At the end of the day…

I am not a structured woman and it irks my husband to no end. He constantly reminds me that if I would just create a few simple daily routines, and stick to them, my day-to-day life would be so much easier and my overall life quality would improve exponentially. I believe him. I do. But my baby-addled-brain just doesn’t work like that. Even with pharmacological support, I cannot seem to stick with most routines. 

A few years ago I was having trouble remembering to take my vitamins everyday. We were discussing this at the dinner table as a family when my then five year old son said, and I am not kidding, “Mommy, too bad they don’t make Oprah Vitamins… because you’d remember to take THAT everyday.” GULP. So much for trying to convince The Gatekeeper that I don’t lounge around watching TV all day.  

So in spite of the fact that I am clearly vitamin and mineral deficient, there is one routine I’ve developed as a busy housewife and mother of three: I always empty out my pants’ pockets at the end of the day. I learned this one the hard way. Must run in my family. My brother has a handmade sign taped above his washing machine that simply states: “Don’t wash your fucking phone!” The note didn’t work, so he added a more dramatic handcrafted visual aid: he nailed three of his waterlogged cell phones to the wall above the washing machine. I asked him to email me a picture of that… I’ll post it if he does. I’ve got five bucks that says there will be a fourth phone nailed to that wall before the end of the year. 

So last night, after an incredibly long day of house cleaning and nekkid toddler wrangling, I took a moment to empty out the two front pockets of my trusty old khakis. Here’s what I found:

Inventory:

• Two cell phones: one working, one broken one (yep, washed it) which is a now toy for the kids
• Two vintage Fisher Price Sesame Street Little People (Ernie and Bert…Bucket Head’s favorites)
• One aqua blue Sharpie marker
• One sharpened pencil
• One random Happy Meal Toy…have no idea what it is.
• One elastic hair band
• One plastic hair clip
• A single green, sour apple “Nerd” candy piece
• One empty candy wrapper (Twizzlers), in three pieces
• Two dirty tissues
• One roll of Scotch Tape
• Some lint

I am fascinated by the quantity and variety of treasures and trash in my pockets last night. “How did all that crap get in your pockets?” you ask. Well, I’ll tell you. A great deal of my day involves walking around the house, perpetually noticing things where they don’t belong, picking them up, and sometimes, returning them to their proper place. I have a great eye for detail – I can instantly notice something out of place. I just don’t always get to finish the cycle and put it where it actually goes. What’s more, many many things in my house don’t really have an official spot to where I can return them. Thus, the piles. The plethora of piles. Piles as far as the eye can see. 

Lest you think I don’t have enough trash receptacles in my house, let me assure you that this is not the case. However, due to the kleptomaniacal tendencies of 4 out of 6 of the occupants of my house, I cannot leave interesting object lying about in trash cans. The kleptos in my world take after their Mama and don’t miss a trick. They watch me like a hawk and as soon as I put something of interest into a trash bin, they pounce:

“MOM! I can’t believe you threw that out! That is my favorite Happy Meal Toy!” (Nature Boy)

“Mama, why did you throw out my school papers? I worked so hard on those worksheets.” (Klepto)

“Mommy. More.” (Bucket Head)

“chomp, chomp, slurp, lick, swallow.” (Devil Dog)

As a result, I often find myself walking around the house, hiding things in my pockets until I can either covertly dispose of them, or put them where they do belong (if such a place exists).  

Perhaps this is the wrong thing to do. Perhaps I am not teaching my children how to pick up after themselves or thoughtfully edit their possessions. I must think about this. I just know that if I do not pick up the things I find on the ground, their fate is sealed. 

Devil Dog likes to chew. And I am very protective of my vintage Little People collection. The bigger kids are getting better at putting their things away, especially when I threaten them.  But 20 month old Bucket Head is the worst offender of the “pick it up, carry it around, and drop it somewhere random” syndrome. It makes it really hard to get things done around here.

Just yesterday, in fact, as part of my Oprah show inspired pledge to “Clean Up My Messy House,” I had gathered a bunch of random piles, placed them on the kitchen table to sort through them, toss the junk, and put away the keepers, when look who I spotted getting all up in my bidness:

 

Nice hat, dude. Clearly he meant business. It didn’t take long for that blue bucket full of random crap to end up like this: 

 

Yes, there was a large container of safety pins in there, just waiting to be put away, that scattered to the four corners of the universe when that bucket fell. Ah, good times.

At least he’s forthcoming in his pursuit of THE STUFF. It is my 6 year old daughter, the one I affectionately refer to as “Klepto,” who worries me the most with this issue. She covets and she steals, and she is very sneaky about it. Yesterday, she noticed that I had confiscated a hideous plastic Barbie vanity set from the playroom… the one she NEVER plays with, the one that was handed down from an older cousin without my consent, the one who’s very existence in my home sends my girl child all the wrong messages about what really matters in this world. I have always hated that thing and thought there was no time like the present to get it OUT of our lives. It was in the garage as of yesterday morning, just one little car ride away from the Goodwill Store. Yes, I was so committed to ridding our home of this made-in-China-monstrosity that I was willing to be called “sir” again by that myopic Goodwill volunteer in order to do it. THAT is dedication. 

So when Klepto noticed the pink plastic vanity and matching stool in the garage, she freaked.

“Mommy! Why are you going to give my makeup desk away?! I love this thing!”

“Honey. You never play with it. It is not useful or beautiful to us and it is taking up valuable space in our home. We are going to donate it to charity so that we can share it with someone less fortunate who will enjoy it and take care of it.” 

“Oh, alright,” she begrudgingly moped. We’ve been talking a lot lately about clutter and the importance of letting go to free up our space and our minds. Clearly she was getting it.  

A little while later I stepped outside to check on the kids playing in the yard, and look what caught my eye: a flash of pink from behind the bushes.

I don’t think she could carry the vanity table/mirror combo by herself, but apparently the chair and detachable jewelry boxes were another story. I would have given anything to see her tiptoeing across the yard, eyes darting back and forth, carefully eluding witnesses as she pilfered those goods. That girl knows what she wants and is not afraid to do whatever it takes to get it. I’m partly horrified by this, and partly impressed. Perhaps a clutter-free home is just not in my cards.  

Oprah Vitamins. How about one of those famous Pomegranate Martinis instead?

© 2008, The Bearded Iris.