I’ve said it before- I hate dealing with clothes. Why does it make me so stressed out, and why do we have so many? Why the hell does my 4-year-old still come down to breakfast in pants and a sweater in flipping JULY? (I mean, I know why. It’s because I never fully switched the seasons over. What, it’s only July. There are definitely still snow mounds over by the highway where they dump the plows.)
I basically suck at all housecleaning. If I said there weren’t laundry piles in about 4 places in my house at this exact second, I’d be a dirty liar. But I do love organization. And I love finding a new system.
This is it, Nate. I read about a new system. It’s going to work this time, I’m going to stay on top of things. CLEAN ALL THE THINGS! And grocery shop!
Right now the ladies are at an age where helping me is Super! Fun! Allow me to quote my eldest, who the other night plead (pleaded? is there a past tense for plead?) “Mum. Please don’t fold the laundry after I go to bed. Pleeeease save it until tomorrow so I can help? I’m a good folder.” Ughhhh, I guess. If you insist. I waaas gonna use this time to industriously fold this mountain of clothing in the midst of my half-painted bedroom, but if you really feel that strongly about it I guess I could spend my evening drinking wine and watching Seinfeld instead. Only for you, dearest. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
And if I dangle the prospect of monies? Forget it. I got all the socks matched (thanks to my mother’s genius “penny-a-pair” method), all the bathroom trashes emptied, the towels put away, and the plants watered.
So I figure- let’s run with this. Why am I busting my ass trying to put away everyone’s laundry when they’re frothing at the mouth to do it themselves? (And yes, Mom. I know full well this is a stage. I just figure I should probably capitalize on it while I can.)
And so. We had a bookcase that happened to become empty, I had some old baskets from a past organization system that were no longer in use that just so happened to fit rather nicely into said bookcase, and I decided to make a laundry station in the upstairs hallway. That way I can fold things and put them into baskets, and the girls can be responsible for putting away their own laundry. Simple enough, right?
Ahhh, but just you wait. You see, I have a laminator. And you know what that means.
Glorious, beautiful labels.
So while the baby napped this morning, the girls and I took some old blank business cards I had (from back in the day when I printed my own business cards, and of course I just used a horrendous font and called it a logo) and we made up some labels. Their clothing is currently in the midst of being organized into buckets in their closet, so we made up labels for those, too. I’m really hoping that all the labeling helps encourage people to put things where they belong. And if it doesn’t? Well. The labels are super cute, so that’s something.
In case you’re wondering- yes. A colored pencil did somehow get dipped in my coffee cup at one point.
Don’t let that face fool you. She was every bit as excited as I was to laminate things. Well, maybe not quite as excited. I’m kind of a huge laminator dork.
So once everything was laminated, we stuck velcro to the bins, and velcro to the backs of the tags, and that was that. Get to work, kids. Time to earn your keep.
*Bonus boxes o’random bathroom crap (I mean, junk. Not actual crap. Gross.) on top of bookcase purely for decorative purposes, clearly.
*Also a thankfully small pile on the precarious shelf that is our “this goes downstairs” spot.
Once I finish folding the piles of clothing on the living room, basement, and bedroom floors (oh, and the one that is sort of halfway spilling down the stairs), I will let you know how the new system is holding up. I’m cautiously optimistic.
Also, if/when I ever finish the organization in the closet, I shall surely
brag about it share it with you. Because I know you’re just enthralled.
ps. I’ve been accused of getting shiny up in this piece. I assure you- I’ve just happened to have a very good week. I’m sure before long some minor catastrophe will bring back the “oh god, at least I don’t have to deal with all of that” vibe that I typically project. Don’t worry. The children that brought you this are still the children I live with.