Don't Call Me Organized

Don't know if its the nesting instinct kicking in early, or the fact that I'm stuck at home more days than not that's got me riled up in an organizational dither. All I know is that the more I organize the more I realize just how hopeless it is. I love opening a closet and not having to worry about things falling on me. I love finding things were they should be. I absolutely adore falling asleep at night and not hearing the nagging of all the things that should be done, but aren't. Such is not the life for a mommy of almost six. Back in the early years when it was just Tony and Becca, things were simpler. Two kid rooms, two toy boxes, two dressers. Simplicity at its finest. Did I appreciate it, no. Enter Serena, who even in her earliest stages just couldn't be content to play with her own things. Suddenly everything was common property except for special things which had to be placed in an undisclosed location under surveillance at all times, lest they be tampered with and destroyed by tiny hands. Every couple of months I go through jags where I work through each room separating and folding and organizing. This time I'm at week two, week one was completed while my three girls were on vacation in Kentucky. When I take a break to catch my breath and grab a snack I run across various items that were part of the process, already in disarray. Or even worse I come downstairs only to find every dish I own in the sink. I so envy other women who can keep it all together and maintain a well-organized household, but I am learning that as for me and my house, well, its just not happenin'.


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