Definitely Not "Wordless."

There is no mood that cannot be fixed by two crazy girls and a good ol' belly laugh.

No Room For R. Kelly In THESE Closets.

You'll put this away over my
dead, fiberglassed body.

For all that I whine about my home, the place has a ridiculous amount of storage, closets, and crawlspaces. Ceiling fans that wouldn't decapitate someone six feet tall or over- no. Rooms with miniature doors- yes.

But every now and again, those spaces become crazypants crammed. So yesterday's Big Dig was tackling Susannah's closet, Nora's closet, and the gigantic crawlspace off of Nora's room.

I hear that some other tackling went on yesterday as well. Sports!

To start, I removed stuff that Nora had [slightly] outgrown...and walked most of them right down to Suzy's room. Because Nora, at age 2 years and 3 months, just outgrew a pile of 6-12 month onesies and shirts. I am not joking. And her sister, a worldly 4-month old, is totally ready for the 6-month gear.

They will be the same size by Fall.

Anyhow. Nora's closet was fairly easy, especially since I've kept it pretty darned organized since she was but a flutter in my tum (and her closet was festooned with maroon, teal, and eye-popping graffiti). There were a couple of details slowing down the train, however. One was that, since I was sorting a wide array of sizes of which to store, I needed a lot of separate piles. The second reason also influences the first reason; Nora really wanted to help.

There's no door on Nora's closet. This is, in part, because a) it's rather busted and painted red and white and leaning sideways in the garage, and b) Nora likes to play in her closet- things like Shoe Store and Dora the Explorer and Gypsy Pirate.

This made pulling things out even more difficult, as someone would see me remove some items from hangers and decide to pull down more items. In fact, all.

But eventually, I made my way to Susannah's room. Girl has an awesome closet, which is most likely due to happenstance construction on this house. (I know, I was surprised too.) They shoved a bedroom and closet right up by the foyer and enclosed a little space with glass block windows and crazy shelving. It gets fabulous sunlight- but is also positively Arctic this time of year.

Unfortunately, it's also the perfect size for suitcases, hanging bags, wayward hardware, and a few [ahem] Spring coats. It has also been known to host a travelling Gypsy Pirate.

So we gave Susannah back her closet. I cleared out toys that, to the best of my knowledge, didn't belong to anyone. I pulled out all of her newborn to 3-month clothing (yeah, maybe I cried a little, no big deal), and packaged it up into Baby Girl and Gender Neutral- although, let's be honest. The more I "put things aside for a boy," the more likely it is that we'll find ourselves with a third daughter down the road.

Those projects were decently easy to complete. The really hard part came when I had to sort everything into respective bins in the crawlspace...which is where I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. For two years, I'd been putting stuff away in bins as Nora outgrew them. Except, since she's rather small for her size, it would take forever for her to outgrow 3-6 month pants. Which would, nonetheless, be put away in her "1 year" bin. Because that was the bin I was putting away, now that she was "2 year." (But still wearing "1 year.") And, because of the generosity of past nanny families, grandmothers, cousins' hand-me-downs, and doting aunts (and honorary aunts), the girls' clothing storage boasts bins and bins for each age range. (It's like shopping each and every time. And, unless I'm sorting and feeling cross, I absolutely get the shivers over how incredibly cool it is that I will not need to buy my kids clothing until they are eight years of age.)

But, I got it all sorted during the girls' naptimes. I even found a box of stuff erroneously marked 3T that would kinda sorta work for Nora right now- including a ladybug raincoat and pajamas without holes in the toes. And yes, maybe I inhaled some fiberglass, and- definitely- Ender the cat jumped into a pile of blown-in insulation and caused me to freak out, brain myself on an attic beam, fall out of the crawlspace and onto some [noisy] bags, drag the cat down the stairwell to the kitchen, humiliate him with a sponge bath on his paws and head, and still feel good about the fact that no one had woken up, regardless of my PG-13 language.

So, in total:
-Three organized storage spaces.
-One bin of stuff to donate.
-One slightly traumatized cat.
-One whopper of a skull bruise.
-Zero F-bombs dropped.

I consider it a victory.

I'd Kill For That Nursery-Cleaning Mary Poppins Scene.

Stop trying to put away the baby.

I have an issue.

Rewind for a sec- I have many issues.

Okay, fast forward back to where we were: I have one specific issue of which I shall expound upon today.

I get overwhelmed easily. And when my level of whelm is through the roof, I become less than pleasant to live with.

Take my house, for instance. (Please.) There are very few people who have not heard me whine about keeping this warehouse o' toys clean. And I realize that, for the most part, a goodly deal of the possessions within this house are here at my request. Or at the request of people that I have directly created. (Peej, for his part, owns a tattered knapsack full of Sega games and a glass baby mug.)

But I have never been able to work in a room that wasn't organized. When I was an Admissions intern at Hampshire College, I would rearrange office supplies. When home on break, I'd sort my Dad's CD collection- which I could see peripherally from the living room where I'd write papers. While working at my folks' restaurant, their kitchen would boast the neatest line of potato bins (unwashed, washed, chopped).

It's no different now, except that I work for two little girls who are a nice blend of whirling dervishes and gigantic Spin Arts. Holding ripped bags of cornflakes.

And while I've gotten quite good at writing in [unexpected] fifteen minute spurts on piles of laundry and willing myself to do projects with the girls without first mopping/dusting/organizing whatever room we're in, I kept thinking that there had to be a better way. And now I've found it. And it's embarrassingly [for me] simple and ridonkulously [for anyone, really] easy.

I plugged reminders into my phone.

Sure, things like dishes and laundry need to be done (and done and done and done) every day. Because miniature clothing expands to epic sizes in the washing machine. It just does. And every evening, without fail, Peej and I get to do the after-bedtime food, floor, toy, and surface bulldozer game. But now, once a day, I get a reminder for that day's weekly task. And sure, the bathrooms get dirty Every. Single. Day. But unless it's Wednesday (or unless something unmentionable happens), I don't have to stress about how dirty the bathrooms are, oh my GOD they're so dirty until the next time I get that reminder.

Okay, maybe this is coming off crazier in print. But the result is that, at the end of each day, the house is relatively in shape and won't make a visitor dirtier for being in any of the rooms. Which frees me up to actually enjoy being with my kids. And to not feel guilty about working on my book (which currently boasts a four page outline. Maybe I should organize that.)

I recently read an essay in Martha Stewart Living (and yeah, I set reminders to tear through old magazines as well- you laugh, but I'm finally reading 'em) about a woman and her quest for an organized life. I identified with many parts of it, but especially the section where she admitted that sometimes she swept toys away from her kids before they were fully done playing with them. (Guilty.)

I don't wanna be that way. But as much as I try to just Be In The Moment (and I do, I really, do), it's so flippin' nice when things are just roughly where they're supposed to go. I really crave order and folded shirts and markers that haven't lost caps and counters one thousand percent free of salmonella.

So far, this system has worked for about two weeks. Things look a tiny bit cleaner every evening- and morning. (I'm still so rotten at mornings. A dirty house in the morning can set me off for months.) And I'd like to say that, even more than a non-temper-tantrum-inducing home, this new method has yielded a gentler Keely.

Cue: P.J. waving a miniature pennant with Happy Wife emblazoned on it.

Now picture him waving it way harder.

Okay, P.J., that's enough.

Blink And You'll Miss Her.

...But she'll leave an unmistakable trail of yogurt, crumbs, and glitter.