I Fixed It!

I did it! I took care of the shed.

The photos yesterday really got me thinking. It's not right to leave stuff like that, so I put on my grungy jeans, rolled up my (proverbial) sleeves, grabbed some supplies, and headed out back to conquer it.

It only took me an hour or so. Much less time than I thought it would. And the difference?

Wait for it.....

.....

Pretty good, right? The siding is vinyl so the scrubbing was actually more cosmetic than-

Wait, you thought I meant the inside? Haha! Haha. No.

I didn't even open the door.

But I got some pictures of Jeremiah on his slide to share!

Mommy! Mommy!

Bwweeeee!

Yay!

God bless and see you soon,

Joelle

The Mess

This is it. The one place I could never get a handle on no matter how hard I tried.

My shed.

Look at it. All innocent and cute, despite the weeds (which I am also not sorry for. They're the only things that grow for me anyway) growing all around it and the mildew (Which I am sorry for, but not to you. To the shed. It's not fair to my property to let it be damaged like that.).

But inside-

I originally wanted this to be a space where I could work out and craft. I had the work out part down for a while. Recorded book, treadmill. Old tv, workout video. Woo! I'm doing so well at keeping this place up!

Then my grandmother gave me her fabric. So I could start quilting. I like sewing and pattern piecing is also fun, so I took it all.

ALL her fabric.

Those bins? Fabric. There are multiple bags under the counter as well.

I started to sort and then I got pregnant and didn't want to do anything. I didn't have anyone to push me to do anything, so I didn't do anything. Well, I still walked, but that was it. So it sat. (I really hope she doesn't read this. She will kill me if she finds out what happened to it.)

Then we needed to start moving stuff around for the baby. The shed became necessary for storage. Soon it was difficult to navigate. I would go in every once in a while and push some stuff around, but halfheartedly and not to very much success.

So the stuff grew as Jeremiah did, both in and out of my tummy. It is mostly usable, seasonal, or sentimental stuff, but there is some trash the garbage men refuse to take away. (They refuse to take the refuse. Ha!)  And now I am left with what you see before you. The Mess. The Mess I can't get rid of because I don't know where to start. The Mess I want to never see again, and yet I also want to plow into with my bare hands and make all better. The mess I can't whirlwind away like I do so often with other messes. The Mess I have grandiose plans for, but obtain so little substance. The Mess that will take more than a day or two to fix, but I know once I do I will be able to do what I want in it with a smile.

The Mess I made.

The Mess I need help with.

The mess I refuse to be sorry for.

God Bless and see you soon.

Joelle

PS. I'm not sorry unless Grandma finds out. Then I'm like the thief who isn't sorry he stole but is very, very sorry he is going to jail.

Still Not Sorry

I posted my last blog very late last night so I could not show you The Mess I am not sorry for. I realize that some of The Mess may not seem like it to some people, but to me, it is The Mess. I guarantee, you will think I have The Mess by the next post. (This is too long to contain it all)

Just because I am not sorry for The Mess does not mean I would not change it. In fact, a lot of these things will be picked up or taken care of over the course of the day. The Mess won't go away, but I will fight it. I am simply not going to let The Mess bother me enough to make me change it if you were to drop by unexpectedly. I do not like the mess, I tolerate it. So I took a couple pictures of each room as it stands and will tell you what particular pieces of The Mess I will not apologize for, even if I would change it if I could. This is my house as it is right now when I got up.

Master bedroom.

I am not sorry for the unmade bed. For the pajamas all over the floor that I forgot to pick up yesterday. For the overflowing clothes hamper or the open closet doors. Or for the items on the dresser that don't belong. Although I'm sure Charlie is sorry his bed is so squished and floppy.

Bathroom

I thought of the more sensitive among us and did not take pictures of the bathroom. It's not too bad.
But I am not sorry for the mildew in the bottom of the shower.
I am sorry I keep forgetting to get bleach to fix said mildew.
I am not sorry I still use bleach. No natural remedy has worked on it.

Jeremiah's Room.

I am not sorry for the mismatched furniture. Nor the, once again, unmade bed. The most useful items of clothing are not in the mismatched furniture. I am not sorry for the clothes on the floor, or the  books on the floor or anything else on the floor. I'm not sorry I haven't straightened the cover on the big chair for a couple days. Or that the diapers don't have a decorative home.

Dining Room

I am not sorry for the things on the table, the card game paraphernalia that has no home, the box of cards that also has no home. The shoes unceremoniously dumped by the door. The table missing its glass top, although I am sorry I broke it.  You see the baby gate and drying rack that do have a home? They aren't in it.

