I thought I knew how to clean until babies came into the picture.

Not mine, of course — my sister’s adorable sons, who along with their parents are coming home for a visit after two long years.

It was easier to prepare the last time my sister and her family visited, because only one 1-year-old nephew was in tow. Now there will be two boys, ages 3 and 1, which doubles the potential for rock-band-in-a-hotel-room shenanigans.

Her family will be staying at my parents’ house, so the goal is to have the room my sister and I shared organized and emptier than before. It needs some level of baby-proofing, too, even though the kids will be sleeping in another room.

Although I’ve known of her trip for several months, as of this column’s publication I am still cleaning. That’s because I never realized — or, more likely, refused to acknowledged — just how much junk I still have.

I’ve rounded up clothes that don’t fit, piles of paper and books, random electronics and little tchotchkes that were cute but now take up valuable space and present a choking hazard.

I could stock an entire shelf at Barnes &Noble with all the blank journals and notebooks I’ve accumulated over the years.

I’ll admit, it felt good to discard things and bag them for Goodwill. I’m a neatnik at heart, so a deep-clean and reorganization were long overdue.

Other objects have required more reflection. I had no problem evicting things from high school, but my old college work, and notes from my internships and interviews, gave me pause.

For now, they are still on my bookshelves. But I have a feeling they might not last through another round of cleaning.

Some things that I could clear out, I probably never will, like my stacks of newspapers dating back to high school. Ditto the dozen or so handbags, because one can never have too many handbags.

And those blank notebooks? Surely someday my award-winning novel will be scrawled in them.

To baby-proof my surviving stash, I’ve been relying heavily on covered plastic bins. It feels like cheating, since bins still eat up space, but at least I can protect my things and ensure I know where they are, too.

No matter how much I accomplish, though, the space never feels truly clean. Every time I turn around I see another spot that could be tackled.

And then there’s the regret. One minute I am tossing knickknacks aside with ease, the next I am peeking through the donation bags to make sure I didn’t accidentally include something I cherish.

Still, I know I’ll be pleased with the end result, and it hopefully will make my sister’s stay easier, too.

She Speaks” is a weekly column by women writers of the Honolulu StarAdvertiser. Reach Celia Downes at cdownes@staradvertiser.com