Busy Day
I've probably mentioned more than once that we are doing a refinance. Tomorrow morning at 9:00, the appraiser is arriving.
I started cleaning the house last week. The bathrooms were scrubbed. I cleaned off the top of the refrigerator. (The family re-covered it within two days.) I cleaned out the entryway, swept and mopped, did some dusting.
But, as usual, time has a way of flying away from me. (Perhaps less blogging, more cleaning should be my motto.) Before my third child, I could get my house clean. When family was coming to visit, I was a demon for a week, but you could bet your fanny it looked great when they showed up.
Now, we are just plain out of room. Our sixteen hundred square feet are bulging at the seams. (much like the clothes I wear) It didn't help that when we moved in my parents brought a truckload of crap up every time they visited.
As soon as we moved in, they began trucking up all the "stuff of mine that they had been storing all those years."
Let's see, there was the gown I wore to 8th grade graduation IN 1983! That was so outdated that it would have been insulting to give to a charity. There was a box of yard sale stuff that hadn't sold on their yard sale, so apparently it became mine. There were clothes I wore eight sizes and fifty pounds ago. I got the joy of rediscovering the ugly jewelery that I had once worn when I had no taste and even less money. But I sure am glad they saved the charcoal drawing I did in ninth grade. Now there was a valuable piece of art!
Every visit, they brought more shit, excuse me "stuff". Soon, our storage shed was full. Every six months, my husband and I go to clean it out and discover more "treasures." Why last time, I found a picture of an ex-boyfriend. I find some valuable booty in that shed, I tell you.
So, where was I? Oh yes, the refinance. I cleaned my house to a point, and then I was out of places to put stuff. That was when I became a six-year old and HID IT IN MY CLOSET! Good thing the refi guy isn't opening my closets. (I hope he isn't.) If he did, he would get buried in a pile of assorted debris.
It used to be easier to get rid of stuff. When my kids outgrew clothes, I gave them to charity. Now we live near a consignment store. If the kids haven't stained something (meaning they only wore it once for photos) then the consignment store might be willing to accept it. Life was much simpler before the consignment store. Now I have to decide if I want to keep last summer's clothes in my closet until they are taking summer clothes again.
Also, our laundry multiplies. I'm not sure where it all comes from, but it may be having sex at night. I don't even have two nice outfits. Where is all the laundry coming from?
Somebody call Clean Sweep, please!
*******************************************************
Conclusion - It is now 9:30 in the morning. The appraiser came and left. He didn't look impressed. As soon as I saw the white shirt tucked into the tidy khaki shorts, I knew I was sunk. At least he didn't open the closets!
I started cleaning the house last week. The bathrooms were scrubbed. I cleaned off the top of the refrigerator. (The family re-covered it within two days.) I cleaned out the entryway, swept and mopped, did some dusting.
But, as usual, time has a way of flying away from me. (Perhaps less blogging, more cleaning should be my motto.) Before my third child, I could get my house clean. When family was coming to visit, I was a demon for a week, but you could bet your fanny it looked great when they showed up.
Now, we are just plain out of room. Our sixteen hundred square feet are bulging at the seams. (much like the clothes I wear) It didn't help that when we moved in my parents brought a truckload of crap up every time they visited.
As soon as we moved in, they began trucking up all the "stuff of mine that they had been storing all those years."
Let's see, there was the gown I wore to 8th grade graduation IN 1983! That was so outdated that it would have been insulting to give to a charity. There was a box of yard sale stuff that hadn't sold on their yard sale, so apparently it became mine. There were clothes I wore eight sizes and fifty pounds ago. I got the joy of rediscovering the ugly jewelery that I had once worn when I had no taste and even less money. But I sure am glad they saved the charcoal drawing I did in ninth grade. Now there was a valuable piece of art!
Every visit, they brought more shit, excuse me "stuff". Soon, our storage shed was full. Every six months, my husband and I go to clean it out and discover more "treasures." Why last time, I found a picture of an ex-boyfriend. I find some valuable booty in that shed, I tell you.
So, where was I? Oh yes, the refinance. I cleaned my house to a point, and then I was out of places to put stuff. That was when I became a six-year old and HID IT IN MY CLOSET! Good thing the refi guy isn't opening my closets. (I hope he isn't.) If he did, he would get buried in a pile of assorted debris.
It used to be easier to get rid of stuff. When my kids outgrew clothes, I gave them to charity. Now we live near a consignment store. If the kids haven't stained something (meaning they only wore it once for photos) then the consignment store might be willing to accept it. Life was much simpler before the consignment store. Now I have to decide if I want to keep last summer's clothes in my closet until they are taking summer clothes again.
Also, our laundry multiplies. I'm not sure where it all comes from, but it may be having sex at night. I don't even have two nice outfits. Where is all the laundry coming from?
Somebody call Clean Sweep, please!
*******************************************************
Conclusion - It is now 9:30 in the morning. The appraiser came and left. He didn't look impressed. As soon as I saw the white shirt tucked into the tidy khaki shorts, I knew I was sunk. At least he didn't open the closets!
posted by Caro at 10:18 PM
2 Comments:
You'll be fine on the refi. Banks like to make money.
RE: CRAP
When you moved out at 20, you couldn't stand to part with any of that stuff so Dave saved it with glee until you had a place to put it. Do you know we stored it about 10 years? I hope that your dolls are in a safe place because I was very careful with them.
Just wait until your kids are ready to move out.
I already told Jen that when she moves out to take her yearbooks, because the rest is going on Ebay. She won't remember what she had after ten years anyway. I certainly didn't.
Besides, you brought up stuff that wasn't even mine. Neener neener neener.
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