take back my bedroom

Woo hoo!

Nuf said.

It was about 10 AM Saturday, after feeding children, doing laundry, and talking with my mother, that I decided to tackle the bedroom. Armed with a bottle of Murphy’s oil soap, some cloths, a thermal mug of coffee, two big garbage bags, and, of course, a heaping helping of W.A. (no fire, Hawk, sorry), I went to work. Instead of NIN, or some other cleaning soundtrack, I listened to my SO do a guest appearance on a local radio show. I won’t bore you with the play-by-play, but suffice it to say that if that room had an ass, it would be officially whooped by now.

In the end, I had a full garbage bag of detritus, a bag of gently used clothing for a clothing drive, and a dozen books for the community booksale. The head-tall piles of books are gone, the clothing hung and drawered, and nary a trace of Christmas lingers in the immediate vicinity. I still have baseboards to clean, and then vacuuming to do. But the room looks good, and is, curiously, much larger than I remember. :)

The best part is that the cleaning inspired a trek to Ikea, where we bought three new bookcases. As readers, we have more bookcases in our home than any other furniture. Now we have three more, one of which will go in the bedroom, to ward off head-high bookpiles in the future.

Last night I lit a candle beneath some clary sage and sandalwood oils in water, and let it waft hrough the room for a couple of hours. When I returned, the room felt new somehow, a bit sacred even, peaceful, and a little bit sexy, as a bedroom should.

made it, and now I’m going to lie in it. Kicked some budoir hiney today. Still a bit more to do, but perhaps that’s the case with any large task. Maybe I’ll post details tomorrow, after some rest.

Our master bedroom looks like someone put the holiday season in a blender, left the top off, and turned the dial to frappe. Wrapping paper, bows, and boxes are everywhere, as well as some as of yet ungiven gifts, unfolded and forgotten laundry tucked away from company, and a host of other miscellany. Over the months, in fact, our bedroom has become the storage vessel for a variety of things that don’t belong there. Dressers are cluttered with broken toys, stuffed animals in need of minor surgery. Books are piled high in corners and on bedside tables. It’s no wonder I don’t rush to bed each night. It’s no wonder that the mornings there begin with a sense of chaos instead of one of possibility. A bedroom should be an oasis of calm, a place of respite, not a workshop or a closet, or a pre-discardia limbo.

So tomorrow, Saturday, fueled by some hot, strong coffee, some well-chosen music, and a 40 oz. can of stone cold resolve (a.k.a. whoop ass), I will spend as long as it takes to take back the master bedroom. I will put away or throw away, then clean with a vengeance, and maybe even redecorate the space, light some candles, re-christen or consecrate, so that it can once again be a bedroom, instead of just a room with a bed.