Rocks In My Dryer

Life Without DVD Cases

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Rocks In My Dryer is not going to become an organizing blog.  Plenty of other bloggers are doing that a lot better than I could.  (Especially since they're all organized and I'm, you know, not.)  But so many of you have asked about the Great DVD Case Debate of '08, I thought I should give you an update. 

In short, they are gone.  I had one tiny moment of panic as I carried the box to the curb, but it passed, and oh, my friends, life without DVD cases is sweet indeed. 

I'll refresh your memory.  This was the "before" picture:

We completely emptied every DVD case (taking out both the DVD and the paper label).  We put the DVDs in a regular travel CD case, and I stacked all the papers into one Ziploc bag:

Remarkably, this is how many empty DVD cases we had (demonstration aided by my six-year-old son):

Do you see how much space that was using?  It was like getting rid of a six year old!   (Now that I think of it, the DVD cases didn't eat or talk back nearly as much.  But they weren't nearly as cuddly, and their burping skills were much less impressive.  We'll keep the six year old.)

I posted to Freecycle about our empty cases; much to my surprise, there were FIVE takers.  I didn't have to haul all that stuff off, and it's being used by someone who actually wanted it (someone who must, incidentally, have more storage space than Martha Stewart.)

Now for the moment of truth.  Here's the cabinet with the DVD cases gone:

That plastic drawer that used to store our cassettes (also purged) now holds our camcorder accessories and an assortment of miscellaneous wires.  (My husband, God bless him, is unable to throw away miscellaneous wires.  He lives for miscellaneous wires.   I'm convinced he could wrap the globe three times.)

And that beautiful, almost-empty top shelf is all that's left of our DVD collection.  They all fit in that case, with the Ziploc bags of papers stacked neatly on top.  At some point, I'll containerize that space and try to use it up more efficiently.  But not until I've had a few weeks into breathe in its beautiful emptiness.  Tonight, as a family, we're going to join hands and dance in circles around this cabinet, while doing rhythmic gymnastics with all the miscellaneous wires. 

 

I'm So Organized, I File My Pop Tarts

Not really, but I thought that made a splendid post title. 

A more apt post title would be Somebody Stop Me Already With The Containers. 

I've already told you that I've declared 2008 The Year Of Less Stuff.  I'm continuing to purge mercilessly, and it feels good.  Taking a cue from some of my favorite organizing blogs, I'm putting the stuff we're actually keeping in containers.  Because I reason that if it resides in a cute plastic bin, I will never lose it, right? 

We'll see.

I have a sordid history with containers and organizational systems in general.  If you don't believe me, you can just ask my Hubs, who has witnessed the whole 13-year journey (and has the garage full of empty containers to prove it).  I seem to be able to get things in a good container-y system, labeled all pretty, but then I forget where I put them.  Or I get in a hurry and stop using the container.  Or I just change my mind. 

But I'm determined that 2008 will be different, and I am madly containerizing this whole darn house.  My most proud accomplishment so far has been the Pop Tart box.  I hate it when my kids open a twin pack of Pop Tarts, eat one, and then just toss the the unsealed pack back in the cabinet.  It gets stale quickly, and that's just wasteful.   

Enter the freakishly organized Pop Tart box.  If I were actually this organized, this next picture would probably be kind of scary.  Rest assured in the knowledge that next month my pop tarts will most likely have resumed their stale little spots in the back of the cabinet.  But for now, this is my crowning glory:

Look!  A spot for the Pop Tarts.  And look!  A hinged lid:

Is that the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?

But the containerizing doesn't stop there.  I also emptied out the cabinet we use for kid art supplies and computer supplies.  If I had a before picture, this next shot would be considerably more impressive (but that would have required forethought, and we're only tackling one organizational skill at a time around here.  Baby steps, y'all.)

I moved most of the kids' art supplies to another cabinet, and I was left with this:

The bin on the lower left is for new computer paper.  The bin on the bottom right is for old paper that has printing on one side, leaving the back side still perfectly fine for drawing.  Because oh-yes-indeed we are reducing, re-using and recycling.  I feel so green I could ribbit.

Thus concludes today's foray into my mad organizational binge, and you are most welcome to ask me in two months if any of it still looks like that.  I'm not hopeful. 

Tell me--what's your most clever use of containerizing?  Because there are a handful Rubbermaid containers in the state of Oklahoma that I haven't bought yet, and I'd love to find a reason to nab those last few.

Purge Along With Me

If you get sick, do not come to my house.  We have no medicine.  And I know this because I spent an entire afternoon scouring through our medicine closet, tossing away the expired bottles (which was basically all of them).  I was ashamed to learn that over half the contents of the little pharmacy in my bathroom expired in 2003 or earlier. 

I even found some Vick's Vapor Rub that expired in 2000.  But really, can Vick's expire?  I mean, it's not like you ingest it; it's just supposed to sit there and smell like death.  The older the better, wouldn't you think?  It would be kicking off chemicals so putrid that your sinuses would be open enough to hold a party inside.

In the interest of totally showing off transparency, I'm showing you a picture of the finished product.  Note the medicines sorted by ailment.  BY AILMENT, people--that is some fine work, if I do say so myself:

That basket at the top labeled ortho?  That's not ortho- as in -dontia, but ortho- as in -pedic.  I thought that was a much more sophisticated label than WE ARE GETTING OLD AND THINGS ARE STARTING TO CREAK AND HURT.    

The bathroom closet project took on such a life of its own; before I knew it I was digging under cabinets and in drawers and mercilessly throwing away anything that stood still.  Hubs even asked me if I was pregnant and nesting.

(Evidently the poor man skipped Chapter 47, Section 18C of The Husband's Instruction Manual:  When your wife has eaten so much sugar that she has had to wear elastic-waist yoga pants for two weeks straight, that would not be the best time to jokingly ask if she's pregnant.) 

I am not a packrat; I actually take great pleasure in throwing things away.  But I always feel the need to be very careful that anything that is salvageable should go to a friend or a charity.  It's kind of an obsession, actually.  What if I gave this sweater to Goodwill and they sold it for $1.25 and were able to buy some sweet little child a school lunch?  The PRESSURE!

But that kind of sorting takes time, something I simply didn't have.  For the one and only time, I gave myself permission to just chuck it all in the trash.  And you should've seen the trash bags marching their way down to my curb.  I was a woman possessed.  I was afraid I'd get carried away and throw one of the kids away.

I have been ruthless this year.  Old board games that nobody plays?  Toss 'em.  Old board games that kids like but the parts are missing?  Toss 'em.  7,237 Happy Meal toys?  Toss 'em.  Kids' art projects that aren't significant enough to save?  They're gone, never to clutter my home again.

And it felt so good, so freeing--symbolic even, of starting the new year out with a clean slate and less cluttered mind.  I'm dubbing 2008 The Year of Less Stuff.  I want to be purposeful about what I bring into my home, and what I allow to stay here.  I want to teach my children to do the same.  In the short term, it keeps thing neater; in the long term, it emphasizes to my kids one of the biggest lessons we hope they learn from us:  STUFF DOESN'T MATTER.  PEOPLE DO.

Join me, if you'd like.  Start slowly, if you need to--you can earmark a special box in your garage for charity, and make it your goal to toss just one thing in it per day.  Or pick one closet or drawer per week (or month) and purge your heart away. 

You can do it!  I'll be standing here, cheering you on.  With very clear sinuses.  And bad knees.