Dejunking: My Life and Home, 2015

One of the most frustrating things I’ve encountered recently is my growing desire for a Big Change.

I’ve mentioned it before here, here, and here, my itchy feet syndrome. My inability to be content with the same place for more than a few years. It has hit again. Hard. Especially towards the end of 2014 when I kept looking at 2015 with hope and excitement. 2015 represents a clean slate, a new start, a tangible end to a crappy year and the beginning of a year that isn’t crappy - in fact, 2015 has the potential to be awesome. It is, of course, what we make it, and I am determined! Determined to make 2015 a Great Year!

Back to my itchy feet. About every three years or so, I get the urge for change. Change of jobs, change of location, change of something. Unfortunately, Scott and I have already made the executive decision that a relocation right now is not feasible. We want to get Cyra through middle and high school without another move. We want to save up money so that in a few years Scott can start his plan to go to brew school. To do that we need to do a few things:

1. Stay on target - with our budget and our long term plans.

2. Keep put - no moving or major life changes.

3. Live modestly - we are planning on living on his salary while socking mine away into savings.

These three things…well, actually, just the second item on the list, put a real kink into my BIG CHANGE and ITCHY FEET plans.

What’s a girl to do?

Well, it all goes back to one of the things I’ve been obsessively googling lately: the Small House Movement. Tiny little portable homes, with tiny little footprints, being all handmade, cute, and minimalist.

I. Love. It.

Scott and I talk all the time about buying land in the middle of nowhere and building a tiny little house, a chicken coop, and a garden. Maybe even a couple of tiny little houses, one for us and then an extra one or two for guests. Ah, the dream of living off the grid and off the land.

But, in all reality, I probably couldn’t go that way, at least with the house size. I like my dvds, crafts, and games way too much. Those three things alone could take up an entire 150 square foot room!! But, I find more and more, as I look around my cluttered home, there is a lot of stuff that I really could do without. I might not be able to reduce enough to live in 150 square feet but I can certainly pare down what I have to live in my 1300 square foot home without feeling claustrophobic.

Now, by no means am I a hoarder. I’ve seen that. I’ve got a family member who is one. But I do have a tendency to collect a lot of crafting supplies. You can see my craftway here. It takes up my entire entry hall (that we don’t use anyway). But with so many crafts (I really do know how to do pretty much every. Single. Craft.) I get overwhelmed with all the supplies. It is time to pare down. I have roughly 60 pounds of scrapbook paper. Who needs 60 pounds of paper? Not this girl!! Not anymore!

So, to alleviate my itchy feet and appease my need for Big Change, I’m down sizing my life. I’ve made a list of rooms, closets, and cabinets I want to tackle and each week I’ll put a dent into my life. That being said, I’m not touching the girls or Scott’s stuff. For one, Scott doesn’t actually have that much stuff and what he does have: books and clothes, are already at a minimum. As a child of military parents, he already has a minimalist mind set. As for the girls, I’m hoping that as they see me donate, toss, and yard sale stuff, they’ll get into the dejunking.

I’ve actually already started. Remember I mentioned my recent weight loss? Well, I’ve donated roughly a third of my clothes and thrown away another quarter. My closet is much more accessible now. And I felt great about getting rid of stuff I never wear!

I think I’ve found the cure for my itchy feet and restless urge for change. Next up: The Kitchen!

Photo A Day - Something You Do Everyday

When I was growing up we had hardwood floors throughout the house, upstairs and down. I can remember my mom going through once a day running a big dust mop over the floors but I never really thought about it until now.

The last three houses I've lived in were almost entirely carpeted. Even some of the bathrooms. So the only rooms I had to sweep were the kitchen, the entry way and the bathroom.

My current home however has no carpets whatsoever. None. Oh sure we tossed down a couple area rugs but tile and wood laminate floors stretch wall to wall here. Something that I fell in love with when we first looked at the house. No more carpets I thought gleefully. No more juice or pet stains just easy breezy sweep and mop and nice and clean.

Oh how naive I was back then.

Maybe it wouldn't matter as much if I lived anywhere else.  But no, here in Florida - the Sand is Everywhere State - you can't escape from the sand, especially if you live along the coast. So everyday, sometimes twice a day, I am sweeping. Sweeping. Sweeping.

Sand, cat hair, dog hair, my hair, dog and cat food (because holy moly are the pets messy eaters), dirt, and dust.

It never gets put away because I am always using it which makes the broom the most used tool I own.

This accumulation is from 8 o'clock last night to 8 o'clock this morning. And only from about half of the dining room.

Eww. Right? I want a new broom. This one is dirty.

