moving-day-boxesOver the course of my 32 years, I have called 15 different buildings “home”.  I define home as the place with most of my clothes, books, and charger cords.  This averages out to a new home every 2.13 years.

I’ve been thinking about my different homes because I’ve just finished moving into number fifteen!  I unpacked the last suitcases being used as storage and put up a shoe rack in closet.  I took a week and organized every drawer, every closet, every shelf in my apartment.  My bathroom cabinets are a wonder and joy to behold.  After three and a half years here, I am FINALLY moved into my home.

Three and a half years.  The moving-in process here has taken more time than my entire existence in some previous homes.  I blame my baby.  Really, it was her fault.  She came seven weeks early on the same day we moved into our newly purchased apartment.  The movers left at 5pm and I was having an emergency C-section three hours later.

Because my husband and I were going to the NICU all day everyday for almost a month, my entire apartment was unpacked by my mother-in-law and our cleaning lady.  Of course, I will never forget the this great act of kindness on behalf of my mother-in-law.  But no one is going to organize your space and your things the same way you would.  I, for one, don’t organize my books by height and color.

And this is why I am absolutely giddy.  After years of thinking things lost and rediscovering stuff I didn’t remember having in the first place, I have taken back control of my space and my stuff and woe be unto the person who puts the colander back in the wrong drawer.  I threw out every deviceless cable, every broken handled cheese grater, and every expired bottle of cough syrup. My week of obsessive organizing went so deep, I got pictures framed that have been buried in closets since 2002.

Such a deep cleaning brings up a lot of questions.  Why would reasonable people with enough money keep a broken-handled cheese grater?  Who was I when I bought the jean miniskirt with frayed edges?  How does a person acquire so much lotion?

But I’m not going to dwell on questions without answers.  Not when I can bask in the glory of knowing where every single thing in my apartment is currently located.  Every. Single. Thing.  I’m dying to make a game out of it.  I want to roll my desk chair to middle of the den, sit with my eyes closed, and have my husband call out random items.

“Coffee filters?”

“Cabinet directly beneath the coffee pot, top shelf.”

“Rechargeable double AA batteries?”

“TV stand in the playroom, in the right-side drawer, on the left.”

“The cuff links a student gave me which I’ll never wear but haven’t thrown/given away.”

“Your night stand, top drawer.”

This is the closest to omniscient I will ever be. And it feels amazing.  Totally worth the wait.

fabfridaypostW1