The Notebook

If you've been in my house lately, OK, ever, you probably wouldn't peg me as a freak for organization. That particular gene never really entered my body, and I have all but given up trying to control kid clutter. It's pointless. They can make messes faster than I can clean them up, or yell at them to clean them up. However, there are a few things that I get kind of anal about. OK, very few.

After we closed on the house a couple of weeks ago, I decided that I need a central repository for ideas, information, phone numbers, catalogs, lists, lots of lists, lists of lists, etc. that would accompany the purchase, decorating, moving, and other processes. At the same time, I needed to use the above materials for a design team project at The Untamed Scrapper. So, voila, two birds have been killed with one batch of paint, paper and adhesive.

These days, you'll usually find the notebook not far from wherever I happen to be. I've gotten some funny looks from people (like the cute closet designer at The Container Store who looked like Mike the hunky plumber on Desperate Housewives, but was impressed by the accuracy of my closet measurements) and my darling husband openly makes fun of me. Mock away folks. I don't care.

I like my notebook. It makes feel like I have somewhat of a handle on at least one aspect of my totally chaotic life. I like carrying around something that I made myself, that no one else has. And I love what it represents: that after 8+ years of waiting, the 5 of us are finally creating our own little nest. One that is ours alone (um, along with the bank), that has plenty of room for us to live, play, relax, and grow in. One that we can paint and decorate however we like, where we'll be proud to host family and friends.

As the notebook gets filled, it's becoming a document of our little process. It'll showcase our tastes and desires. The things we spend money on and those we can't. It will be a reference for when I need someone's phone number, or a paint color , or a receipt.

Each day, our lives are becoming more crazy as we get ready to move. But as I enter each photo, each telephone number (and each invoice) into my little notebook, it holds the craziness at bay for just one second. And some days, that one second is about as good as it's going to get.