Right now the object of my obsession is storage. One year is plenty of time to have the house unpacked and meticulously organized. We've been unpacked for months, and 95% of the house has met the organizational standard. We have plenty of storage space in our new house. I would even go so far as to say that we have more than we need. So there is absolutely no reason why we shouldn't be at 100%. Right?
Often times when you move into a new home you unpack things quickly to get rid of the boxes. The rationale is that this is a temporary storage solution until you get a better feel for where things should go. In our last house, the temporary home became the permanent home, and I marveled at the fact that, five years later, I still had things jammed in inconvenient spots and had never gotten around to getting everything optimally situated. I made a vow to do better in the next house.
So today, rather than dithering around on the computer and playing with the stupid rabbit, I jumped in feet first. I completely tore the laundry room, hall closet, and the craft cabinet apart. I literally dumped everything out and proceeded to sort and re-group the whole mess. I had 5 1/2 hours to dedicate to the project, and felt as though I had a fair shot of completing it in the alotted time. I had made remarkable progress, but needed some storage tubs to make it just right.
I headed down to the basement thinking that I would claim one of the small bins that my kids use to organize toys. I thought there was a spare one down there but, of course, I was mistaken. I decided to combine some items to free up a bin. I reached up while standing on my tip-toes to pull down a bin of blocks that no one has used in years. I remember thinking to myself, "be careful now, it'd be a bummer if you dropped this on your head!" I slid the bin forward ever so slowly. I thought I was careful. Except I didn't keep my fingers pressed tightly enough over the front of the bin's drawer. The drawer launched itself out of the bin and smashed straight into my mouth - BAM! I am not exaggerating when I say that drawer of blocks weighs ten pounds. There were a couple hours where my profile bore a vague resemblance to Donald Duck's.
This is the bin that attacked my face -- except mine was full of blocks
So now I have a bleeding, swollen, duck lip to commemorate the fact that I actually tried to be productive today. You can bet that the next time I feel inspired to get off my butt and do something, I'll remember getting punched in the face by a drawer full of blocks -- and I'll think twice.