For much of the last 10 years, my basement has, in fact, looked much like this. Hence, this comic strip, which I wrote about a year and a half ago. I don't talk much about writing for Edison because I don't do it all that often (although today's strip is another one of mine). Mostly my contributions to the strip are along the lines of editing, working on publicity, and planting little seeds of ideas into John's head and then running out of the room before he can rope me into more work.
Unfortunately, the above strip is completely true to life. I wrote about it on my other blog here.
But now the time has come to do something about my basement. If you have ever checked the "goals" tab up at the top of the blog (go ahead and check it now - I'll wait)
So I've been puttering my way toward this goal for about 12 weeks - buying a load of lumber for the attic floor here and there, prodding my sons to install said floor here and there, but not doing much in the way of prep work or organizing on the actual junk to be moved. Which, as anyone who has ever moved from one house to another will tell you, is a bad idea.
Successful moving has everything to do with what kind of boxes you put your stuff in, how you organize these boxes, and what order they get moved in. I have a friend who moved recently - she was working when the boxes got unloaded into the garage of the new house and then discovered that all the kitchen stuff was in the very back of the garage where no one could get to it. They had to eat "take out" for a week.
So the chaos that is my basement needs to get organized before it can be boxed - you know the sort of thing, you see it on HGTV all the time - "pitch", "donate", "attic", "keep in the basement because it needs to be handy". Which is bad enough when it's just your stuff but becomes ever so much worse when it includes 3 kids worth of stuff. Every item winds up being brooded over.
As I said, I've been puttering along at this slowly since July.
That was the day the washer started to make "the noise".
A word about my washer and dryer. I love them. They are great. I got them almost 20 years ago this month when I was expecting my first child and envisioned a time when I would not enjoy trips to the laundromat. My mother and grandmother swore by front loading machines, especially White Westinghouse. So I went out and found what was, at that time, one of the only front loading washing machines available in the entire country. Better yet, it was made by White Westinghouse. Bonus - they also made the only stacking washer and dryer you could get at that time. Which was hugely important to us because of the space we had available in our first house for laundry.
It tickles me pink to now see these stackable front loaders taking over the country. I love when my grandmother is right.
But the washer's time has come. For the past 2 years it has been bumping and thumping its way through the spin cycle - occasionally ripping itself loose from the hose like that scene in "Mr. Mom" (OMG - go rent that movie if you've never seen it).
Because it was made back in the day when there were no computer chips in such appliances, John has actually been able to work on it and put it back into balance a couple of times. But Saturday it started making this banshee like whine that, I'm pretty sure means the bearings are shot. Or something worse.
So we went shopping.
And bought (with play money that hasn't been printed yet - gotta love "no money down, no interest for 12 months) a lovely new stackable front loading washer and dryer.
Which will be delivered tomorrow.
Yes, as in tomorrow, as in less than 24 hours.
Which is why I gave up my whole weekend to go wading through the mess. Which is how my basement wound up exploding into the rest of my house. (Because organizing always looks a whole lot worse before it looks better) Which I now have to buckle down to and get under control before the movers come and see my basement (and now house) of shame.
Which is why you may not hear from me for a while.
Send the dogs down if I don't surface by Thursday.
I may be trapped under a pile of dirty laundry and several boxes of jigsaw puzzles.