Every time I walk into my family room, I sigh with happiness. My new furniture is beautiful! It’s not scuffed and scarred and kicked with divot holes from where the vacuum ran into the legs. Divine! The only thing standing between me and
complete utopia is the stuff oozing from everywhere. It is obvious what the solution is: It is time to stream line! It’s time to get rid of the goo, the grime (extra points for P90X reference), and the old worn out stuff that no one uses anymore. (We went to sleep one night and woke up in Toys R Us. Seriously. My daughter has so many toys it is beyond absurd. Has this happened to anyone else??)
If I have learned anything in my thirty odd years (Yes, I know I look so much younger! Thank you!) it is that nothing goes as planned for me- Julias Math kicks in and even the best intentions can derail in a heartbeat… One lesson learned
(but always forgotten) is that the more things you try to simplify, the more complex things become. It is so ass
backwards, it is ridiculous. I live to organize things. One of my favorite places on Earth is the Container Store. I also LOVE to streamline things. As organizing and streamlining are like soup and sandwich, so this shouldn’t be too surprising. If throwing things away was an Olympic sport, I would be a back to back to back Gold Medalist. I have been known to go on binges, throwing away everything in sight (and even things that are not in sight that my husband has attempted to hide from me).
I shall spare you the details on the purging- just know that it was either long and painful or short and exhilarating; depending on if you are Julia or if you are Thomas. After everything was organized into piles, including Emma’s mountains of toys, it had to go somewhere. I am a huge fan of baskets. They look great and can hide a mess. (My penchant for total neatness is really only on the surface, façade one might say- please don’t open drawers or check under sinks. My house is Really Small and things have to go somewhere!) My love of baskets means I also love Michael’s.
As soon as the furniture was set up, Emma and I set off for the first of many Michael’s trips. I had purchased a few baskets in anticipation, which of course didn’t work, so I was anxious to obtain the perfect baskets. If anyone at Michael’s is reading this, please take note: Your itty bitty teeny tiny carts SUCK. Once I get my kid and my purse in there, I am out of room. I would probably buy more of your lovely items if you had carts like Costco. I managed to make it into the store with four baskets and a toddler in the stupid tiny cart. I don’t think anyone was permanently harmed in the process. I dropped off the baskets to be returned at the front and proceeded to the basket section. Success! We found the perfect basket… we found only ONE perfect basket and we needed four. Not to be deterred, we had an employee search the backroom and found two more. Score! Now we just needed to make an exchange we were on our way to furniture bliss. Except I lost the receipt. Thankfully, we were able to make the exchange.
At home, the baskets looked OK. Not as great as I had hoped, but because I was missing one I wasn’t sure if that was throwing off the whole thing. We headed to another Michael’s, bringing with us two more baskets to exchange (because I forgot them the first time). No basket love at this Michael’s, but we were able to return the other two baskets… barely. I am now on the Naughty List at Michael’s for having done too many returns without a receipt. I just hope my daughter doesn’t succumb to the terrible influences she is surrounded by and become a Serial Returner like her mother.
Back home again, Thomas and I (really just me. I am being nice here and including him in household decisions, but in reality, he didn’t give a shit as long as I am happy. This mantra has worked well in our marriage, and I suggest it to new husbands frequently.) decided we needed to start all over- the baskets weren’t going to work. Thus began Errand Hell…