If I was a more poetic writer I would make an artful comparison of the sharp knives next to the soft flowers. Maybe I would compare them to the difficulties we’ve faced in this move and the joys it has brought us. But I am not one of those writers. Instead, I’m going to tell you why this picture makes me happy:
1) My knives, which have been sitting on a towel on our counter with no place to go, are finally in their own little spot. Organization, people! This is what I live for.
2) I finally have been able to get my head above water long enough to do something trivial, like put those flowers into cute little bottles. I mean, they’re just going to die in a week and I’ll have to do this all over again, but adding that little task to my list is no longer enough to induce anxiety attacks. This is progress. And it only took five months.