Clumsy Oaf

So, my husband and I also did something else momentous this weekend.

Drumroll, please. . .

We cleaned our garage.

Now, for those of you organized minimalists out there, that might not be such a big deal. For us, it's a huge deal. We are packrats, we are not particularly organized, and we had a mountain of crap to face.

We didn't just shove the boxes around, either. No, we spent $500 on expensive, heavy duty shelving that took my husband most of Saturday to drill into the wall and put in place. It looks phenomenal. We also bought bins to replace the cardboard boxes still leftover from our last move five years ago. Everything is stacked, labeled, and organized. I should take pictures.

This was the first step in the three phase "Project Nursery." The next step is to empty the nursery (which is now my unorganized home office) of everything, which will be another weekend project, maybe even next weekend.

The last step, of course, will be the most fun. The actual painting, decorating, organizing, etc., of the nursery itself. We still haven't picked furniture, colors, paint, or bedding, but I have it narrowed down to a few choices.

But getting the garage cleaned out was the part that I was fearing the most. Now that it's out of the way, we are a big step closer toward having a lovely nursery for our Little Man.

Of course, the reason for the post title still needs to be explained. You see, my job was to hand the lighter boxes up to my husband while he teetered precariously on a ladder - we have a very high garage. I was taking one very light box over to him when I tripped over a broom that I had left laying on the ground.

Yep, I fell.

I didn't land on my stomach, rather my right arm and wrist took the brunt of the fall. Obviously, I checked for spotting the rest of Sunday and was nervous until I felt Baby Boy moving later on that night. But he seems okay and I did some googling, all of which leads me to believe that he fine in his cozy house.

Just call me Grace.