It never. ever. ends.

I do not remember big piles of sand or dirt in the house growing up which means I am certain that the reason my mom made me take naps was not because I was tired, but because her endless battle against dirt and dust wore her out.

Washing Machine Woes

I love my washing machine.

Most of the time.

I picked it out after a whole day of diligent research. I knew what I could afford and when I went to Sears (don't knock it - any company that's been around as long as Sears AND used to sell mail-order homes is A-OK in my book!) I knew exactly the model I wanted to look at.

Right next to the model I could afford was a souped-up version of my machine. Just, you know, sitting there looking way shinier and flashier than the one I decided on earlier. The souped-up machine had a see-through glass top and instead of a regular agitator it just had a little round mound on the bottom.

The sales man explained to me how the souped-up model, while two hundred dollars more expensive could hold more laundry, had more buttons and could, you know, perform exorcisms on demand and make lunch for the kids.

My well planned shopping excursion hit a snag. More Buttons? More Laundry? Holy Monkey Butts! I needed that washing machine. I hemmed and hawed, walked between the two models to the point where I scuffed up the shiny waxed floor. The man flitted between me and another customer but I kept asking him more and more questions: warranty? rebates? sales?

In the end, being as budget conscious as possible, I stuck with my original plan: Buy the less expensive but still fully functional machine and be satisfied with that.

Oh! How I sometimes hate that decision. Because every. single. time. I need to wash blankets (which is often as we don't like to use flat sheets and we have long haired cats that insist upon shedding all their fur on the blankets) this happens:

And the blankets get so waterlogged and twisted around it is nearly impossible for me to pull them out.

Things I Take For Granted: Bending

I stretched across the tub, the smell of Soft Scrub burning my nose as I scritch-scrubed the bottom of the bath. Cyra gurgled and cooed from her bouncy chair in the living room.

“Almost done, sweetie,” I called as she banged her hands against a tiny piano plinking out a cacophony of notes.

I leaned on the edge of the bathtub and gave one last swipe of the sponge. As I stood and straightened my back out, I heard and felt my lower back pop. For a split second, I thought it was just the typical crack of the joints but as I fell back down I realized just how very wrong I was.

Stabbing, shooting pain arched down my legs as I tried to stand again. I pushed myself up using first the edge of the tub, then the toilet seat and finally the sink. I tried straightening again and more spears of pain lanced down my legs.

I groaned holding onto the sink while Cyra started to fuss and cry from the other room.

“Hold on Peanut,” I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming.

Grabbing the doorframe, the counters and walls, I made it into the living room and collapsed to my knees next to Cyra. She giggled, thinking I was playing with her. I tried to lift her from her play chair but nearly dropped her as my back shuddered.

“I’ve dealt with worse pain,” I told myself. “Labor. Labor hurt more than this.” I pushed myself up. “Blood clots in my lungs hurt more than this.” I stood, rolling my spine, easing upright.

I managed a smile at Cyra. “Nothing else comes to mind.”

She giggled and I gritted my teeth as I bent and lifted her from her chair. I managed to shamble into her bedroom, change her diaper and set her down with some toys all while sweating and holding back a plethora of curses.

By the time Scott go home I was more than ready to have my spine surgically removed and robotic one grafted in its place. Scott got me to the doctor and after an insane amount of simple questions, I was told the trouble was most likely my sciatic nerve and there was nothing they could do for it except pain relief.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked my doctor. “Nothing?”

“No,” he said, “This will just heal on its own. Eventually.”

And it did. But it took nearly six weeks of daily pain for it to do so.

Every now and then over the past nine years, my lower back tells me in no uncertain terms that it is pissed off beyond reason at me. I could be doing dishes, sweeping the floor, working on a craft project, standing still and then a small pop from my lower back shoots spasms of pain down my legs and I am hunched over gasping for breath because of it. 

A little over two weeks ago, as I was cleaning the living room, my back exacted revenge for some small insult (I think I was vacuuming too vigorously) and wham. I was benched. For what ever reason though, this time, it was slightly different and instead of a week of inconvenient pain followed by a few weeks of taking it easy, I struggled for two weeks without any sign of improvement. I couldn’t sit at the computer. I could lie on the couch. It hurt less when I was up and moving, so I walked around a lot. Paced really.

I felt okay enough to spend the 4^th of July downtown with the girls, but a fall on the sidewalk on the way back to the car (stupid uneven concrete) had me in bed for most of the following day. I finally had enough on Friday when I couldn’t even sit to pee without crying and I took myself off to the doctor.

