First I had to make a play list. Here it is, should anyone be interested:
Then I had to move like Jaggar. Except I can't dance, so I spent 10 minutes cracking myself up. After doing my best Richard Simmons, I finally got down to the business of hating my laundry room.
It started out as a pile of disorganized yuck. Toys everywhere. A huge ironing basket hidden beside the dryer. (Remember we had flooding the same weekend we lost the baby and this area became the catch-all for dislocated junk.)
See? Most unpleasant.
The first thing I tackled were the games. I don't have much of an emotional attachment to games, so I whittled them down rather quickly.
Like I told my Facebook friends, some people prepare for the zombie Apocalypse by stockpiling food and water. Clearly we have our priorities straight in this household. (I'll save you the trouble... 54 games. I found another 15 as I continued to excavate and there are at least another 10 upstairs. Yeah... we have a problem.)
Then I had to call in reinforcements... and they came in the form of my little brother who had just raided my father's collection of professional grade tools. His lovely wife came for moral support.
And on the eighth day, the Lord said, "Let there be shelving!" Only Adam told Him to shush because Adam didn't want to hang the darn shelving and that, boys and girls, is why we only have seven days in a week.
There you have it! I am going to add a few little area rugs, but that's all she wrote!
Oh, and yes, there are four baskets up there dedicated entirely to ironing. But that's another story.