I am NOT an organizer.
Just when I begin to see a glimmer of hope that, perhaps, finally, my one ounce of order is beginning to grow, the house explodes.
And so it is today.
It began last week, with a desire to get rid of the mounds of clothes lying about, mostly in the laundry room. So I hauled every last shirt, sock, and pillow case into the living room to sort them. I succeeded in weeding out two big bags full of miscellaneous clothes to donate.
Over the course of the week, my carefully sorted piles began to migrate and mingle, as Jonah and Jason and Naiah and I wandered among them and searched for things now and then. Some of them were put away. Some of them had no place to go. Some of them are sitting in stacks in front of my dresser, which is full. I honestly have no idea what to do with them. So they sit.
On Saturday, I overhauled the nursery room at church. I tossed about 3/4 of the junk, leaving only some cardboard blocks, the kitchen and its paraphernalia, and a few books and trucks. Then I scrubbed everything down with soap and water. It was gorgeous.
Something inside me said, “See? You can do this! You just needed a little boost of confidence.”
So I went straight home and overhauled Jonah’s room in the same way. Another success!
After that, I targeted the upstairs, which will be the girls’ new bedroom.
Everything that did not belong was thrown down the stairs or trashed. I swept, mopped, vacuumed, dismantled the t.v. stand and shelves, cleaned out closets, and arranged the bed and other furniture.
It was all quite satisfying, until I saw the downstairs, which was even more chaotic and impassable than before.
To top it off, Jason kindly decided to clear out the mudroom (the entryway, which had been acting as a temporary storage room since the move). Clearing out the mudroom meant redistributing its contents throughout the living room, dining room, and shed, which, of course, caused even more mess, because now there are boxes and stacks of books, fabric, videos, and paper on every conceivable surface, waiting to be shelved or tucked away in some nonexistent drawer.
And, oh, yes, while I was trying to finish my bedroom, my son took leave to dump heaping scoops of powdered laundry detergent all over the laundry room floor, which I had just mopped. And so he is now confined to his room, where he can undo everything I accomplished there.
I’m utterly lost. I’m staring at rooms scattered with clothes, sheets, books, mail, bathroom products, and toys, and I am completely at a loss as to what to do with them all.
And I find myself asking the same question I’ve been asking since I first began to try to keep a house. Why do my attempts at cleaning inevitably create an insurmountable mess? What is WRONG with me? I can read Greek and Spanish and a little Hebrew! I passed accounting with Dr. Bonagofski! Why am I too stupid to clean my house?!
I’m going to flounder in the laundry room now.
How it Fits 