Reasons Like Seasons

I want to bang my head against the wall when I think about how messy my apartment still is after several days out of school. A wise e-card once said that cleaning one's house while one has small children is like brushing one's teeth while chewing an Oreo. I get the simile, and it kills me. My first goal is to make the room I need to de-own. I need a tidy room and significant space before I can start pulling things off of shelves and out of closed drawers. I am crowed in my space. I need less. My next goal is to define an area in which all of Boy One's toys must fit and give him a series of opportunities to pass along any toys that he can allow to move on to their next home. I realize that I am much more enthusiastic about this process than he will be, but I am a hopeless optimist. (If I have to pay him off, I may be reduced to doing so. I'd like to thing of it as a child's version of a tax break for charitable donations.) Next week, I will work to show you my ...

Dear Apartment, I realize you are covered in dirty clothes, dirty dishes, and toys. I realize you have been ignored and abused for weeks, if not months. I realize I have not been there for you as I should have been, as you have been there for me. Everyday, you house me and my menagerie. You give me a lovely view of a safe neighborhood and offer not only electricity, but also hot and cold running water. I am truly blessed to have you in my over-scheduled life. I promise you that next week, you will get some of the attention you deserve. I know you have to share me with three people, but I also know how to be true to you. Please know that I love you, even when I forget to say it. Soon, I will lighten your load by clearing your floor, vacuuming your carpet, and possibly (gasp!) washing your mirrors. You will shine like the princess you are, and this difficult time between us will be over. (Well, that is, at least until school starts again...) Lovingly yours, Raychel

My children fed and myself fully-caffinated, we venture forth into the Ikea abyss. With surprisingly little resistance, we round the first floor smoothly, with minimal impulse spending (see giant stuffed broccoli) and only a small indulgence on my niece's upcoming birthday gifts (see adorable stuffed toys). I even manage to contain (most of) my living-spaces envy as we "experience" three unique "apartments," each of which is significantly smaller and yet still meticulously better organized than mine. I try desperately to remember that an entire team of dedicated professionals constructed each of these displays with the help of an unlimited budget and without the noticible distraction of another job, but it is a difficult battle. Upon reflection, I really would seriously consider moving into one of those apartments if I could let the boys jump on the couches without getting shamed (again) by a lovely, helpful member of the Ikea staff. But, again, I digress. ...

My bowls never looked this nice. ...continued from "Home is More Than Where You Sleep at Night" I started by getting rid of things. My apartment was full of things. My grandmother's coffee cups. More than a dozen metal mixing bowls. Clothing and shoes I had owned since high school. Boxes and boxes of baby gear. Enough stuff to fill a three-bedroom house with a den and a living room all smooched into my 1100 square foot apartment. I needed to get rid of some things to make space for myself. Exer-Saucer (AKA Noisy Room Space Eater) I started with the easy stuff: clothes Boy Two had outgrown, things that were clearly broken, the exer-saucer which had been taking up the entirety of my living room since I was five months pregnant. I found new places for all of these things. Some I gave away to friends, some I donated, and that monstrous exer-saucer made me enough money on Craig's list to buy myself three grande caramel macchiatos, each of which I savored. Howe...