always find a stud

Disclaimer: I started this blog post about a week ago. I don't know. I've lost track of time, but when you read "this morning" below, it wasn't actually this morning.

This morning I was feeling quite pleased with myself because it was the first time in my adult life that I had a true walk-in closet (and it happened before I turn 40!). I was so overjoyed and that I had one of those "I feel like a character from Sex in the City" moments, to which only girls of a certain age can relate, as I placed my first pair of shoes in my new closet. With great gusto--and alone with my dramatic devices--I anointed my favorite pair of shoes (white Birkenstocks, obviously) queen of the closet. It was a Carrie Bradshaw meets Austin wannabe hippie mom moment.

Several hours later; however, the moment came crashing down. Literally. But let me back up a for a second. I neglected to tell you that the night before I became a true adult with a closet, Alex and I stayed up until 3:00am assembling that closet. It was someone's brilliant idea to start the project around 10:00pm when the children were sound asleep and the wine was flowing because anyone who has ever tried to renovate a house will tell you you get nothing done with children around. And wine makes home projects more fun. Do you see what a great idea this was?

The only setbacks were 1) we don't have a functioning light in our bedroom, which made reading directions a little tricky and 2) it was 10:00pm and the wine was flowing when someone decided to embark upon this project. I'm that someone, by the way, and I stand by my decision.

Back to the crash the following day: some time around mid-afternoon I heard a suspicious noise from our bedroom. It sounded too loud to be any sort of rodent activity, so I checked it out without hesitation. When I looked in the closet I discovered one of our sturdy hanging units had separated itself from the wall. It could have been a disaster, but luckily the other screws were holding on for dear life and kept the shelves and hanging rod afloat. Apparently Alex and I had missed a stud--even after my big joke of the night where I referred to myself as the true "stud finder"--when we were screwing the hanging thing (that's what you call it at 2:00 in the morning) into the wall.

I should note that the endangered shelves and a hanging rod had already been meticulously organized by me. Even going off three hours of sleep, I can organize a closet; however, my spirit may not have recovered if I had had to witness my day's work strewn recklessly about. That would not have been a Sex in the City moment.

old houses, small closets

Disclaimer: I'm a little--or, more accurately, really--embarrassed to publish the photos below. What's even more embarrassing is what you don't see: the pile of clothes sitting on top of a black trash bag on the floor (by the TV, ugh!) in our bedroom. I've been getting dressed from this pile since we moved in, but now that I've started on all these projects, I  decided this was one habit that had to be kicked. It's funny. No matter how organized or OCD I can be about straightening the bookshelves or sweeping the kitchen floor, I tend to let it go when it comes to my closet. I blame it on the fact that I never have a big closet, but even when I did while living in the apartment last year, I didn't take avantage of it. One of these days I might find myself with a Mariah Carey fantasy closet, but in the meantime I have to work with the rolling rack stashed away in our attic bedroom.

This is how the rolling rack looked on Sunday morning when I started. I bribed the kids with a TV show upstairs so I could work on my "dressing area" (that's what I'm calling it).

p.s. The floor is crooked, not the rolling rack (or camera angle).

After two days and a couple more bribes to allow myself some actual work time, here is the new--but is it improved?--dressing area. I have to admit that this is one case where the "after" isn't dramatically different from the "before."

It kind of looks like the clearance rack at TJ Maxx, but at least I can see my things when I get dressed in the morning. I also managed to save some space for Alex (space not pictured) since my newfound dressing area encroached on the "man space" I promised for him in the attic. I just hope his shoes don't fraternize with my shoes.

i blame it on the house, not myself

Here's what happened. I was rooting around in my closet for a pair of shoes while packing my gym bag for tomorrow--as per usual around 7:00pm after the kids are out of the bath and before I put Scout down in her crib--when I discovered that the "Damp Rid" I had purchased to help get the "damp" out of my closet had spilled. You're supposed to put it on a flat surface, so I had it resting on one of my shoe boxes. Does that count? Apparently not. At first I didn't think much of it until I put my hand in a somewhat syrupy feeling puddle of something (and this wouldn't be the worst thing I touched in the ensuing 60 seconds) and realized maybe I should wipe it up. I went in to the kitchen, grabbed a wad of paper towels and returned to the small, dark closet to clean up the mess. Of course I couldn't see what I was doing, and as I was moving the sleeves of my jackets that hang down to the floor, I put my hand on something round and cold and dark and wet. I jumped out of the closet and screeched, "I just touched something weird!" Scout started crying, and Alex looked at me like I was a crazy person. I made him get the flashlight and investigate (thinking I had come across a nest of baby bats or something) and he made the gruesome discovery...check it out for yourself:

This is my hand trying to force itself through a sleeve that should look like this (below):

And below is my favorite leather jacket with its now-wonky left-hand sleeve that found itself sitting in a puddle of Damp Rid and shrunk up to half its size. It's ruined. I freaked. I blamed this stupid small house and its stupid small, damp closets. Then Catcher saw what was going on and came into the kitchen saying "Your hand doesn't fit? Aw. It's okay." How can you stay mad at something so silly after you hear that? Then Alex told me we could cut off the sleeves and turn it into a sweet leather vest. Now that's an idea.