Boofah, our middle child, is a little miffed at us. The poor child (his label, not ours) has had the misfortune of having to bunk up with his sister in a shared bedroom since Miss Moo was old enough to need a big bed, or roughly four years. At first it was a necessity. Our previous home was a rental with three-and-a-half bedrooms and we needed that ‘half’ room (a sunroom without a door) to store the miscellaneous baby stuff. We tried having him share with his older brother for a while but soon realised Master J really needed some space to be on his own - to reboot the system, if you like.
When we moved to this house 2 ½ years ago we made the foolish mistake of simply carting much of what we had stored in the sunroom with us. So, even though we now had a four-bedroom place, poor Boof remained sharing with his sister. He was so used to it then it barely registered but in the last year or so we’ve begun to see signs that the arrangement really should come to an end (small room, big children, many arguments - you get the idea). Plus, the room may as well have been painted Little Girl Purple. Perfect for Miss Moo, not so great for Little Man.
How to solve this predicament? Clean out the fourth bedroom. Months we procrastinated about doing it? Somewhere in the vicinity of 12. Every few weeks Boof will bring up the subject of The Own Bedroom That Wasn’t and make us feel like horrible parents for subjecting him to another second living in the same room as his sister. At first we reasoned that we really needed to build a shed first. We have a smallish garden shed but Talented Hubby’s eyes lit up when I tried convincing him that a larger Man Cave would be more appropriate. He could store all his Man Things where I couldn’t see them and he could do what men do in sheds - play with their toys. The expense was astronomical though, so we shelved the idea and learned to avoid Boofah when he approached us with That Look in his eye.
And then one day, we decided to just clean out the clutter. I once took a picture of the fourth bedroom at its height of ‘junk room usefulness’, thinking a before-and-after piece would make fantastic fodder for Tackle It Tuesday. Um, yeah. Three months later it was still a junk heap and every trip across the ‘floor’ was a bit like Catherine Zeta Zones’ fancy dance through the laser beams in Entrapment. Ignoring the issue seemed to work perfectly well when Boofah wasn’t making his Puss-in-Boots eyes at us, so ignore it we did.
Until today. Today is the day Talented Hubby decided to clean out the shed (necessary in order to fit the bedroom stuff in). Except he doesn’t do things by halves. He de-cluttered, de-spidered, de-bugged. Much of what we thought we didn’t have room for, we in fact did. It’s looking spic and span now but not before my little accident.
I was moving a ladder back into the shed. For the record, I did not see that my darling husband had hooked a heavy plank over one rung. The plank fell. Onto the big toe of my right foot. Now, this particular toe hasn’t had the best run of things in my lifetime. When I was two or three, I almost severed it in a broken-off long-necked beer bottle (it’s a fab story - remind me to tell you about seeing my own toe bone one day, ‘kay?) I have a scar that circles the entire toe except for a half-inch strip of skin which acted like a hinge, keeping my toe together. Not being the most co-ordinated of souls, during my lifetime I have stubbed that toe regularly and if you’ve ever bumped a scar, you know the kind of intense pain it brings.
When the plank fell on my toe this afternoon, it not only hit the scar but it also landed square on that bit of flesh right underneath your toenail. With a large amount of force. I was, uh, less than delicate in my choice of words and started crying like a baby - it hurt like the blazes. For a while we thought it was broken. Thankfully this doesn’t appear to be the case but I do suspect I’ll lose my nail in the deal. Yeowch.
And there you go. Proof that decluttering can bring pain. You’re welcome.
Oh, and P.S: The fourth bedroom is coming along nicely. Still a way to go, but gettin’ there. Boofah is understandably thrilled, LOL.
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