Basement Cleaning: It’s An Olympic Sport

Well.

Hubs and I have always been Olympic fanatics, because there’s really nothing more relaxing than sitting on the sofa, popping a vein on your neck, as you cheer like wild folks, who were raised by wolves, as Michael Phelps swims his way into victory, or as Kerri Walsh and Misty May make smacking volleyballs across a net in the sand look like a cakewalk.

This year, though, with the Summer Games upon us, we learned that we had lost NBC on our dish.

As in… we had NO NBC ANYWHERE.

Apparently, our dish provider pulled NBC quite some time ago, but we never actually watch the real TV at our house, unless it’s a Broncos game / Avalanche game / Paw Patrol, so we had NO IDEA that we were short one of the important channels.  (Long live Netflix and Hulu on the iPad!)  We had no idea that we were no longer able to access this network, and HOW WILL WE SURVIVE WITH NO OLYMPICS?!  That’s when we realized that we had a channel LIKE NBC, which is not REALLY NBC.  We saw that YES!  They are covering Olympic games!  So we set the DVD to do some serious recording, and this is what we’ve gotten:

Ping Pong matches between Japan and Germany.

Ping pong matches between China and South Korea.

Men’s race walking.

Men’s Greco-Roman wrestling.

Although riveting, it was very hard for me to cheer loudly for ping pong.  And race walking, in the words of JP Sears, is just a sport where we see “who can go the fastest, at not really going your fastest.  It’s like who can be the best at mediocrity?”

We have missed all of Michael Phelps’ races.  We have missed the gymnastics.  We haven’t seen Bolt run.  We have missed Kerri Walsh Jennings and her new partner, April Ross, in volleyball.

We have basically missed it all.

Except for the ping pong table tennis.

So…

… we did what everyone who has no connection to the Olympics does.

We cleaned our basement this weekend.

I would post BEFORE and AFTER pictures, but then I would bring shame upon my family.  We have long been sitting on a little secret that the back of our basement, which is hidden from the public eye with a CLOSED DOOR, was a hell hole of hoarding.

Can I SAY THAT on my rated-PG blog?

I really have to, because HELL HOLE OF HOARDING is what we had.  The back of our basement was covered in boxes of stuff we no longer used.  It was covered in clothes the boys had outgrown, toys the boys no longer played with, household items that I no longer cared about, and every manner of scrap lumber, Sheetrock chunks, leftover plumbing pipes, metal duct work odds and ends, pieces of insulation, half-used cans of paint, and every tool that Home Depot sells.  There was no rhyme or reason to how all of this stuff was stored in the back of the basement.  There was no organization to the mess.  It was all just thrown into heaps.

Heaps.

Heaps on the floor.

Heaps that had to be pushed aside if you had any hopes of walking through the basement.

Actually, you couldn’t WALK THROUGH the basement.  You could only walk over and under and around heaps.

For years, we have lived with this horrid secret.  The boy was under strict orders to NEVER, EVER open the basement door to friends, because they will no longer BE our friends, after they’ve seen the way we store things.  Normal people do not want to be friends with HOARDERS.

The back of our basement was an avalanche, waiting to happen, and none of us carried avalanche transceivers around our necks for safety purposes.  We had no way for pulsing radio signals to be emitted to rescue crews, to pinpoint our location beneath nine boxes labeled, Boys Size 12 Clothing.

So…

… my mom came over bright and early on Saturday morning, because my mom is a cleaning magician.

Ain’t NO ONE alive who can clean something up like my own mama can.

After we were fully caffeinated with coffee, we just opened the door to the back of our basement, and we dug in, right smack there.  We were ruthless.  We cleaned our way from the door to the back wall.  Everything went.  We piled the truck’s bed full four different times and made four different trips to the city landfill.

Yes.  I probably SHOULD HAVE had a garage sale and made millions of dollars selling our castoff stuff, but I was out of patience.  We were on a mission on Saturday to just GET.  IT.  DONE.  I wasn’t about to start making a garage sale pile.  God, forgive me.  I just wanted it all out of our house, so that’s exactly what we did.

And then we organized the little tiny bit that we were keeping onto the giant storage shelves.

We swept the bare floor.

The.  Bare.  Floor.

The floor that we found.

The floor that we haven’t seen since the concrete crew came over and poured it, when we were building this house.

And now, SWEET MERCY AND GLORY BE!!!  Hallelujah and praises!!!

We can walk and run in the back of our basement!  There’s forty-seven acres of bare concrete floors down there!  It’s clean!  It’s organized!  It’s nothing short of a miracle.

I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted off of my shoulders.

I felt like Hubs and I should have had gold medals draped around our necks, while we stood on the tall platform, listening to our National Anthem.  Sadly, no one with our dish coverage would have seen our outstanding Olympic Basement Cleaning 2016 performance.

Apparently, we don’t get NBC any more.

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