This time around, probably because I went to the ER since my doctor closes early on Fridays, I got the good stuff. While I was waiting to be taken for x-rays, the nurse brought in a shot to help with the pain. I pushed up my sleeve and she just smiled and shook her head.

“Do you want to lie down for this,” she smiled “or just bend over?”

“In my butt?” I frowned at her and covered my tush with my hands.

She nodded and smiled, her head cocked sympathetically. “I’m afraid so.”

Oh it might have stung going in, but Holy Moly did I start to feel better almost immediately.

The x-rays came back clear – no break or fracture - just some minor arthritis. Since nerve damage can’t be seen on a normal x-ray they handed me a stack of prescriptions and sent me out to door with a recommendation to follow-up with an orthopedic doctor in a few weeks if the symptoms don’t lessen.

After three days following a medicine regiment of steroids, muscle relaxers and mega-ibuprofen, I feel much better and best of all I can bend! Ignore for a moment that everything is fuzzy, wonky and slightly tilted. And I am nauseous. Ignore for a moment that as a general rule I really don’t like taking medicine. Ignore for a moment that I wouldn’t trust myself behind the wheel of a car. Or on a bike. Or walking down stairs.

Ignore all that and I am left with the oft taken for granted ability to bend. Freely and without hesitation. And that my friends, makes all the difference.

March Photo A Day - Kitchen Sink

As a stay at home mom my girls do not have many chores. They have to keep their rooms clean, put away their laundry and do the dishes every night. Cyra has to unload and put away the dishes. Ashleigh has to load the dishwasher and hand wash the ones that need special care.

Even though they "know" they have chores, I still have to "gently" remind them every night to take care of the dishes.

Last night, I had to to bring Scott to the urgent care doctor. Nothing major (just a touch of strep) but for him to willingly request to see a doctor is not something to ignore. As we left, I reminded the girls to take care of their chores. I assumed the best.

Oh how silly I can sometimes be!

It looked just like this when I left.

Yeah. I know a close up of dirty dishes is kinda gross, but it came out so nice and crisp!

March Photo A Day - A Corner of Your Home

This is my least favorite corner of my house. I'll admit my house is often times messy or cluttered, but everything gets cleaned up easy-peasy. This corner, however, for some odd reason, is always a disaster. The shelf serves as a catch all, shoes get tossed in the crate, tools pile up. Ugh!

And that milk crate? It is supposed to be in the trunk of my car! It has all my emergency essentials in it: a lantern, a sit-upon, my Rand McNally Road Atlas (in case I get the sudden urge for a road trip on my way to the grocery store), a multipurpose tool, handy wipes and paper towels... Actually there isn't much in the way of "emergency essentials" in there at all!

March Photo A Day - Cars

I've been doing a bit of spring cleaning the past few days and I've gotten to the point of sprucing up the porch. Most of the girls outdoor toys have ended up in a big jumbled mess in the corner of the porch which drives me insane because it looks like the outdoor toy department at Toys-R-Us exploded on the porch.

Luckily, the house we are living in now comes with massive amounts of outdoor storage. One of the areas we opted to use as a playroom of sorts. The girls don't actually play in it because BUGS! But they keep most of their larger and less played with toys out there. In the process of moving the outside toys to the playroom, I figured I might as well clean it up and make it a bit more functional. Eventually, I'd like to completely finish the space and make it much more usable which equates to less buggy.

Check out what I found while I was cleaning!

 

Scott loves cars. Aside from RPG it is his only real hobby. Since Ashleigh was a toddler, he has been collecting Matchbox and Hot Wheels for her and then for Cyra. The case above is double sided and most compartments are double parked. 

One of my favorite memories is of Scott and Ashleigh playing cars together when we first moved back to Florida. Ashleigh had one of those rugs with the streets and town on it and she took great delight as driving all the wrong ways she could, parking in the grocery store and deliberately crashing into Scott's carefully placed row of hot rods.

Both the girls grew up loving Scooby-Doo insane amounts - well, I guess they actually still really love Scooby-Doo. The Mystery Machine is actually one of five Scooby-Doo cars that came in a pack (Freddy has a Bronco!) but the van is my favorite.

This is another of my favorites in the collection. I'm not sure what kind of car it is but it is such a beautiful rusty orange and it sparkles like gems in the sunlight.

Here's the same car but in black and white. I couldn't decide which one I liked better so I posted both.

Letter Box

I did some much needed early Spring cleaning this week and came across a tattered and worn cardboard box, you know the kind you store your income taxes in. Tucked into the bottom of my closet, covered with a stack of extra blankets this box has seen the inside of many master bedroom closets. With each move and unpacking, this box has followed me for nearly two decades. Of course, two decades ago it was just a small shoe box. Somewhere around 30 I adopted a larger, sturdier box.

