the Times reported there would be, causing Ted with some justification to roll his eyes). As our house has slowly become littered with brightly colored baby gear, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to keep it all contained, and I’ve hit on a solution that I’m passing on here. We’re not exactly Hints from Heloise types here at Dadwagon, but hell, an odd scrap of practical advice isn’t against the rules.

Each room of our apartment now contains a modest-sized wooden crate to which I’ve attached four swivel casters. Each rolls discreetly under a chair when nobody’s around, and into the middle of the floor for playtime. It’s open on top, so there’s no impediment to tossing everything back in at the end of a play session. Ours are twelve-bottle French wine crates, except for one very nicely jointed wooden box that used to be someone’s desk drawer. All of them were freebies, picked up at curbside or somewhere, for free. (Before you gasp, be assured that they each got a good scrubbing before crate and baby made contact.)

The best thing about these things is that, when our little guy gets tired of playing with the toys themselves, I can sit him in the box and roll him around the living room for a few minutes. So far, this activity may be his favorite part of playtime, ever. (Frankly, if I could fit in there, I’d probably enjoy being rolled around the house for a few minutes, too.)

All right, it’s not exactly the invention of fire. But in the war against clutter—which, in small-apartment life, can feel like a battle for the last shreds of sanity—it is definitely a skirmish won. Mom also approves.