Organizing for me all began when I was a little kid. I would actually willingly clean my middle brother's room for him, taking pleasure in tidying his chaotic space. I remember cleaning and organizing my grandma's baking closet. Clean Sweep? Love the show. Very satisfying to watch.
Anyway, today, we got a visit from a very proficient maid: me! Order? My number one mission. Julia's bedroom was pure danger to enter. When I nearly drew blood by stepping on a dinosaur I knew it was time for some serious effort. There were tubs of clothes to organize, zillions of things to remove from the rug. Following her room, I tackled Avery's room, which also houses our guest bed, my closet (my husband uses our large walk-in closet for his office) and my "office."
Our whole upstairs looks so clean and nice. I basically act like a basketball player on defense when my kids step towards it, shouting a little too loudly,"Please don't touch that. Don't touch ANYTHING. I just...want...order." The result? Things look magazine fresh and like nobody lives here. It's actually kind of sick that I need this once in awhile but the effect, well, it's quite magical. My overhaul left me physically exausted afterwards but so deep-down-in-satisfied. What you can accomplish if you put your mind to it.
When it was time to head downstairs and tackle the toys, I hung a shoe organizer in our front toy closet (where the toys stay when out of circulation) and Julia and I sorted them into seperate areas. We will see how this works. Still, with all the toys we have, there has to be a system. They don't play with things when they can't even walk across the room. I see a total difference in the way they approach play when their things are organized and they have access to stuff. Of course their play is to UNorganize everything. We all have our passions.
In closing, I highly suggest a cathartic cleaning for anyone yearning for a blissful albeit temporary foray into the world you occupied before children. And after that, take a deep breath and say goodbye to order, as I did hours ago. My neatly made beds with fresh sheets? Rumpled. The floor? Littered with plastic dinosaurs, books, blocks, and stuffed friends. Order has left us again, running down the street squealing in pain. I think it stepped on a dinosaur.