|The Master Bedroom --- Almost ready.|
|The trick is...don't look too close. The bedspread shrunk a few sizes.|
The other side of the bed has the mattress and box spring completely exposed.
I really like scrubbing every single corner and baseboard and seeing the recessed spaces look amazingly clean, but it royally stinks to face hidden dirt. However, it's awesome to have a real reason to go through every closet, drawer, and nook and cranny so you can sort everything into organized boxes such as...
1. Give-away box
2. Garage sale box
3. Keep and Pack box
4. Trash bin
5. Questionable item, so take-it-with-us and keep-storing-it box
|One of many garage sale boxes and sacks.|
Moving is a great way to light a fire under you to organize the house. I pity the hoarder who needs to move...How would they ever change addresses? I can't even watch the show about hoarding because it makes me hyperventilate as a claustrophobic attack approaches. Yes, I have belongings and collections that have mysteriously piled upon us through the years, but I MUST have my SPACE people!!!! I would not want to be into mountain climbing over piles of newspapers and magazines...in my own living room.
That being said, we've never lived in one house for longer than seven years. This house has been a new record for our family. I don't know what the reasoning is for this frequent moving, but that's how it's been. I have often suggested to my kids that we have Gypsy blood, as that seems to be an exotic answer, but I'm really at a loss to conjecture further on the reasoning behind this torture of regular moves.
Actually, Deputy Dave and I have enjoyed finding houses that need rehabilitating and making them the gem on the block. It's been sort of like a hobby, until the recession hit our economy. However, unlike regular "flippers," we get to savor our homes for an extended period of time. This house was SUPPOSED to be a true "flip" but we moved in, got comfy, filled the closets and avoided another day of packing. And, here we are, nearly seven years later, doing the dirty deed again.
Selling this house has been a totally different experience from our other homes that we've sold. For one, the major difference has been the realization that we're in a completely different phase in our lives. Mainly...this house has brought about the new life of having grown daughters. Our "little" women are not "little" children any longer. And, all the "little" things we've hung onto throughout the years have been re-considered during this phase of organization. It goes like this...Oh, Ah, Sniff-Sniff, "I remember when she wore these ballet shoes, " and into the "keep" box it goes!
No, actually, as I've been packing, I've often found myself sifting through the girls' old dance clothes, the art-work they made through the years and other little things that are simple, yet hugely meaningful and...I realize...I'm finished raising kids. I'm truly finished. You'd think I would have this concept in my heart since my "baby" is 21 years old, but I guess the possibility another Disney Beauty gracing our home was dangling in my mind. Until I began packing for this move. Then, all dangling abrubptly came to a halt.
Not only is my house becoming more empty, so is my uterus...you guys, it is a woman thing. The women will understand my empty-nester-forever-finished-uterus syndrome that I'm enduring.
Yes, we women are complicated creatures. Our moving experience is now connected to my uterus.
I pack and it whacks me upside the head that I'll never move another house full of adorable little things created by growing hands of our little children. We don't have little children any longer. My refrigerator will not be the competition art board as each daughter brings home their newest drawing. I miss going for a glass of milk and having to stop again for the hundredth time to check out the kitchen museum display. Instead of accumulating things around the house because of children, we find ourselves with dwindling things.
Well, we do have more dog toys. To go further on that topic, we have more dogs. I could be like my mother and say, "My dogs' names are only nick-names to cover up each dog's true representation of you grown children." Yes, it irked me that I turned out to be the ugliest Chihauhua out of the three she owned, the one that was so big it looked like a weiner dog. Thanks Mom. However, I am older now and can understand her way of thinking, so I'll let my daughters pick which dog in our house best represents their personality. Hee Hee. I love family traditions.
Anyway, packing has confirmed that I'm indeed growing older and my youthful, energetic days filled with raising children are really over.
My memories of raising my kids are beautiful. I raised them wholly involved...which meant we parents were crazy busy, active in their lives, involved in all activities, and we were the always-available-kind-of-parents...so I discover that, as a parent, I really feel fulfilled and content that I did the best I could to be a good mommy to my girls. I'm still there for them in a BIG way; I'm the typical Mama Bear, the Lioness, and the Momma who stands up for her kids and supports them 100%. I love the perfect, imperfect world of being a mother.
Then, as I'm packing the next large box for my oldest daughter Heather to take to her own house, I am filled with additional satisfaction at knowing she will be STORING ALL THAT STUFF AT HER OWN HOUSE!!!
YAYYYY!!! Hey, having grown kids does have its perks!
As for my youngest daughter, she is away at college...not quite into the home-making mode just yet. In my family, we don't rush these things. Honey, TAKE YOUR TIME. Believe me, we will have space for you at the homestead in the country and you can put off those labor pains for a bit longer. However, I'll be ready to find more boxes when Stefie gets settled one day into her own place.
In the not so distant future, we'll probably again have our refrigerator covered by the grandkids finger-painted artwork. I don't have grandkids yet, but they are already loved; I'm preparing for them as I prepared for my own children, with eager anticipation. I think I'll be really happy to again have a cluttered refrigerator door full of colorful drawings.
Until then, I will take a break from having to clean all the fingerprints away from every shiny surface and tell my uterus that it's okay; it's officially retired.