Sometimes, we all just need a little change.  A new coat of paint, some furniture rearranged.  Any little thing to make use feel fresh.  In our efforts to keep down the chaos, I keep trying (mostly in futility) to establish ways for us to keep our stuff where it goes.

I can often hear my Grandma Ellen "A place for everything, and everything in its place".  It would probably kill her to see how I leave my house most days.  However, with a little help from my friend Pat, check out our new laundry room....



I just go stand in there, sometimes.  Because I can stand there without the feelings of anxiety crawling up my leg, slowly, starting as a little itch as the feeling starts to work its way, slowly, slowly into your consciousness, until you finally think, "What is that? Oh my God!" only seconds before that adrenaline kick that brings the creepy tingles up your back and your arm down hard on the offender.

When I stand in my new laundry room, there is no itch.  Just peace.  I know where the shoes are. I know where the clarinet is.  I know where the backpacks, and the homework, and the jackets are.  And in case I am thirsty there is that gallon of margarita in the corner to quench my thirst.

Plus, it's a little arty.  Phil actually puts his stuff away where it belongs, so his locker is really the display locker.  That is a vintage wool Mexican souvenir jacket I bought at a yard sale in 1987 that somehow survived the purges all these years.  And the quilt of our hand prints I made the week Grace was born.  In case you ever wonder, this is what it will always look like.  I am sure of that.