My name is Lindsay and this is just so I don't feel guilty for not keeping a written journal...

Thursday, April 19, 2012

therapeutic "chuck it" piles

My first home as a I'm-totally-mature-and-here-I-am-world-call-me-Mrs-fantastically-wedded- lady was an apartment also known as the cave.

One window at one end and a sliding glass door at the other.  A cave.

Guests would sheepishly come to the glass door and ask where the front door is.  And just like the awesome jeans I'm wearing I'd answer like Yeah, it's not fancy, but guess how much it costs!!.

There was a good-sized closet in the middle of the apartment that Mike half-filled with mustard and salt.  (He was also enthused to have entered the much esteemed status as Man of the house and part of the role was to prepare us for disasters which large amounts of mustard and salt would be our saving grace.)  I other-half filled the closet with crap I believed was most important to a sophisticated, married woman such as myself.  I remember wrapping supplies and ski stuff...  I loved this closet because it seemed to tell me how adult and responsible I was.  I even stored extra potpourri that supplied the potpourri dish I had so specifically picked out for my potpourri spot on the coffee table. 

Welcome to my humble abode.  Please note the potpourri on your right, imported from Fred Meyer.  Do you do potpourri?  Oh you must.  It's simply divine...

Mike and I have occasionally referred to this stage in our lives with far-off looks in our eyes.  Remember when we'd sleep on the living room floor just to stay up late watching movies?  Or, remember how it took 10 minutes to scrub the kitchen and that was SO much work?  Or, remember how we thought Sunday afternoons were so boring with our looong naps and quiet evenings?  Or, remember when we used place mats? 

I don't think we fully appreciated how sublimely simple things were.  It was easy to be organized and clean and calm and in-control.

I read about a family who, because of harsh economic times, decided to downsize.  They built and moved their 4-person family into a 320 sq ft home.  But what about all their stuff??!?  HELLO!!  Personal space??!?  

Now as inspiring as their story is, I have no desire to live like a sardine.  Perhaps I could muster up some awesomeness and find peace while spending all day maneuvering through kids' flailing limbs.  Perhaps.  ...But the idea of prioritizing and purging is appealing.  Let's purge some of this landscaping, eh?  Yard work is getting in the way of me finding myself...  No really.  Less toys would mean less picking up.  Less clothes would mean less piles of laundry.  Less kids would mea- Oh wait.  Not an option.

But as I continue some Spring cleaning I'm going to keep in mind that family and that old closet.

-If my space was restricted, would this item be high enough on the priority list?

But I assure you, the potpourri (now a supply of plug-ins) is staying.

Welcome to my humble abode.  Do you smell the ocean breezes?  They come from Costco.   


Brenda said...

Absolutely delightful. No question, you can write.

DeAnn said...

OK, last comment for today: try moving every year (on average)--it's a great way to not collect too much "stuff". We are downsizing with this move and I'm excited! (not to 320 sq feet though).

Radke said...

I sometimes regret having a bigger house. We have accumulated so much stuff. I dream about living in a smaller house out in the woods with some farm animals and a huge garden. Kind of like Little House on the Prairie but a slightly bigger home.
Max and I joke quite often about our naivety about our "free time" before kids. I think we should have enjoyed it more while we had the chance:)

Kara said...


Christy Jones said...

Well said!

Jen said...

1. I agree with your mother

2. Sigh...

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