When Josh and I first moved to Texas, we had a lot to do in a short amount of time. The apartment we’d selected was gorgeous, on the twelfth floor of a highrise in Uptown Dallas, with stunning city views and plenty of space to spread out. But he started work right away and I was working from home, lost in a sea of boxes. I had no local friends, no one to talk to between the hours of 8 am and 6 pm, and nothing to do but unpack. And clean. And cook. And unpack some more.
In addition to the pounds that gathered around my waist (thanks to My Fitness Pal and daily yoga, they’ve disappeared), I never really felt we got it right with the house. For all Joshy’s efforts at hanging our beloved art on the walls, and the sweet dining table and chairs we purchased, things never came together. By the time he returned from a day at the office, we were both tired and just wanted to spend time relaxing together. Eventually, things got organized, but there remain bits and bobs in boxes from one corner to the next that never found a place to stay.
Then, we started hunting for a house and all bets were off. I suddenly didn’t care as much about getting things in order in our current home. After all, I’m planning a wedding, working full-time, and we have a puppy in addition to our sweet cat. It’s chaos in this apartment!
When we got home from Paris Sunday night, we both felt it right away. The disorganization we’ve been living with for the past few months feel unnatural and frustrating to both of us. Despite my efforts at cleaning (remember this post?) the tasks are never fully accomplished and we both would rather just snuggle up with Law & Order an a 100-calorie ice cream bar and chill at the end of the day.
So, new goals. Because this is a home, but it needs some help. We’ve hired a new cleaning service to come once every two weeks and do what my mother calls the “deep clean.” I hereby promise to do more laundry and to fold that laundry, and then put it away soon afterward. And I will do my very best to keep paperwork filed and knickknacks up off the floor and in their allotted places.
And tonight, as Josh experiences his first evening of bachelor party festivities in a foreign land, and I await tomorrow’s arrival of my Pookalina Ballerina, I will be organizing the closet. Arranging my new treasures from last week’s trip to Paris, lining up my swimwear in rainbow order, and so on.
When we move to the new apartment next month, a storage unit will be necessary. I can’t unload anymore important items now — last year’s purge is still too recent. But I will make more of an effort for the house that we will live in as man and wife, and if he chooses to start picking up his dirty socks off the floor, that will also be grand.