I decided to keep it simple this week for several good reasons, the best one being that I forgot to do anything until Wednesday afternoon. Of all the weeks to forget about the weekly project I have been doing for almost 18 months, I picked a good one. The project I was planning to work on didn’t take more than three minutes. Six years and three minutes.
While everyone was sick this past month, I made a mental note to finally empty out the medicine cabinet in the boys’ bathroom, the one with old medicine, bug repellents, and broken bathroom accessories on one side. We never use it and haven’t for years. I store our medicine in the kitchen and have for years. Everything here didn’t make the cut. Out of sight, out of mind. I kept forgetting to toss out the contents until one of the boys would get sick. The Mister has a habit of storing whatever the boys are taking when they are sick in here so he doesn’t have to walk to the kitchen, even though that’s the purpose of the box: you can take it with you. I think I finally broke him of the habit this time.
The other side has always been empty barring the defeated scrunchie and two razors.
What’s that? You were wondering what that bottle with the foil is all about? I’m surprised you ask because it is all perfectly logical. Like I mentioned, the Mister likes to keep the medicine the boys are using in that cabinet. I might have mentioned (8,000 times) that Mikey was running a fever last week. This is where our bottle of Motrin ended up. When it was my turn to give him medicine, I opened the cabinet and found it there without a cap. This was very, very late at night/early morning. I woke the Mister up (!!) to ask him where the bottle cap was because the idea of putting it back without a cap was too much for my Type-A, first born child personality. And he, the middle child, mumbled, “I don’t know; couldn’t find it.”
I’m sorry, one more time?
I knew three things within three seconds of hearing this lunacy.
1. I was finding that cap.
2. If I didn’t find that cap, I was somehow stopping the bottle to block the cyclone of invisible germs hovering above its neck.
3. I was never using the contents of that Motrin ever again because surely it was tainted by countless germs, most of them not yet identified by the CDC.
This is where my logic gets fuzzy. (Only here. Up above? Totally sane and logical.) Even though I would never, ever use the Motrin and the Mister was going to get a new bottle of Motrin first thing in the morning, long before Mikey would be able to take another dose, I didn’t throw away the bottle. I remember thinking I should keep it just in case something happened between then and when the Mister went to the pharmacy. Something that prevented him from getting a new bottle. (???) Something like a zombie apocalypse, a massive earthquake trapping us inside the house, or–the most likely event–the FDA announcing a nationwide recall on all over the counter fever medication lasting forever into the distance with no horizon.
I promise that at 4:00 am this sounded perfectly reasonable. In fact, I was proud of myself for being so planned and prudent. Like a girl scout! Nobody was going to catch me without a bottle of Motrin, no siree. (!!)
So that’s why I went to the kitchen and ripped off a piece of foil. I couldn’t find the cap, you see, and I needed to halt the contagion.
I can explain everything in that cabinet. I can explain why there was still infant medication in there. (Closed doors, never use that cabinet, forgot there was medicine in there.)
I can explain why the Motrin didn’t have a cap. (It was late at night, the Mister was tired, it fell somewhere and he couldn’t find it in the dark. Later, I couldn’t even find it with every light on.)
I can explain why the Motrin had a makeshift foil cap. (To stop germs germs and because bottles need caps.)
I can explain everything except one thing. I can not explain why I gave the Motrin bottle a foil wimple.
Why? Why does my foil have wings? Why didn’t I wrap the foil all around the bottle? I vaguely remember thinking that wrapping the entire bottle would make it difficult to open in the event I had to access my emergency stash of Motrin (?!) but in the event that was true and I couldn’t waste those precious 2.56 nanoseconds, why didn’t I just wrap the foil all around the cap? Or make it a foil stopper?
It is a mystery.
I tossed out the bottle and its infected contents and then tossed out everything in the cabinet. There really was nothing in there to keep except my bottles of essential oils and one empty apothecary bottle. I didn’t even bother taking an after picture because it would be a picture of an old, empty medicine cabinet.
This post was part of The William Morris Project, a weekly series that details the steps I am taking to create an intentional home. You can see more of my goals and completed projects here. To learn more about this project, start here.
Now itís your turn! Feel free to share how you have lived according to the William Morris quote, ďHave nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.Ē Made a plan? Cleaned a drawer? Bought a sofa? Tell us about it with a link or comment. A few guidelines:
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