Did you know we have a nine-year-old? And nine-year-olds? They have lots of stuff. They also like to do stuff. There was a purge that took place here, but there was also a bit of furniture juggling to accommodate a new desk. When this kid winds down at night, it’s not about snuggling in bed with a book. She draws, sculpts, and other activities that require a surface.

The desk is a hit. Right next to a window, it overlooks some trees, and her iPod has a home so she can exert her newfound independence in music.

There’s another child in this house, anxiously waiting for his room to be finished.

But now he would like a desk, too.

Someday (but probably not during spring break) I’m going to spend some time on MY bedroom.

Out of the entire PurgeFest, this was the hardest day yet. Big props to both sets of grandparents, a fantastic family friend, and the Husband for helping piece together child care and making it happen. On weekdays I’ve been juggling three children as I purge, but this project called for serious focus and solitude.

This is the Youngest’s room. Other than putting a bed in place of her crib, we haven’t done much to it since her birth. The basic purge was done by 1:39pm, as you can see on her clock. But then I needed to truck it to IKEA and gather some Trofast to organize her belongings. Those took the place of the rocker, which had been my trusty nursing spot for many years.

I put the last bin into place as the Husband was reading a bedtime story.

I am POOPED, but I’m beginning to think we’re tipping the balance on the organized vs. scary spaces in this house.

Plus, I’m thinking no one can accuse me of being one of those people who only posts about a Martha Stewart life, ’cause I’m fairly certain Martha never let Alexis’ room look like this.

There will be no tally of what I purged from this room, as certain people in this house are readers, but I will say it sure does feel a lot more open and airy!

It’s Day Five.

I’m getting tired. My oomph is starting to wane. Plus, I had a really grouchy day.

I’m also starting to worry that I’m airing too much dirty laundry on the internet. Or too much dirty house.

Today was the pantry. This was mostly just a matter of clearing out all the half or completely empty boxes (who puts back an empty box?) and reorganizing everything.

I also finally decided that I will never need 50 paper bags of assorted sizes that are tucked under the bottom shelf. I saved five and recycled the rest. Where all that other junk on the floor came from? Ugh. I don’t want to think too hard about that.

But…YAY! It’s clean.

Tomorrow I tackle one of the kids’ bedrooms, the thought of which is already making me break out in hives.

If you walked into our house, this is what you would see.

Packages pile up here, and it’s also the catch-all for classroom supplies that come in the door, but don’t quite make it all the way back into storage.

When the pile gets bigger, the kids just toss their stuff on top. This actually is not as bad as it’s been, but it still makes me crazy.

Nothing actually got purged today, but things did make their way back to their proper home. Hallelujah.

I’ve decided that if the Easter Bunny hung around to chit-chat, he would ask you to kindly eat all that candy and then fill the basket full of stuff you don’t need and take it to Goodwill.

Prior to celebrating the holiday, I attacked the black holes beneath the kitchen sinks. We have a regular sink and a small prep sink. Both cabinets, although tiny, seem to be magnets for crap of all kinds. What is not too apparent in the photos is approximately half a bottle of dish soap that spilled on the middle shelf and we managed to ignore for more time than I care to admit. But trust me—it was super gross.

I swear, we are really not complete slobs. You all have areas like this in your house, right?

Right?

Today holds a busy schedule, so I knew my purge had to be quick.

The kids’ bookshelf has been making me crazy. I finally conceded that no one is reading the board books anymore (sniff) and that many of the crummy paperbacks could be relegated to a shelf in the basement for casual reading. I purged a few books that no one reads and trashed all the half-finished activity books that no one will ever touch again.

I know this looks like a quickie, but somehow it managed to take me a full 90 minutes.

Let’s all agree we’re not going to discuss the state of the rest of the house, the laundry, or the amount of take-out we’re eating as I tackle these projects. Thank you.

When I started back to work last fall, I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to do everything I did before. Many things have taken a hit, but nothing more than the state of the house.

Piles have accumulated. Things are shoved into random corners with the hopes I’ll deal with them as soon as I get a chance. (Retirement?) Returns aren’t being made.

