Back

Once again, due to packing and traveling, I did not post a new entry yesterday. But I'm sure some of my shorter-attention-span followers don't mind :) I hope everyone's Christmas break was fun and just long enough for us to appreciate getting back our own space, if we happened to visit with family over the holidays. 

The paranoid side of me kept worrying our pipes would freeze or someone would break in and steal what little we DO have. But upon opening the door earlier today, I heard trickling water (that's a good sign in places like Idaho) and saw my few electronics were still in place. It's tough living in a 600 square foot space for months on end, but at least it's MY space. I can put whatever I want wherever I want. (Good thing I'm a fairly organized person or this might drive my hubby nuts.) Let's just hope I don't drive myself nuts constantly rearranging said space while I wait for hubby to finish school...

I have gained an interesting perspective on my old bedroom. I have moved out of my parent's house and been gone long enough for my mother to turn my former bedroom into a craft room. That room was never really mine to begin with, yet all the while growing up, I would spend hours in there, always calling it "my room." When I was a teenager, I would get mad if my mom ever made me clean or organize--it was "my" space, why should she get to tell me what to do with it? Some parents do throw in the towel, simply closing the door on the natural disaster inside. Sorry, but it's actually better to teach your kids how to maintain their own space. Their future roommates will thank you, and that includes a future spouse! 

I remember I would often redecorate, starting with animal posters and old calendar pictures when I was younger. Eventually I moved on to bigger enhancements, like dozens of glow-in-the-dark stars scattered in spiraling, swirling galaxies across the ceiling. I would also move various pieces of furniture around to suit my pubescent moods. But in the end, despite all the time I spent redecorating, that room still belongs to my parents. And my mom assures me that those stars WILL come down one day.

Yet here I am, doing the same thing in this apartment, personalizing it as much as possible, knowing that one day I'll just have to take it all down again. I suppose decorating and claiming one's space is all part of declaring one's identity, and it must be important due to the entire television networks dedicated to the activity. Media "only" reflects reality after all, right? 

This redressing of our living space has a purpose, though. Most of us surround ourselves with reminders of what makes us happy in life--photos of loved ones, pretty calendars, poignant phrases and pictures of beautiful things or places. In a Mormon home you'll also find pictures of Christ and of various temples, visual reminders of why we are here and to rejoice, despite the daily grind.

Perhaps it is the new year, but during the whole trip back here I kept thinking about all the cleaning and reorganizing I was going to do once I got back. There are boxes I need to sort through, toys to organize, papers to file and general tidying up that needs to happen. I even bought plastic storage containers to better organize my baby's toys. I'm even thinking of making each box a different theme to coordinate with one or two Baby Einstein DVDs. (I LOVE those DVDs by the way--they are great for when I'm cooking dinner and need the baby out of the kitchen, but they are specially designed to educate so I don't feel guilty letting him watch one.) I guess my spring cleaning urge came early this year.

Or maybe it's part of my "thinking ahead" habit. When I went off to college, I learned the best way to combat homesickness was to stay busy. Seven years later, after many trips home and many sad goodbyes, I think I'm actually starting to skip the missing people stage and go straight to project planning! 

The worst goodbye, though, would still have to be with my dog. He knows that suitcases mean someone is leaving, and since he never knows for how long, he acts just as sad every time. He even curled up in the middle of the guest bed the night before we left, looking up at me with sad puppy eyes. And that was before we had our suitcases out! Sometimes he just knows... The reason leaving Rascal is so hard is that I can't call him on the phone or send him a letter in the mail (I've tried the phone and he just doesn't get it). So every time I leave him, it's like forever. At least he acts like he remembers me when I do visit, and it makes the wait to see him worthwhile.