Spring cleaning has commenced.
(Which is why I’m here, on my blog, to tell you all about it.) Hopefully, you can just enjoy reading about my excursions into the insanity that is home organizing and not feel at all compelled into doing it yourself. Trigger Warning: this post could be upsetting for those who have also been putting off house work/organizing/cleaning/putting on pants. Read at your own risk.
As for me…I can’t take it anymore. Linen closets stuffed to the brim with sheets that don’t have a match. Our master closet is just spilling over with…stuff. Like, lots of stuff. It’s been nesting and reproducing for several years. I feel like we moved into our house about six years ago, but never finished unpacking. We also haven’t quite finished the house, but let’s not quibble over details and simply stick to the facts at hand.
I don’t have an organizational thumb. Like, some folks have a green thumb? Some people probably have a knack for home organization and love doing it. I am not one of these people if you couldn’t already tell. I can keep it all pretty clean, (that is, if you don’t check underneath of my sofa for dust bunnies or walk around with a white glove and run it over the top of my entertainment cabinet) but for the life of me, having a vision about how much better a space could be used if we just did this is not one of the things I excel at.
Now, eating Rasinettes proficiently is something I can do blindfolded. You should see it.
There is just stuff everywhere that doesn’t have a home. I know that my abode is humbly lacking in the storage department – i.e. shelving, closets, etc…- but there just has to be a way to make it all have a rhyme and reason, right? RIGHT?
Probably not, but I’m going to
die trying give it my all try really really hard give it the old college try to see if I can’t make all of this make a little more sense. My kids are funny…they keep peeking in at me and asking…”what are you doing??” But not in a, hey, what’s shaking? How are ya, mom? kind of way. It’s a…”what…wait…is that…is mom….is she cleaning?” kind of way. I tell them I’m cleaning then they ask to play with Play Dough and then I tell them that everything is at stake. The security of this great nation, the economy, the universe- you name it. By George, this HAS to be done or we are all doomed.
Not really, but they get the idea and then they leave.
We’ll see how long this goes on for.
If you haven’t heard from me in several days, it’s a good idea to email my husband and check and see if I’m okay.