I’ve lived in this house for more than 12 years now. When we moved here, the boys were still children; fourth and sixth grades. I still remember the first week we were here when I had the peephole installed in the front door, they were complaining about it being so high. I, being intelligent mother-like species, knew that within a blink of an eye they’d be leaning down to peep through. And guess what? I was right. Now they ask why I put it so low. I’m only 5′3″ maybe! I can’t win.

Anyway, the whole point of my walk down Memory Lane is that in the length of time I’ve lived here, I’ve literally run like a mad woman between work, school events, chauferring, errands, dinners, breakfasts, lunches, family functions, etc. (you know the drill) and insuring that the life my boys knew BEFORE the divorce was NOT going to change enough for them to feel the pain.

Although I thought myself SEMI-successful in my goal at the time, there were a few things (*note: sarcasm) that I let fall to the wayside. And MY own personal space was what fell. . . My bathroom more specifically. (Hell, I was the only one in it, so who cared) I kept the rest of the house presentable enough that if I had a ten minute notice that someone was coming by that I’d have it in “company” shape. Everything was okay. . . . except my bathroom closet, my bathroom cabinets, and my bathroom drawers. These drawers resembled a preverbial “junk drawer”. Good grief! I should have taken pictures.

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With the kids grown and gone now, I’ve slowly been making the whole house my own. I started downstairs painting, putting in new floors, rearranging things, cleaning closets and such. Then I moved to my office in my loft and did the same thing. Finally, I attacked my bathroom – the last room in the house. I thought it was going to be the least of my worries. Good God people!! The stuff I pulled out of that tiny space was absolutely stunning.

It got me to wondering. . . Am I the only one that shoves stuff in their closets, cabinets and drawers thinking “I may need that one day” or “I’ll use that later”? I ask because I was appalled at myself at what all I pulled out of there.

  • Two old worn out blow dryers (They worked . . . sorta. They were shooting fire on occasion, but could act as a handy backup if my current one suddenly bit the dust without warning)
  • Expired prescription drugs (I must have thought I may need them again someday. I found a bottle with one valium inside from 1996. I found a bottle of Vicoden that was full from 1998. I remember that Vicoden doesn’t help me at all, so why would I have kept them? There were packets upon packets of sample allergy medicines that expired in 2000. It was weird walking down “Medical History Lane” wondering “What did I need this for?” Weird.)
  • Tons of tiny lotions, face potions from Estee Lauder and Clinique, and lipsticks (There many, many tubes of this stuff. How long do these lotions and potions last? Well, not ten years! Yeah, they had all turned into goo. And the lipstick just turned into. . . well, not lipstick.)
  • A plethora of haircare products (Who needs 16 cans of hairsprays? Six cans of mousse surely from the 90’s, hair straighteners that apparently didn’t have great results. . . or I’d be USING THEM. If someone looked at all these haircare products, they would’ve thought that I spend toooooo much time on my hair. Me? Not so much. In fact, it couldn’t be further from the truth. I spend little to no time on my hair. Apparently if these products didn’t work the miracles they advertised, they were banished to depths of bathroom cabinet HELL.)
  • A box full of contact cleaning solutions. (I haven’t WORN contacts since 2003 when I had lasik!)

    Who knew that cleaning out your bathroom could be so. . . . cleansing? To throw out all that crap that I held onto for so many years. . . well, it was cleansing. . . both physically and mentally.

    The clean and organized and uncluttered look feels so much more like ME – happy and comfortable. The new happy, comfortable me that I’ve become. Did I just not ever have time to figure out who I was before? OR did it take going through all those years to make me. . . well, me?

    What do you have lurking in your bathroom nether regions? Please tell me that I’m not the only clutter freak out there!!