My mom used to have these Halloween-inspired window clings that she let me bust out every October. Stickers of ghosts, witches, pumpkins - I think one of them said Happy Halloween? Probably? Every October she'd pull them out of her "Holiday Decorations" bin and let me stick them onto the glass door leading out to the deck. I loved it. This - aside from the in-school Halloween parties where the teachers handed out candy and we got to play games all afternoon - was my favorite part of Halloween.
I mean, I was like seven. The majority of highlights at that age were: candy, that giant parachute thing they let us play with during gym class, and stickers. It's the little things.
I told my mom I wanted to start hanging them in the giant full-story window in the front of the house. "There's more space," I said. "It's going to look so pretty!" I said. And I'm pretty sure if I'd had a more pronounced vocabulary at that age, I would have said, "It's going to be so festive! It's FALL! Let's decorate for FALL!!!!"
So, for the record, that is who you're taking advice from. Someone whose Fall decor once consisted of the desire to stick glass cling-ons of witches and pumpkins to the front of her house. Because she thought they were, like, "so pretty".
Ugh. "Purge". It's one of those words like "moist" or... "moist". It's not the way it sounds, it's just - you know, what it is. Purging stuff. I feel like I'm writing about my closet throwing up remnants of old college t-shirts and Target Mossimo tags.
I've always thought the idea of "cleaning out my closet" sounded like a terrible idea. Like this monumental chore. Because it basically felt like opening up the door to my own personal landfill of Victoria's Secret shopping bags (that I, for some reason, struggle to throw away) and shoes. So many shoes. WHY do I have so many shoes? I have two feet. I do not need twenty pairs of shoes.
But, you know, some day, "I might wear them" - or so I tell myself.
I have clothes in there too. Some clothes. Not all of my clothes. A lot of them used to end up in piles on the floor. Because they wouldn't fit in my closet. And the floor seemed like as good a place as any to keep them - you know, because I could see them. No sense opening up the pesky old closet and reminding myself what a mess it is in there.
And then I moved in with my boyfriend. Who is not like the boys you met in college with McDonalds bags stashed under their beds and dirty clothes spilling out of the hamper (thank God) - he's, like, an adult. He's sanitary. And while I know he loves me, I figured it wouldn't take long before he would get frustrated with me using my side of the closet as a landfill for VS bags and the bedroom floor to layout my clothes. All of my clothes. You know, so I can see them. Because you can't do THAT when they're in the closet. Too many other clothes in the way. Some shirt you love might be squeezed between two shirts you hate - and then you'll miss it. And then you'll be sad.
Here's something I never thought I'd say: "We need shelf liner."
Shelf liner used to be just one of those dumb "extra", "Mom"-type things that somehow found it's way into every apartment that I've ever lived in - cut up, and laid flat in the kitchen cabinets.
I say "somehow" like it magically appeared there. It didn't. My mom would buy this stuff for me - because she's a mom, and it's kind of a "mom" thing - and say "This is to line the shelves of your kitchen cabinets before you put the dishes away." And I would say "Oh, okay, cool" - even though I had no idea why. Does it stop your plates from sliding around? (Can plates really just "slide" around in there?) Does it stop your glasses from smelling like *shelf*? (Aka, wood). Can it keep you from getting splinters?
I don't know. It might just be wallpaper for the kitchen cabinets. But - whatever it does - I knew that I needed it for our new apartment before I could put the dishes away. God forbid we put away our Target brand plates and funny wine glasses that say things like "I make pour decisions" into a cabinet with naked shelves.