Last Saturday, the kids and I rearranged my bedroom. And did a thorough dusting. My husband was delighted to see the bedroom tidy and clean again. This was his comment, "Good thing you dusted the furniture in here. It was starting to look like someone had died, was cremated, and requested their ashes be sprinkled all over our bedroom furniture." He has a very real, very natural talent for great word pictures. (That are truthfully, most of the time, right on.)
So, from our bedroom....
ORDER:
Hooray for clean furniture!
DISORDER:
Does anyone else in the world think a person needs a Master's Degree to effectively deal with storing their children's clothing?? You know the process--the let's-go-thru-your-clothes-and-pull-out-everything-that-doesn't-fit-anymore-and-store-it-for-your-younger-sibling process. Those of you who don't have multiple children of the same gender have no idea what I'm talking about, but those of you who do (or plan to and are saving in future anticipation)....yeah, you know.
My husband believes Rubbermaid totes are from the devil himself. Partially because a person can store insane amounts of stuff that really should be dealt with another way (given or thrown away), and partially because totes greet him at every turn in our house.
Including our bedroom. The sad part is, these totes contain the
kids' clothes. Which reasonably should be placed in the
kids' rooms. Right?
The truth about these totes is that I just have refused to deal with them. In my defense, we have literally no storage space other than our unfinished attic, which is only accessible thru a wobbly pull-down-from-the-ceiling staircase.
But the effort it takes to pull down that staircase and heave-ho these totes into the attic is worth the reward of not having to stare at these things anymore.
In my bedroom.
And sometimes you just need to blog about it to figure that out.
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