We all have them. We keep them close, hidden away because of shame. Luckily, my dirty little secret has a door, so it's easy to keep it out of the light of day. Until I decide to come clean to the world on my blog, that is.
In our "old house", we had the typical issues with storage space. My closet was split between 3 rooms...the master bedroom, the nursery, and the guest room. It was a pain in the heiney. It was all I could do to keep pairs of shoes in the same closet. When we moved to the "new house" one of the selling points was the amazing walk in closet off of the small cozy bathroom that would, one day, hold my claw foot bathtub.
Built in shoe racks. Shelving. Double french doors to let in natural light. Room for a small dresser and a chair. It was like my own little hideaway. My escape. I had been delivered from the valley of turn-of-the-century closets.
When we moved, I reveled in organizing baskets full of socks, scarves, belts and accessories. I lined up my shoes. I had brand new towels folded in stacks on the shelves, and fabric drawers fit for slippers and flip flops. I even set up a small desk with my computer in the corner. It was going to be heaven to get dressed, check my email, sip a cup of tea...
Well, that didn't last long.
This morning, I noticed there are still capri pants hanging on the spacious racks. White capri pants. Pants that no self respecting southern woman would wear past Labor Day, much less, December! Last night's towel from my bubble bath is balled up damp on the floor...a bubble bath not taken in the claw foot tub in the cozy little bathroom, mind you...but from the kids' bath, because our remodeling fund ran out before the claw foot tub came to fruition. Clean laundry is in lopsided stacks on the floor. The power cord from my external hard drive seems to be mating with my hair dryer. My winter boots and mules made it down from the attic, but they are co-mingling with peep toe pumps and jeweled kitten-heeled sandals in bright tropical colors. I think there is an unwrapped tampon that Evangeline tried to eat somewhere in the rubble.
It's shameful. Simply shameful. There is no excuse for the chaos that is my closet. But, since I'm in a self-preserving mood, let me try to form one.
You see, when you are the CEO of a household that is composed of 4 people who dirty things and one person who cleans things, the person who cleans things gets to their own personal mess last. Harrisen's shoes are lined up like soldiers. His clothes are folded in the proper drawers and his hanging items are grouped by type. Even his toys that live in the closet are stowed in color-coordinated bins. Evangeline's closet is pristine. I spent way too much on her clothes to pile them on the floor. Besides, I have to set a good example, right?
My house usually is pretty neat, and you would rarely freak me out by dropping in unexpectedly. Just don't ask me for a tour of my closet, or try to help yourself to a sweater if you get chilly. My closet door is closed for a reason. I expect it will be open again in about 16 years.