Kitchen

I am not sorry for the open curtain revealing the washer/dryer. And I won't apologize for any of the items on the counter, even the ones that magically appeared and seem to have no purpose. The fact the counters need cleaned is a mild annoyance and I would/will clean them before any food prep is done, but I'm not sorry for the spills.
I am not sorry I didn't wash the dog dishes today.
Or yesterday.

Living room

I am not sorry for the computer I left on the floor last night instead of putting it away, the unfolded blankets in the box behind the sofa, or the new sippy cup Jeremiah left. I'm actually a bit surprised there are no old sippy cups throughout the room. I am not sorry for the sloppy organization on the toy shelving units or the nasty television cords that everyone hates. Especially since the suspended tv means there is a lot more room for playing.

Bar

I am not sorry for the mess I let my husband make in this room. Yes, I know this seems like a copout, but I'm also not sorry for the bar counter, which is entirely my doing. Those shoes and wires on the floor? Yup. Still not sorry. I actually went through that mess of tools in the corner not too long ago. That is organized!

I am a bit sorry I didn't try to get a good photo of all three animals together. Oh well.

All around

I am not sorry for the condition of the floors that desperately need vacuumed and shampooed (although, now that I look, you can't really tell in the photos how bad they are). Or for the windows that need washed, or anything you noticed that was messy that I didn't.

Phew! That was a lot of stuff to go through. I know some of you are quaking in your slippers wondering however I let it get so bad. I also know some of you are yawning, waiting for me to prove I have something I should apologize for. Either way, more is coming shortly!

God bless and see you soon,

Joelle

I'm Not Sorry

It seems to be becoming part of the North American ritual. We visit someone else's house and it's there. It comes part in parcel with the hugs and the welcomes and the, "Let me take your coat,"s.

"I'm sorry for the mess."

This is repeated, not only by people who actually have messy houses, but by those who have average houses, who have relatively clean houses, and who might have a single dirty dish in the otherwise spotless kitchen.

"I'm sorry for the mess."

It is said so often and with such conviction it has taken up the mantle of proper noun.

"I'm sorry for The Mess."

We say it to preempt any brokerage of the type of mess our house is. So everyone knows we are terrible housekeepers and they know you are judging yourself more than they will judge you.

"I'm sorry for The Mess."

We say it because we feel like our guests shouldn't be subjected to the everyday goings on of our lives. They shouldn't have to wade through things or see our dust in order to spend time with us.

"I'm sorry for The Mess."

We say it because last time we went to their house, they said it. And their house was so much cleaner than ours, even though we just spent the whole day cleaning it. So we must not care as much about them as they do about us.

"I'm sorry for The Mess"

I used to say it, too. I thought I was obligated to. My house, though usually fairly- sorta kinda- tidy-ish, isn't ever in a state of perfection. I always see things I forgot I wanted to do or didn't have time to do or just flat out refused to do today. I know I have a mess.

I have made a decision.

I am not sorry. Not for The Mess, anyway. There are too many other things to be sorry for. The Mess is no longer one of them.

The Mess means I play with my child instead of merely picking up after him or making him pick up every couple of minutes. It's more fun when you mix the cars with the Legos.

The Mess means I made dinner for my family and then spent the next part of my evening with them instead of back in the kitchen. Bedtime comes so quickly. How much dirtier can the dishes get in a couple hours?

The Mess means I have animals and they are cared for and allowed to live in the house. Not outside it where they can't add to the mess, or merely in parts of it.

The Mess means bedtime is full of stories and songs. And maybe some wrestling before Mommy comes in.

The Mess means I let my husband pursue his hobbies without interruption. Sometimes

The Mess means I can't keep up with gathering, washing, drying, folding and putting away the laundry for three people. But we are wearing clean clothes.

The Mess means I am a lazy person who doesn't make the bed because she doesn't make beds.

The Mess means I put off projects and then wait until they're much bigger than they originally were before I start up again. Oops.

The Mess means you are welcome to my house because you are a part of my family. I want to spend time with you and I hope you want to spend time with me as well. I am comfortable with you seeing The Mess and I thought my time was better spent preparing for you. Not preparing my house for you. I'm not necessarily proud of The Mess, but I am proud of my family, and The Mess came with them, so I live with it.

I don't want you to be sorry for The Mess when I visit you either. I don't see The Mess. I don't see the house. I see you. I see what you work for, how you live, and what is important to you. I don't care about The Mess.

Unless it is overwhelming you. When The Mess seems an impossible task. When you feel like drowning and need a life raft. Then I will help you conquer The Mess. Mess eradicating is fun to me. Not because I care about The Mess, but because I care about you. You are more important than The Mess. You are the reason I came. If The Mess upsets you, it upsets me. Let me serve you by helping you tame The Mess. But don't ever be embarrassed by it on my behalf.

Don't be sorry for The Mess.

I'm not.

Not mine.

Not yours.

God bless and see you soon,

Joelle