Oh why do I put myself through this? Yesterday I ripped my living room apart, hauling in a bookcase, and moving a chair. I then moved all the books from our room to the living room, and learned they don't actually all fit in there anymore. What, did they multiply on the way over? Now, where to put all those excess books....hmm....yup, pile 'em back on the bed. Add to that a quilt, a comforter, empty laundry basket, unfiled papers, photographs upon photographs, boxes of who knows what and the kids school papers. What a mess! And I started it all. I also emptied out the hope chest in the bedroom and moved it to a new spot, then decided to put something entirely different inside it. Oh boy.
Okay, so I can stash some of it in the basement, but that means I have to move some stuff in the basement so it will fit first. Hmmm...where to stash it? I know, I'll just fling it.
Steve often asks me, "hey, where did you put my....." I say simply, "Flung." "Well, what about the...."
" Well", I say smartly, "I flung that too". Old papers. Flung. Anything outdated, dusty, ugly, missing pieces. Flung. Flung. Flung. Flung. He's lucky his 89 million football cards are still here somewhere.
Well, as I sit here, my bed is still somewhere under the mountain of stuff. If I could pick up the whole thing, it would be, you guessed it, flung.
I got a little sidetracked while sorting through things and found pictures of myself at various ages. Wow. 18 year old Me in a bikini (not bad). Me with my arm around my uncle at Thanksgiving ( a bit sad). Me with an old boyfriend. Oops. Thought I flung that. Me with blonde hair! Me with short hair. Me with really curly foofy hair. Me as a bride. Me on my honeymoon wearing goofy jeans. Me 9 months pregnant with a toddler hugging my belly. Wow. Have I ever changed! I barely recognized some of those girls. It was me, but not the me I know anymore. I think I like the new "me" much better, chubba wubba and all.
That's why I avoid spring cleaning in the first place. It can turn into a sentimental journey depending on how deeply you clean. I guess I should have started in the garage. Big time flinging there, I imagine. I could have a field day out there. Fling flang flung....woo hooo! That is, until Steve gets home....
My ideal house is everything in its place all the time. However, I live in reality and I also live in my house. Kids live here too, and for that reason, something will always be out of place. I really pity them when they leave something out and later ask me where it is. I place a hand on their soft little cheeks, look into their innocent little eyes, and say sweetly, "Flung." They might as well learn young, eh?
1 comment:
I, too, had long-standing visions of the "perfect house". Not an ounce of clutter anywhere, and it would stay that way day after blissful day...Then it actually happened! Young Al moved out, Honey went to the U.P. for a couple of weeks. Now, his leaving me alone for the north country is completely normal, but this time he even took the dog! I was ALL alone. After the first day everything was clean and in its place. I even put the dog bed in the closet, and of course, the dog's bowls were with...the dog. Day after day, clean house. Day after day, the kitchen sink was empty. Day after day the floor remained clear of dirty laundry. Day after day, the bathroom vanity was spotless. Day after day, the clean house wasn't such a fun place anymore. Day after day got longer and longer. When Al (and his psycho-dog)finially came home, I carried the dirty laundry in with a smile and messed up the kitchen with a great meal for him. I didn't even mind doing the dishes and dragging out the dog bed from the closet. The perfect house isn't all its cracked up to be.
Keep writing,
Colleen
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