The other day, I noticed my husband had rearranged some things in our closet, and those things included some of my things. Those of you who know me are bracing for the explosion. Well, I didn’t explode (I did some deep breathing and thought about how much time I’d spend in prison for beating him up), but I wasn’t happy. And that is what we call an understatement.
In any case, me being the control freak that I am, decided I’d have to do my own rearranging. That way I could walk in and see things where I decided they should go and that would make me feel better. But there was one thing in the way of my feeling better, and that was the massive pile of work it would take to clean out that closet. Ugh, what had I gotten myself into?
I started with Hub’s side on one day before tackling the much more daunting task of my side. Chris, as is true of a lot of men, just doesn’t have as much stuff as I do. Also, all the Christmas gifts I’d bought were hidden in and among my things. So dove into all that today while both kids were (finally) back in school. I organized all the gifts, and discovered that I’d double-bought for several relatives and that I apparently have purchased enough toys for Santa to bring to my children and every other child on our street. I blame the closet.
So now the gifts are properly sorted and accounted, and I’ve sifted through everything in there, filling up a giant trash can (goodbye, Caruso curlers that I will never use to give me 80s hair ever again), and amassing quite the pile of items to donate (probably not as much as Chris would like to see me remove, but baby steps). It feels good. In fact, I can’t wait to hit the kids’ closets, and, more immediately, the playroom. This will require more stealth and ingenuity to minimize child drama, but it can and will be done.
Now if I can only get this going before we’re inundated with new Christmas booty.