J'Espere

I haven’t posted about this in a while, but felt it was a good time to update you on what is going on at my house. I am ditching my hoarding ways. Seriously. Motivation? A toddler and her things. Oh, how she loves her things. Since I’m not going to be the one who throws a toddler’s precious belongings away, it has given me the opportunity to really look at my own stuff. Truthfully, when we examine our lives, we find stuff coming from all corners. If you think I’m being metaphorical, drop by sometime.             As I have started to truly look at the life I have led, there is a multitude of feelings to go with it. The first is awe that I got any sleep, ever, during high school. My high school stuff reminds me of Wes Anderson’s movie Rushmore .   Even I am impressed at the number of extra curricular activities participated in, events attended and things completed during school with no caffeine.     ...

     After reading that you are probably wondering how you missed the part where my sweet baby, the one who just celebrated a birthday,   grew up. Fortunately, dear readers, you haven’t. She’s still a little bit, though she regularly grows in her sleep, surprising me and Matt in the mornings with a little extra height, useful for things like trying to turn the doorknob on her own or reaching for things from the counter when she shouldn’t.             She has always had a ton of baby dolls- some from when I was little, some from shower gifts, some from Christmas and then one from our delightful neighbor, who is seven and the official “babysitter”.   This is by far the most important object she has ever owned, besides Lambie and Bunny.   She calls her “Baby” and carries her high on her shoulder, gently patting her back. She has adapted quite well to only using one arm to do many things, such as build...

True Story. I am not a minimalist. Don't be shocked. Over the years, I have read a ton of books about organizing, decluttering, making room for more by having less. I went through a phase when I was a teenager (thus procuring me the nickname "Buddha") when I tried to get rid of everything. I remember reading some novel in which the main character's sister did this, and the parents ended up just sneaking all of her stuff up into the attic. In the story she subsisted on something like three pairs of socks and a pair of jeans. It didn't work out for her. It didn't work out for me. I was fantasizing about living out of a backpack, kind of like a hitchhiker. Doesn't fly for a southern girl. In what kind of world do you not hang on to your mother/aunt/grandmother/someone you met once's....something.     If you've been a reader for a while, this might not sound like anything exciting or new from me. "She's reading a new organizational book, she...

    Becoming a parent has meant having to accept certain "situations". Like, one glass of wine with dinner instead of a margarita (apparently babies frown upon hard liquor, or maybe adults do). And when a friend asks you to a movie, you can only imagine a panicked babysitter texting you in the middle of Ryan Gosling removing clothing (don't judge- you know you watch too) to call you home. So you end up staying home a lot more. BUT, and there is a BUT, you become much more in tune with your home. You start really thinking about what it means to be in a home. Equaling a breakthrough.     When I was younger (Oh. My. God. this makes me so sad) my "home" was essentially a crash pad. Trust me, I added things to make it more "homey"- like my fish tank in Greensboro, or posters in Raleigh, or the Carolina gnome that has been mysteriously missing for the last few years. But overall it never really mattered what was happening there because there was so much els...