That's our downstairs.
So.
Story time.
When my daughter was born, she didn't sleep.
Ever.
You go into parenthood expecting some level of sleep deprivation. You expect to yawn, to be bleary-eyed, to maybe hit up whatever caffeinated beverage gets you through the day a little harder than normal. This was what life was like with my son. I was at the level of tiredness where everything was funny when he was young. Not a huge deal.
But my daughter never slept. And when she slept, she woke up constantly, and since my body was her food source, I was awake constantly, too. It wasn't abnormal for her to wake up six times between 11 pm and 6 am, and that was my life for 18 months. 18 months of getting, at most, 3-4 broken-up hours of sleep per day. (And forget naps; she rarely napped decently either, and I was too keyed up to fall asleep, not that it would have mattered, because her naps were 45 minutes tops until she got much older.)
So instead of yawning with bleary eyes, I sobbed uncontrollably, would think something and then have ZERO clue what I had just thought (there were times when I would think, 'Oh, I should get that out of the kitchen,' stand up, and then have NO clue why I was standing up), had joint pain and random aches for no reason, forgot where I was going when I was driving. I wish I were exaggerating; with that last one, my son, who was then 13 years old, had to remind me that I was taking him to school.
Oops.
There's a reason sleep deprivation is used for torture; it does terribly things to your physical and mental health. My daughter is four years old now and sleeps pretty well, but I still feel like my brain is recovering from all that time it spent without restorative sleep.
Anyway.
I struggled pretty badly through that time. I did my best to take care of what needed to be taken care of, but I failed pretty badly at a lot of things, no surprise there. Our basement was where the majority of the boxes were stored from our move (we moved back to our home state when my daughter was 8 months. NOT. EASY), and my husband's boxes, which are full of junk from college and also contain things like Comcast bills (paid, of course) from 2008, are still there. It's a dumping ground, one that I'm planning on tackling next, but the dumping ground had started to bleed over into the laundry room and I hadn't yet found the energy or the fortitude to tackle it. So it got worse and worse and worse, until suddenly, I couldn't take it anymore.
Are you ready?
Seriously. Steady yourselves.
Here's the laundry room.
*infinite screaming*
That's AFTER I started the cleanup process, as evidenced by the pile of stuff on top of the washer. But the stuff scattered on the floor, that was just...there. The bin of what looks like rolled-up wrapping paper was actually a small trash can full of roller shades (none of which fit any windows in the house) that was there when we moved in (as were the old disgusting mop and the other things leaning by the wall. Yuck). That's the thing about not sleeping- you don't even THINK of easy solutions, like, "Hey, I could throw that out." Never even occurred to me during that time, not even once. It's almost embarrassing to admit that.
But part of starting this blog was to hold myself accountable for all the things I both want and need to do, and this was definitely on my list of absolutely need to do, so I began slowly tackling the room. I started on a set of shelves left here by the previous owner (an older lady who had passed away). I weeded out a bunch of things she had left behind, then reorganized my own belongings and called it a day. The next time I organized, I worked on that large set of shelves you see on the right hand side of the picture, then moved to the space between that and the washer. And so on and so forth. Yesterday, I tackled the dryer, which is across from the washer, and the area to the right of it. And last night, I decided that the job needed to be over and done with, and I tackled the final box down there and swept the entire room.
Are you ready?
It's so much better.
Here we go.
Isn't it lovely? Isn't it woooooooooooonderful???
The amount of relief that picture gives me is enormous. Clutter triggers my anxiety in a bad, bad way, and I keep going downstairs to examine the gorgeous fruits of my labor. Let's look at some more organizational and cleaning fantasticness, shall we?
The area to the right of the washer had been FULL of boxes, clothes, and junk. FIRE HAZARD.
A view from the other direction.
So clean. So clutter free.
This took a LOT of work and a LOT of effort. My back is pretty toasted today; my hips hurt, my pelvis aches, and I was having trouble walking up the stairs last night after finishing all of this. It's going to be like that when I do the tough jobs; that's unfortunately just how my body works these days, and while it does indeed stink, I'm used to it and know to expect it. But the payoff here is really great; I get the satisfaction of both a clean, clutter-free laundry room, I get space to set up my drying racks for the winter so I don't have to use up so much electricity running the dryer, and I get the immense satisfaction of knowing that I completed a project that desperately needed completing.
I bought a small shelf from Menards today; that will go around where the bottles of water are in that last picture. It'll hold my daughter's paints, which are currently languishing where my husband left them, on the super cluttered bar in the basement. I'm sure I'll find other things to be stored on there as well, because up next...
The basement!
Wish me luck, because that place is seriously Nightmare on Elm Street-levels horrifying.
Do you have any major projects that you're tackling?
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