My quest for an uncluttered mind begins with an uncluttered living space. It has always been this way. I work best when all my ducks are in a row.
In general, keeping my ducks in a row has been a challenge since… forever. Adding kids to the mix has meant I've needed to redefine what constitutes a row. Straight, neat, orderly lines? Not anymore. If my sanity hinged on this, I would be straitjacketed in a padded room as we speak.
Some days, a padded room seems heavenly. Somewhere soft where I can be ALONE and crazy to my heart's content.
But I don't have time for crazy. Or the wherewithal to ensure regimented ducks. Instead, I attempt to function in spite of the chaos. I suspect that's the most any of us can hope for when we have tiny peoples crowding our every moment.
The point is it was time to clear some stuff out. To that end, I have been donating baby stuff to family and friends as well as St Kilda Mums, I packed away the bassinette (where it goes next I haven't decided), and I finally, finally did the filing. I decided that this was supremely urgent and simply had to be completed before Zig's birthday party last Saturday. In fact, I decided, the whole house had to be overhauled. Otherwise, how could the three-year-olds be expected to have any fun?
With feverish determination, I completed and crossed off tasks that had long been on my to-do list. It felt amazing. It felt less amazing making the birthday cake on the day of the party because I hadn't had time to do it beforehand. Ironically, not one party guest commented on my excellent filing but it could not have escaped their notice that my kitchen was filled with dirty dishes, the mixer still on the benchtop, green icing dried in a suspended state of mid-drip from the beaters.
Spring cleaning requires a steely resolve. You must approach the task without a shred of sentimentality or you'll be felled at the first kindergarten painting. I've talked about this before. I attach meaning to things. ALL the things. And it is slowly killing me.
I went in hard.
This was a gift when Luca was born. FIVE AND A HALF YEARS AGO.
So I threw that sucker away. After taking that photo. And after Bren made a little sad face when I showed him what I was doing.
"Don't make the sad face!" I warned him. "I am on a serious roll and I can't have your sad face sabotaging the mission." And with zero mercy, I drove a pin into that balloon's heart, threw it's crumpled shell in the bin.
Hard arse, I know.
At some point, you have to see this 'necklace' for what it really is….
…a piece of string with some packing peanuts hanging from it.
At some point, you have to admit that you are never going to wear your packing peanut necklace.
But I like my packing peanut necklace!!!
I love that the clasp on your maternity singlet appears to be on the verge of unclasping, you saucy thing you.
But in all serious, well done. I still can’t believe a balloon lasted so many years. How the hell did you stop one of the boys from trashing it? Balloons don’t last long in our place – not with P around…