Exodus...

So the exodus has started...

Yesterday saw the beginning of the end of daughter number two's bedroom.  In a couple of weeks' time she will be heading off to her new home, and it will no longer be her room, and would have been loosely renamed as 'The Dogs' Room'.  Daughter number two has been in residence in this room for over 10 years, entering it as a child of 11.  As she is now almost 22, you can only start to imagine the breadth of memories (crap) she has hoarded over the years.  The mementos (crap) brought back from holidays, and vast amount of makeup (all crap) which she has managed to accrue.

She roped me in yesterday to help her bag up everything which was going to a new home (the charity shop or the tip) and the rest of it which was going to her new home (tidy for the moment, but will resemble a tip ten minutes after she walks in through the front door).  She's not very good at throwing anything away, preferring to keep hold of it 'just in case'....

...she shrinks six inches in height
...she loses her toes meaning small shoes will now fit
...she starts wearing kilts again
...she needs to dress up as a Ninja, Halloween Nurse or Mexican Bandit
...she needs to re-take her GCSE's
...she decides to open her own hair salon (SEVEN pairs of hair straighteners)
...she needs to retake her A' Levels
...she starts wearing her hair in cornbraids again (tail combs everywhere)
...she decides that wearing pink is in fact better than going naked

So you can just imagine the number of bags heading out of her room.  I started with great intentions, separating out the clothes from the shoes, and the electrical stuff from the rubbish.  That lasted about 14 minutes, when I decided that life was too short, and that the charity shop could have the lot, and do what they liked with it.  (Probably cry actually).

We managed to sort one wardrobe, a set of drawers and the airing cupboard.  This is a bone of contention as daughter number two considers the airing cupboard to be her space as it's in her room.  I beg to differ, but can rarely get through the door without burning myself on the hot water tank or losing a limb to an inappropriately discarded hanger.  I'd actually forgotten that it was carpeted until today - what a revelation that was.

So we have made a good start.  The trouble is that every time I packed something away, it triggered a memory of a curly little girl who I have loved forever.

I suppose I'll just have to buy another dog. 

Well there's room now...