Due to factors both within and beyond our control, my little family of four scalawag adventurers lives in a small fourth floor apartment.
My indulgent husband and I moved into this apartment in 2012 after the building, which is on the historic building registry, was renovated. We had long been intrigued by the building and when the apartments were complete, we asked to visit. Obviously, I fell in love with the view and after a series of pretty incredible miracles, we were residents of a historic landmark.
At the time, having children was the last thing on our minds. We took our time laying out the apartment, picking out our furniture. When we first moved in, I was pretty darn proud of the place we lived. It was mostly Salvation Army and Ikea chic, but it was unique, it was home and I loved it. The apartment was perfect for two people and our stuff.
But hah! Life had a wrench the size of a first baby boy and all the stuff that came along with him, planned for 2015, and a second wrench the size of another baby boy and his stuff in 2017.
How do four people fit in this same, perfectly calibrated space with all of their stuff?
Easy answer? They don’t.
I have always admired my mother-in-law for her organization. In her home, which, is admittedly spacious, each item has a designated place to live. She doesn’t have to wrestle with the toaster to get to the spice rack or move a box of toys to get to her shoes.
Even before I had babies I admired her for this, but now I am in awe and have a near-constant dissatisfaction in my heart because I have to move all of our plastic storage containers to get to the rice cooker.
There are two options: 1. Move into a new apartment or 2. Get rid of stuff so that we all can fit (comfortably) in this apartment.
I have chosen the second option. I struggle to imagine what this is going to look like or how I will know when I have achieved it, but watch this space!
Sing With Your Feet 