Recently, I’ve tried to get back to documenting the mundane of our days.  Because as the years fly by, I’m realizing even more that life- and my kids’ childhoods- is made up of mostly ordinary moments.

Today, however, I want to discuss a topic that is far from mundane: cleaning my daughter’s room.

Oh, Mary Grace.  Bless her messy little heart.  Though I view her room to be in a perpetual state of chaos, she asserts that everything is in its proper place.  For instance…

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Rocks in a Cinderella jewelry box?  Naturally.


I’ll give her the gold doubloons in the treasure box, but marbles?  A place for everything…


…and everything in its place.  Buttons, (more) rocks, and music box winders.  Where the music box winder things are coming from, we have not a clue.  If you have music box, and Mary Grace is within sight, I’d keep close tabs on it.  You’ve been warned.

IMG_0127Sharks teeth?  We got those.  Notes to mom (scribbled out) and dad?  A whole stack.  And a host of other collections that I failed to document a few weeks ago when these pictures were taken.

Since then, Mary Grace was given this GENIUS gift by Matt’s mom who is well aware of her tendency to collect (hoard?).


So, with her buttons and oyster shells and nuts and miniature plastic babies safely tucked away in her new organizer, I dropped the girls off at school this morning and got to work.  I called Matt beforehand to alert him that I was heading into the Danger Zone.  He asked if I was wearing a hazmat suit.  I’m pretty sure he was serious.

You see, aside from the various collections Mary Grace has on display, there is a long history of other odd occurrences in that same room.  Strange odors coming from under her bed.  Mysterious stains on her carpet.  We obviously have little idea what is happening in that room behind closed doors, but I’m telling you, I had my work cut out for me this morning.

Hours later (yes, hours), I have emerged.  I was tempted to abort the mission many times, but alas, we (well, I.  Mary Grace has no clue any of this went down.  And hopefully never will.) have accumulated quite a few large bags of trash and donations.  Nothing was safe.  Annoying kid books with too many words?  Outta here.  Dolls plastered with Dora bandaids?  No mercy.


I did pause a moment as I went on a stuffed animal rampage.  I found myself tossing newish stuffed animals left and right while saving MY old animals from MY CHILDHOOD because, well, I just love(d) them too much to toss.  After feeling a little guilt-ridden over that entire deal, I rescued every single stuffed animal, both old and new, from the hefty bag and called it a day.

I regret to admit that Bandaid Baby was still a causality.  But if anyone is interested in my 20 year old stuffed monkey collection, it’s still in the back corner of Mary Grace’s closet.  Taking up precious space.  Apparently forever.