Knowing that with the tight quarters our new house has, I decided to transfer the contents of the old box into an even sturdier plastic storage container. I had an extra one left over from Christmas (I repacked all of our Christmas decorations in new boxes this year since we have to store them outside) so while I was cleaning I took an hour to go through the old box before moving the contents to a new home.

I opened the cover of the box and smiled at all the greeting cards and letters that date back from the time when I was in middle school. Graduation cards, birth announcements, Christmas cards and letters from friends I’ve not seen or heard of in years all stacked in messy piles within the box.

Memories. Tangible memories from years past.

So many cards from family members I can’t even list them all! Hundreds of cards I imagine, though I have never counted them and only three birthday cards bare my grandmother’s signature. I’m sure I got more from her, she saw fifteen of my birthdays, but for some reason only those three made it into the box.

I worked for a semester before I started college and I have letters from Bridget telling me what a strange new world college was. Cards and letters from Cindy, a friend that I regret not keeping in touch with, telling me about her wild dating adventures. Birthday cards from Heather, hand made on her computer. I still have a Bob Ross inspired painted she made me hanging in my bedroom.

Each year new cards get reverently placed on top of the pile, birthday and Christmas cards mostly, but occasionally a letter or a “Thinking of you” card.

As I was going through, I remembered another box filled with just letters. This one though is just a small cardboard photo storage box – like a shoebox, that sits on a shelf in my Craftway. This one too has been through a number of moves and always gets placed where I have easy access to it. A few precious letters from my husband, a handful from a high school friend, and all the letters from my very oldest friend, Ericka, and my closest friend, Sara, all tied together with ribbons, each bundle from a different person.

 

Sara wrote to me while she was in Japan. Although she was not about to write everyday to mimic our daily conversations, she wrote long, detailed letters. Every time a thick letter was shoved though my mail slot, I would start tearing up even before I opened it because I missed her so much. Her letters are precise, thoughtful and insightful observations about Japanese culture, her loves and complaints about work and the new foods she was discovering. She writes so much like she talks and thinks, that it was easy to imagine her sitting next to me telling me about her experiences. Little details that I’m sure I would forget she spins into vibrant vivid descriptions like the story-teller she is.

Ericka’s letters have come at random intervals since just before high school graduation. Each time I get a letter from her I let out a “squee” of joy. Envelopes are decorated with stickers and drawings or pictures that she cut out of magazines and glued on. Her letters are short and poignant detailing her life and asking about the girls. Occasionally a mention of some silly thing we did as kids gets tossed in: concoctions, secret codes, Cabbage Patch Kids, so many shared memories. I can hear her voice in each letter and each one brings with it a bevy of happy memories.

My new 27 quart plastic box for letters gives me some extra space. At 75% capacity, I think I have another five or ten years to fill it up. I look forward to the day when I will need to move up to a bigger box. Letters are a tangible, permanent connection. I might not keep in touch with people like I should but trust me when I say, each card, each postcard, each letter means something and gets tucked away. Writing letters is so personal you can’t help but feel special when you get one. An unexpected letter from a friend is like sunshine, rainbows and unicorns exploding out of the mailbox.

 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a letter to write.

Clean This Craft Up!

I was spoiled in the old house with a large dining room that could double as my craft area. And would you believe that these are the only photos that I could find of the area.

Both of these photos are actually from Ashleigh experimenting with her new camera last year. The craft area always looked messy and cluttered, but everything did have a place and as far as I was concerned it was quite well organized.

Fast forward a few months. In the new house we "lost" about 500 square feet. It didn't seem like a big deal at the time, but we are definitely feeling a bit tight, especially in my craft area.

In an effort to "contain" my crafts I chose to utilize the front hallway that we decided wouldn't get used all that much since there is a door right off of the the dining room that opens out to the carport. In fact, it was also the only place that I had to put the cat litter so the dog would get into it since we could gate it off. Since we've moved in it has been a struggle to keep the area clean and organized. It feels claustrophobic trying to get supplies so often instead of putting things away I just pile them on a shelf and call it a day.

Most of the time it looks something like this:

Its cluttered and unkempt. Also, there as there is a nice pass through that opens into the living room all that clutter is like a blinking "Look at this mess" neon sign! Notice the cat box and the front door. Ugg! What a pain in the butt to keep up with! All the disorganization makes me less than excited to get into any project.