As I contemplated spring break, and ten days off school, I briefly thought of scooping us up and heading out of town. But then I realized what I really needed was to feel at home in my home again. I needed to feel relaxed as I walked from one room to another instead of cringing from being surrounded by to-dos.

The only way to accomplish this was to roll up my sleeves and dig in.

I made a list of the nooks that bothered me most. I’m not kidding myself—I can’t correct seven months of neglect in ten days, but I can make a dent in it. My goal is to tackle one thing each day. I’m not going to beat myself up if I can’t do it, but it’s always good to aim high, right?

Today was the mudroom, which is often the barometer of my mental health. It is the room that has been making me craziest, so I thought it best to tackle that one first. Three hours later, I stood amongst sparkling cleanliness.

I came up with the idea to document this week with photos after I had already started cleaning, so my “before” photo is nowhere near as alarming as it should have been.

I was so thrilled about this one clean space that I sort of wanted to shove the couch in there and hole up for the rest of vacation.

The cleanliness lasted for exactly six and a half hours.

There is now a huge pile of pillows and blankets on the floor, covered in vomit and waiting for the washer to finish running the sanitize cycle on a load of sheets and pajamas. The Youngest threw up all over her bed shortly after she fell asleep.

So help me, please do not let Spring Break PurgeFest 2012 turn into Spring Break PukeFest 2012.

Nine years ago, as I celebrated my birthday, I was miserably pregnant. This baby was already a doozy, and it wasn’t even here.

We didn’t know whether we were expecting a boy or girl. All I knew was that this baby wouldn’t stop moving, except when it lodged one foot squarely underneath the right side of my rib cage. With almost two weeks until my due date, I sobbed, not knowing how I could possibly survive until then.

“Seven, maybe eight pounds,” the obstetrician said. “You’re just a little person—there’s just not much room for that baby.” This was not much consolation as I tugged on the only pair of pants that still fit.

Thank goodness you arrived a week and a half early. When you emerged, the OB said, “Hey, that’s a good size baby!” In my mind, you were a small, blonde boy. The baby they handed me was a nine and a half pound bruiser of a girl with thick brown hair.

When you have a baby, you have a picture of who you think they will be. I expected a sort of shy child who would be quick to read and studious at school, but prudently cautious in most other areas.

This is the part where experienced parents start laughing.

And, yes, I’m laughing, too. Because, girlfriend, you came out kicking and screaming and ready to experience life in a way I never imagined. I wrote about this on your last birthday.

I admit, I was befuddled by this baby, so unlike myself. But once I made the paradigm shift, I learned to parent the child I had, not the image I had in my head.

Shortly after you learned to walk, we would go to the zoo, just so I could let you run in a secure place for hours on end. I blew off concerned looks from other parents as my three-year-old dangled perilously from the monkey bars. (You never fell—not even once.) We eschewed story hour and Mommy and Me in lieu of parks and tumbling classes.

We’ve covered a lot of distance between then and now. You have had an outstanding year, coming into your own and tackling some massive obstacles. There are things that will always be challenging, but kudos to you for facing them head-on. And those things at which you excel? They continue to blow me away.

I’m writing this a few days after your birthday, and I’m thinking that was meant to be.

Our annual birthday photo shoot was crap. I declared a redo the following day, next to the apple trees which were suddenly in bloom.

And this evening you wrote your first poem. It’s possible you’ve written one in class, but this is the first poem you composed of your own volition. Pretty wise words from someone fresh out of the gate.

Think of all the things you could be.
You could be a train rider on a train.
You could be a great gardener.
You could be anything you want.
Reach up there and pull out
an idea for what you will be.
And live in peace.

Half of your years under this roof have passed. While this is bittersweet, I’m so excited to see what the next nine will hold.

Reach up and pull out an idea, my love. I’ll be here to watch it bloom.

I turn 40 in a few days.

Mostly I’m just fine with 40. It’s a pretty nice spot that I’m sitting in at this age.

I do wish there was more time. I wish things were a bit less wrinkly/droopy/squishy. I thought by now I would have figured out a really good system for keeping the house clean.

But other than that? I accept the challenge of this next decade. Bring it on.

(Celebrated with fine dining and even finer friends. And a singular blurry photo.)