This week I started the upstairs redo. Okay. All of it was easy except one room. In the ten years the Mister and I have been married, I have slowly learned something rather uneasy for me..... he doesn't throw anything away. There. I said it.
If I am gone for a week, I can come home and can do an archeological dig in the house and tell you Every Single Thing he did for that week because it is still sitting out, crumbed up, stacked up, or on the floor. Seriously.
So, we finally compromised a few years ago; he could have one room in the house that he could do whatever he wanted in and, if he wanted to spend the money, he could put a storage building outside for the rest. He bought two -- the largest two the Amish built! They are full, too.
Now, I have had a change of heart. I can't bear it. I like things neat and organized. I like things so that when I am standing in Omaha, I can call someone and tell them: "If you go to the second drawer on the right side of the stove and open it, you will find the 6" pot under the 4" pot on the left side of the drawer." I can't help it. I just like things that way. I well understand that this may be a symptom that COULD require medication, but I am willing to chance it. And, yes, I do alphabetize my spices.... It just makes sense to me to have things where you can find them today and not in six months.
This all leads to the fact that I am Cleaning All Spaces In the House. All of 'em. Even his domain and buildings. I am exhausted with hunting my hammer. I am sick of looking for a service manual. I am sick of the smell that comes from a dusty, no, filthy, room.
Today I am in my third day of the first room. I have broken out in hives. My heart is starting to palpate ever so slightly. But, I can see the floor and hope is in sight. I am making good friends with my fear that There Is Something In There like a mouse or a snake and getting it done.
The shop building is next. If I don't come out before Tuesday, just follow the garbage bags.