Yep, we cleaned yesterday. And I can honestly categorize our children into rows of tidy child/untidy child. Turns out that out of our eight children, 2 are very organized and able to keep up their spaces (like their father), and the remaining six take after...............me. I hang my head in shame. Yeah, I'm the one who lives in disarray, while my long-suffering husband has to tolerate things out of place and general havoc. I figure it's good for him, though. Too much order can be mind-numbing, or I like to think it can be. That's my excuse.
When I go into our younger boys' room (three of them together), I'll sit on the third son's bed and look over at the other boys' bunk beds and be amazed at the contrast. The boys on the bunks are super tidy (the only children in the house who are), and it's truly startling. Fifth son will actually gently peel himself out from under his covers so as to make the least wrinkle possible. And he smooths it over as he climbs down. The son in the single bed (my pigpen kinsman), throws the covers over when he gets up and accumulates piles of books and clothes. I can identify. But wish I couldn't. I yearn to be clean, but my natural mindset is to live in squalor. I actually get nervous watching that cable show, Hoarders, since I feel that in some freaky way, I'm like them. Not good.
So, I scan the rooms, looking for things to toss, wondering just how many art projects and cute cards from the girls I need to save. When is a crayon drawing ready for the trashcan? Can I wad up stuff they've given me and cram it into the bottom of the garbage bag so as to not hurt feelings? When a drawing stuck on the fridge with magnets begins to curl, is it time for it to go?
Obviously I'm giving this way too much thought, eh? Silly me.
When I go into our younger boys' room (three of them together), I'll sit on the third son's bed and look over at the other boys' bunk beds and be amazed at the contrast. The boys on the bunks are super tidy (the only children in the house who are), and it's truly startling. Fifth son will actually gently peel himself out from under his covers so as to make the least wrinkle possible. And he smooths it over as he climbs down. The son in the single bed (my pigpen kinsman), throws the covers over when he gets up and accumulates piles of books and clothes. I can identify. But wish I couldn't. I yearn to be clean, but my natural mindset is to live in squalor. I actually get nervous watching that cable show, Hoarders, since I feel that in some freaky way, I'm like them. Not good.
So, I scan the rooms, looking for things to toss, wondering just how many art projects and cute cards from the girls I need to save. When is a crayon drawing ready for the trashcan? Can I wad up stuff they've given me and cram it into the bottom of the garbage bag so as to not hurt feelings? When a drawing stuck on the fridge with magnets begins to curl, is it time for it to go?
Obviously I'm giving this way too much thought, eh? Silly me.
