"I'm not insane! My mother had me tested!"

I make my bed everyday. I smooth out the bottom sheet, tug up the top, and align the blankets perfectly. I wasn't always a bed maker. Hell, for awhile there I was barely a sheet changer. But people grow, and change. Before I moved out of my parent's house I developed a decorating sense I call maximalist. You've heard of minimalist yes? Think exactly the opposite. I come across this desire genetically, my grandmother was the same way, as is my mother now. Things are pretty, and not all that expensive, so you buy them and put them out for others to see. My teenage bedroom was FULL. I had plenty to decorate the entire apartment I moved into. From about 2 feet off the floor, all the way onto the ceiling was covered, pictures, posters, collages, drawings, you name it. Every surface, every shelf, full. I collected everything. Porcelain masks, jeweled perfume bottles, hat pins, candles, and just everyday nick knack stuff. I was messy too, clothes, garbage, food, everywhere. After I moved the masks were the first to go. The ex and the roommate, both being male, weren't too into them. The perfume bottles followed soon after. I moved several times over the years, and each time I'd get rid of more things, having of course acquired more while living in that home. My cleanliness changed as well. I went from a typically messy first place to wanting a more clean environment. My ex was on a different wave length though, and there were many arguments about (but not limited to) the state of our abode, although the general consensus was that while he was messier, I was messy as well. Eventually I moved into my very first apartment by myself. I had to move a very full 1 bedroom apartment, with ample closet space, into a studio. Wow. I did it though. Far less surfaces to cover with the pretty items I'd collected though, not to mention I had less of a want to have all that stuff out. I had 4 large boxes take up residence in my closet. Turns out, I'm not all that messy! Oh, the wonder of coming home from work to find everything as you left it. The dishes clean, the towels hung, it was heaven. I began to appreciate the less is more approach. The less you have, the easier it is to keep it clean. Then I moved into an apartment with a friend. We both had enough to fill the place on our own, so there was no reason to get into the boxes. They remained in the closet. Next I moved in with my now husband. The apartment was smallish, and I was joining him in the already established bachelor pad with his roommate. Everything went into storage. Or so I thought. Most of my kitchen stuff, all my furniture, nick knacks, etc. I left out my clothes, bathroom stuff, and my books, non negotiable. We had our baby, and *dun dun dun dun* moved in with his parents while we built our house. Please do not think I am ungrateful. I will forever be thankful they were willing and able to share their home with us. But if you have kids you know, they come with so much shit. So 3 people, 1 of which being a baby invaded their house. This place was full. To the brim. And I was 30 years old, married with a baby, living at my in laws, in the middle of nowhere, with EVERYTHING I own that the baby didn't need, in storage. Not exactly what I'd pictured when considering my future. Not to mention there were issues with aforementioned cuteness, problems eating, rashes galore, unexplained and never ending. I was in control of nothing. I was depressed. Then I read this. http://ygtbkm.blogspot.com/2009/12/love-bank.html And it saved me. Most specifically this portion; "It's about Right Effort. The Buddha said that without effort, nothing can be accomplished. If you don't make your bed in the morning, you leave your bedroom in disharmony. You sense that disharmony when you come home at night. Not making the bed can be like leaving dishes in the sink. It's a pattern of behavior and that behavior is neglect. Neglect begets more neglect. Soon your house is a mess, all the time." Every time I went from my in laws living room into our bedroom to feed our baby I'd sit on our unmade bed in our C R O W D E D bedroom, and fight the good fight to keep our child nourished. So I made our bed. And every time I'd come in to feed the baby, which was still not stressless and serene like it's supposed to be, I at least felt in control and pleased with the bed. We moved into our house finally, and I continued. I also more times then not make sure the kitchen is clean before I retire, and I clean the living room and table nightly. Without fail. When I get up in the morning, and enter our living room, I smile at the state of it all. It makes me happy. I got rid of damn near all my nick knacks and brick o brack, I've gone to the other side, the side of minimalism, as much as one can who has a 16 month old spoiled daughter of adorableness that is. The state of the back bedroom was driving me insane. There's no closet space for 'stuff' really in our house, so the back room became our catch all. We'd just throw everything in there. Cleaning supplies, pictures we have but won't be hung up, the Cos.tco toilet paper and paper towels, then with the Christmas season it just got out of control. We couldn't even walk through it really. And it KILLED me. I hated it, knowing the chaos in that back bedroom. But I allowed it because there was a plan. It would not spend eternity as the swirling vortex of messiness, it would eventually be the new baby's room. But we didn't know if the new baby was a boy or girl so I had to wait. I thought about it every day, I planned, I plotted. I couldn't wait until we found out and I could clean it and paint it, turn it into it's destiny. My husband teased me. He knew how much it bothered me, as we had had discussions about the bed making. "Why do you have to make the bed everyday?" "To make the house harmonious." I'd reply. "The house knows when the sheet's wrinkled?" he'd ask, watching me smooth it down. "YES." I'd reply firmly. Also, I may have let it slip I kind of think our baby naps better, in her room, if our bed is made, in our room. He seems to think one doesn't have anything to do with the other. Humph. Then we miscarried. And the back room sank back into the murky waters of no purpose. My husband put on his sweatshirt and disappeared into it one afternoon. (It's cold back there, we keep the door closed.) There was much scuffling and moving, but when I asked what he was doing all I received was a terse, "Don't worry about it." Then he came out. I entered. He had inflated the air mattress, it's the big kind, he'd made it nicely, set up the baby's swing and circle of neglect she'd outgrown, and put together her pack and play. He'd set it up as the spare bedroom. All ready should anyone care to come visit us. Even if they had a kid! Everything else was organized in the closet, or had been moved to the garage. I cried. I asked him why he had done this, what made him think of it? He replied, "I knew it was bothering you." It wasn't what I had pictured. It wasn't what I'd been dreaming of and thinking about, but the room had a purpose, and it wasn't to drive me crazy. My house isn't as harmonious as it could be I suppose, I'm pretty sure my husband is teaching our child to eat her own boogers, but I think we are making strides in that direction.