It should come as no shock to any who have been to our home that housekeeping is neither a talent I possess nor an avocation I pursue. Frankly, if you're coming over, there is a 100% chance that devoted partner and I have spent the previous 24-36 hours frantically sweeping up dustbunnies and hiding piles of clothing under the bed where we hope you don't look (also just shoving everything we can't be bothered to sort in the closet - in our previous apartment, you may have noticed that sometimes there was a handbag "locking" the closet doors; that was why). I simply don't enjoy cleaning and think it should only be done in dire circumstances.
Some things are different. Occasionally, after an especially failtastic jam-making session, the kitchen will see a wipe down. Actually, the kitchen is the area that gets most frequently cleaned because it gets most frequently dirty. And for a day or two after we change the sheets, we try to make the bed. But honestly, we're just getting back into it at the end of the day... I currently have about half a year's worth of magazines in both the bathroom and the kitchen that I am slowly going through to pull out the recipes and articles I want to keep thereby freeing me to discard the rest of the magazine, and I am creating a large bag of clothing for Goodwill, but I'm not going to tell you that we spend our weekends mopping things.
We simply do not.
But yesterday was different. Yesterday we went to the Container Store for such necessities as shower caddy, knitting caddy, bra caddy, and boxes. Armed with our haul, I set about organizing my underwear drawer (I give it a B: the bras sort of fit in the caddy, and the drawer sort of closes over it, but there's definitely room for improvement; still this solution is an improvement over the old chuck everything in a pile and fish out what you want on any given day plan). Then I installed our shower caddy (installed might be too ambitious a word for slinging a hunk of plastic over the shower head and making sure the little rubber bit went click).
Then I sorted my knitting. This was a biggie. At the beginning, I just sort of threw things into a basket - this caused knots. Then I started bagging things and putting them in the basket and when the basket became full, plastic bags would overflow onto the floor. But since the overflow was in the newly appointed knitting nook, I considered it ok. Well, the Container Store begged to differ and reminded me that for $20, I could have two new baskets to put things in. Ah, Container Store, how wise you are. So now there was the task of organizing the basket: projects I'm not really working on right now, active projects, and yarn for soon to be active projects. Sounds like a good plan. And it was right until the moment I realized I was missing two skeins of soon to be active yarn. Two expensive skeins. Two skeins I really really liked and didn't think I could easily replace.
So then it happened. The Tasmanian Devil-like exorcism of the office/library/guest bedroom and living room in an effort to seek out the skeins I was very much hoping had not gone out with the trash (in truth, the non-wet trash was searched as well). In a matter of 45 minutes, the cluttered office suddenly had floor space and the bed was home only to pillows, sheets, blankets, and the box we need to save to send back my ring for resizing. Dry cleaning bags, and packing material from discarded boxes, and the boot box I didn't need, and many many receipts that had escaped from equally disorganized handbags - all was discarded in an appropriate trash receptacle. Shoes were returned to or near to closets. Dirty clothing found the hamper. Coffee cups the sink.
And nothing. My yarn was nowhere to be found. Which is confusing for the following reason: I may be a slob, but I am an organized slob. Underwear is rarely found in the dining room, nor are plates found in the bedroom. Bills are in piles only in rooms where bills get paid. Dirty clothing is, for the most part, found in the bedroom. So my mess doesn't travel. This makes it easier to find the not-too-dirty-to-be-worn-again jeans and the lipstick I really like (hint: either in a TSA-approved bag in the bathroom, or in the zip side pocket of a handbag). I was a little despondent. More than a little. I was downright pissed. Even though I held out hope that it was somewhere. It's just that I had run out of somewheres where it could be.
It is possible that devoted partner suggested I check the yarn baskets again, but he might be making that up to make me look bad. I knew that the yarn was in a plastic bag that crinkled noisily and, several hours later, remembered that I had a not-working-on-right-now project that was stored in a bag that crinkled. And come to think of it, even though I had moved that bag while organizing, the project that was in it was very similar in color to the missing yarn and-
Yes. The missing yarn was in the bottom of that bag. It has since been moved to the soon-to-be-active basket and I am no longer making the sad face. Furthermore, the house is remarkably cleaner than it was this time yesterday. I'm thinking win all around.
1 week ago