Attack of the Clutter

Stuff–knick knacks, doodads, duplicates, gadgets, equipment, gear, junk–multiplies like rabbits! Before you know it–BAM–you’ve got clutter!

One day you look around the casa and think, Yikes! Working and writing have left no time to manage the clutter that accumulates in our house. Unchecked, the clutter begins to nest in bookcases, crawl over tables, and breed in baskets!

Stuff-terminator to the rescue! Mom! Seems Mom has a low threshold for clutter these days! Mom’s got more important things to do than rearrange stuff! Plus, Mom’s brain can’t breathe with the accumulation!

The clutter straw that broke the mama camel’s back happened the other day.

I watched our neighbors move out of their house. It took them days and days and truckloads and u-hauls…and a garage sale. People drove up to the house all morning long rifling through the piles and piles of STUFF in the driveway and garage. They had a lot of stuff. A 3-car garage with no room for a car–that’s how much stuff!

If you’ve ever moved you know how much stuff we accumulate over the years. And as you’re packing all that stuff, you might have wondered, do I really need this? Do I like this vase? How many potholders do I need? Why the hell do I have a dancing stuffed turtle? Why am I keeping this hideous pot? How did I end up with so many mismatched sets of sheets?

Sometimes it takes watching someone move out of their home to realize the time has come to de-clutter your own house! I vow to be ruthless!

The task will be daunting! There’s no way it can be done in a day! I go from room to room, peer into closets, open drawers, stare into the depths of the cupboards. Where did all this SHIT come from?

“What are you doing?” asks Hubby.

“I need to get rid of all the clutter. I don’t want to move all this shit!”

“Are we moving? Are YOU moving?” He looks a bit concerned.

“Did you see how much crap the neighbors have?” I point in the general direction.

“Oh, yeah. Makes you realize you much useless stuff you buy.” He blocks the door with his body. “My office is fine. Don’t come in here!”

I smile sweetly–he has to leave sometime–but I don’t remind him of this fact,

After a thorough assessment of the house, I decide to maybe…maybe tackle one room at a time. And one closet in particular may take days. One thing for certain, this task is best done in stealth mode. No teens begging me to keep a dust-covered stuffed animal in the back of their closet. No Hubby trying to second-guess my give-away/trash choices.