After our recent renovation, my husband and I got extremely organized in our bedroom/bathroom. And, as per my annual summer request, my daughter got her bedroom/bathroom organized, as well. My son is still working on my request for bedroom neatness and organization. We can only hope.
The real kicker is, now my daughter and I, can’t find anything. I almost had a nervous breakdown looking for a designer watch my husband had purchased for me. I decided to whittle down all excess packaging, despite the fanciness of it all, so that I could get to the watch easily and it would take up less space. I mean the watch is very nice, but it’s not the Hope Diamond. I don’t want to have to spend 15 minutes opening all sorts of leather boxes and suede bags, jumping through laser mazes, and cracking codes, only to finally get to my watch and figure out that I am running 20 minutes late. I imagine if the watch had come in simpler packaging, we could have saved at least $100, but that is for a different blog. Anyway, I whittled down so much of the packaging, that I had forgotten where I put the watch. I started to worry that in my frenzied whittling, I had just pitched everything, including the watch. (Don’t worry, honey, I finally found the watch. It was in my “good” jewelry box. The watch was where it makes sense for it to be, but of course, I looked everywhere else for it, first.)
My daughter looked horrified the other morning, despite trying to keep an air of calm. She told me later that she couldn’t find important paperwork for her new volunteer position. She admitted that it took her two hours to find what she needed. “Where did you finally find it?!” I asked.
“In a folder, in the top drawer of my desk,” was her reply. “As I was looking for it, I thought to myself, I never should have cleaned up my room. I always knew where everything was, before the clean up.” Then she looked at me pointedly, clearly annoyed.
My son, her brother, hasn’t lost anything, so far, this summer. His keys are always under the gum wrappers, on the floor, in his room. Irony.
it’s called organized chaos …. my bedroom is the same way!!! lol
I knew there was a word for it!! LOL!
from one Mom to another: we have become our Moms. Remember these words: “Well, it didn’t grow legs and walk out, did it?” (I believe a few things I can’t find did just that & somewhere out there is a crochet hook with legs living a shady life.) And never, ever forget. The opposite of irony is wrinkly. =o)
I laughed out loud! “Opposite of Irony is Wrinkly!” Learning that one, all too well!
lol Thanks for the laugh. I too hate throwing away the pretty paper, boxes, and other gifty vehicles. lolol
lol I too hate throwing away the pretty paper, boxes, and other gifty vehicles. lolol Thanks for the laugh