From the Date Nights PDF:
Oh, our bedroom, you guys. Decluttering didn’t begin to describe what needed to happen. It was a little cave we slept in and didn’t particularly enjoy. Complete with large swaths of ‘is there a floor under there or not, because I can’t see it’. I didn’t take before pictures, because, well, I thought the after would be bad enough. I didn’t figure there was any way I could really get the room cleaned in any limited period of time. It just couldn’t be done. We had too much crap (well, I did. 80% of it was my stuff) and there was just nowhere to put it and not enough time to sort it all.
(In my defense, a LOT of this stuff was on the floor because I have a Tasmanian devil of a two-year-old* who likes to greatly speed up the process of entropy.)
But! It turns out when your stuff is all over the floor it LOOKS like a lot more than it is! Also, recycle bins and garbage cans are excellent places for allllll that stuff. I have been in a very take-no-prisoners mood regarding THINGS for the last month (due of course to 7) and I was determined there would be no half-assing. If I’m clearing off the floor, dresser, top of the bookcase, etc., I wasn’t going to leave a SINGLE ITEM behind. Everything goes. Somewhere.
You know what I should take an after picture of? The donation pile. Our entire house is slowly ending up in that pile and I LIKE IT. Because, look at this pretty room! You can see the floor! Several other rooms AND closets in my house now look this way (aka, empty) and I might need a bit of an intervention. But not.
We (meaning Thomas) even got that Paris painting that’s been sitting on the floor for months onto the wall. My grandma bought it when she went to Europe in 1954. She had a set of two and recently (well, last fall) gave one to me and one to my sister.
I added some overpriced-for-Mother’s-Day flowers and voila! A room I LOVE. You can bet I was excited to spend Friday night there with some wine. And Friends, even, at Thomas’ suggestion. Does it get any better?
*Is it weird that ever since he turned 22 months or so – maybe even a little earlier – we’ve been calling him a two-year-old? He is just SO two right now. I don’t mean that in the ‘terrible’ two way, either. In good ways and trying ways, he’s just…TWO.