Not Nike

Life is a funny thing. Ironic really. For four years our garage has been an absolute disaster. As we've remodeled our old farm house we've used the garage for a work space, storage, and, well, a garbage can. Oh, sure, a few times we've cleaned a slightly bigger path through the junk piled up on both sides as you walk to the door. I've even swept (and then thrown away the broom...). But there is no denying it has been a total disaster.

So a few weeks ago we decided (du, da, da, du!) to clean it! I mean really clean it. It took two days to get everything out of the garage. And that was after we threw more than 10 huge garbage bags of total grossness into the local landfill. Then my husband wanted to paint it. Twice. And then the ceiling. Twice.

But now it is done! Very little remains. There is the deep freeze, a cart with tools, an air compressor, a few buckets of paint and several painting tools. That's it. So we bought shelves and made a plan.

And I can't follow it.

These huge, sturdy, shelves sit there and mock me. So neat, so clean! I cannot bear to put anything on them. To allow that mess into the house again-- I cannot tolerate it! The camping gear, the (dozens) of tool boxes, the gardening supplies, the baby clothes, the WHY ARE WE SAVING THIS stuff. It all sits in the shed, blocking the lawn mower. And the lawn really needs to be mowed.

But I just can't do it.