So today, in a fit of boredom sprinkled with the start of a head cold, I decided to clean and organize the "Craftway" as I have taken to calling it. A good three and a half hours later, I have two and a half plastic boxes ready to out to the the storage shed full of crafts that I rarely use. I reorganized a few baskets and boxes and although it doesn't look like too much has changed the results are very satisfying and I am ready to pull out a box and get working on another scrapbook.



February's Plan

Four weekends + One vacation day = early spring cleaning!

My house is overflowing with too much stuff!! Now, while I am a big culprit of the stuff, it isn’t just my stuff! Ashleigh and Cyra have become “stuffers” too.

My biggest collection of stuff currently is of course my crafting stuff and books.

I have made a huge dent in the books category recently. I donated roughly 150 – 200 books to the library. Many of the books were Cyra’s and Ashleigh’s old books. Many were paperbacks that I read once and had no intention of ever revisiting. That was a good day. And I know I have plenty more to donate.

In the craft department…let’s just say that I have forbidden myself from going into a craft store for at least… a good long time at least! (Unless, of course, I hear that familiar whine, “Oh, Mom, I forgot to tell you about my project…”) I have made a concentrated effort to condense and organize my crafts. The problem is I really need a dedicated craft room. As that isn’t going to happen (since the girls keep fighting me on sharing a room again), one of the plans I am making involves requisitioning space from the attic to create a craft storage area. Now, keeping in mind that there are some things that just shouldn’t be stored in an uninsulated attic, I think that I could potentially reduce my visible craft clutter by a third.

That idea, of course, leads to a major overhaul of the attic itself. Currently, I don’t even want to talk about it! However, I know that at least half of the boxes up there were not even opened after the move, so, that means, whatever is in those boxes, I have lived without for over four years. I’m not sure I even want to open them! I think I would just rather have Salvation Army come and take them all away. That way I know I’ll never miss the stuff, because I don’t remember what stuff it was.

Now, that’s just my stuff. Scott has things in the attic that he will need to go through as well. And the same principle will apply: he has lived without it, therefore he doesn’t need it.

That just leaves the girls. Sometimes I forget how attached to my stuff I was when I was Ashleigh’s age. I know how hard it is to get rid of anything, because of all the memories attached to each item. I wish there was a way I could convince her that the stuffed animal she deems as “the most important thing ever” will, twenty years from now, not matter all that much. I wish that she could know that it isn’t the thing; it is the person who matters.

With Cyra dejunking is slightly easier. We pack up toys that I think she has outgrown and we stash them away in the attic. If after six months she hasn’t pleaded to play with them, then we donate them to the place of her choice. Last year it was her old pre-school. This year, I have a thought that it will be the same. Her memories of her pre-school are vivid, clear and all good.

The very last thing I want to accomplish in my spring cleaning is this: set up an efficient, organized home office. I have horrible organization skills. I am willing to admit that- No, it isn’t really the organization part I have issues with. I can organize. My problem is keeping everything organized. The whole saying, “a place for everything and everything in its place,” has long been my nemesis. Having an organized home office would take more than just organizing. It would take a dedicated, active effort to maintain the organization in the long term.

So, those are the plans for February. Maybe March as well. Hopefully not into April…but I wouldn’t put money on it.

Where the day leads...

I spent the day home with a sick Ashleigh. I had grand plans…laundry, dishes, vacuuming. But in the grand scheme of things, I ended up spending most of the day working on lesson plans and researching Twilight Zone episodes for my Drama unit. Interestingly, that led me to research gremlins which led me to reflect upon modern technology, specifically when modern technology fails, which in turn got me thinking about how we would deal with a sudden absence of all technology.

All those people running around without their cell phones and their apps; mobile blogging and twittering. How would be people who are used to being in contact 24/7 handle the void? Obviously there have been stories about this before. I think I’d like to try my hand at it too. I’ve always had a fondness for end-of-the-world stories and one without technology is one that interests me greatly.

I’d like to imagine that I’d be a-okay without my geeky gadgets, but I think I’d miss my computer…my stove…ohh…my AC. Do appliances count as geeky gadgets? I can do without a cell phone. I have one but don’t use it all that much. I could do without my MP3 Player. I’ve been without before, so I think that while I’d miss it, I could deal. The more I think about this the more I think I’d like to read one of those “living off the land for a year with no modern technology” books.

Needless to say, the dishes are still taking over the kitchen, the laundry is still piled up like unpaid bills and the dust bunnies, without fear of the vacuum, have left the security of the dark underworld beneath the couch and are blatantly mingling with the dog and cat hair balls.

Other than that I really don’t have much to say today. So I will leave you this thought:

"We all live in suspense, from day to day, from hour to hour; in other words, we are the hero of our own story." — Mary McCarthy, American author (1912-1989).