Today, with all the men-folk hard at work digging a hole to China in our backyard that one day will be filled with concrete, topped with some framing and siding and called a shed, I was indoors realizing I was chalk-full of insanity. It was simultaneously enlightening and embarrassing.
I’m a hoarder.
With most things, I’m an overly enthusiastic thrower-outer. I generally abide by the code “if you haven’t worn this [item of clothing] in a year, you’re never going to wear it,” or “if you haven’t used this [item of interest] in a year, you’re not going to miss it.” I love purging because that leaves room for more stuff. I also like empty floor space and organized shelves.
But then, today, I was organizing the kids’ play room and our storage closet and I made some pretty incredible discoveries. For one, I’ve never thrown out a single greeting card I’ve ever received, for one. I’ve also never thrown out a single greeting card that anyone else in the house has received, either. Same goes for gift bags. I had over 100 smoshed into a tiny walk-in closet. I still had over 150 leftover thank you cards from my wedding, six years ago. I had several dozen empty boxes lining the shelves.
There were two dead rats buried in the corner.
Wouldn’t be surprised if there were, though.
But with the help of my mom, sister, and the kids (although, the kids were more of a hinderance), we worked for hours, HOURS, emptying, sorting, organizing, keeping, recycling, trashing. We cut the gift bags in half. We folded the boxes flat and recycled the broken ones. We threw out the thank you cards.
I hid the greeting cards so no one could make me get rid of them.
It was exhausting, but so, so liberating. The playroom and closet are clean. Usable. Functional. There’s room to move. Room for the girls to play.
There’s also room for more stuff…