Every summer, I feel the need to clean up the vestiges of our school year and then prep our space (oh, heaven help me, I sound like HGTV -- our home) for the next one.
Yesterday, tired of overflowing books in the basement, books with no home base -- the ones that end up in piles and shoved into cupboards -- I enlisted the sorting help of Atticus. We gave some (not enough) away then bought a bookcase that was 50% off its already low price (insert excessive patting of one's own back here.)
I assembled it (minus the frustration described halfway through this post -- victory!) and escorted books to their new home upstairs. I tidied the basement bookshelves, which are no longer overflowing and felt immense satisfaction. (I hesitate to mention it, but in the interest of full disclosure I must admit that I have not allotted space for all the To-Be-Read piles which seem to grow unchecked next to my bed, on Atticus' dresser, on the end table in the living room, in the basket under the end table .... But, that's another post. So is the subject of the kids' bookshelves.)
Then I walked into the kitchen (which had gotten no attention all morning, since I devoted all my energy to the books) and groaned in that way that says, "I'm being a big baby and acting as if my life is just one huge chore after another." I voiced this big baby-ism aloud: "Oh, no ... this kitchen is a mess."
"But," said Anne-with-an-e, quite cheerily, "the bookshelves look great!"
She was right.
Thanks for reminding me, Anne.
One thing at a time.
We can't do it all.