Lately I've been thinking a lot about what I want to change about myself. One of the things that tops the list, just under making the relationships in my life stronger, including my relationship with God, is to be a more organized person.
I've started putting things into action this week. I started meal planning. We're on week one. Since we have the actual planning and shopping behind us, Richie and I sat down together tonight to plug the planned meals into each night of the week. I took a pad (specifically made for meal planning) out of the plastic, and Richie laughed at me. I said, "What? I thought it was a cute idea, I bought them a couple years ago". For real, I bought these almost two years ago. He told me, "No, that's great. It's very organized. I can't believe you're being so organized." That pretty much sums it up. I'm not organized...at all. I am a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of girl. My kids never had schedules, we ate when we were hungry and slept when we were tired. Up until this last year they never had a bedtime. One of the reasons I loved breastfeeding was because I didn't need a schedule. Just whip it out wherever, whenever. I'm sure that this has had a positive impact in a way. I know that my kids can adjust. They learned to fall asleep anywhere, and our lives were never a slave to nap times or routines.
But there is another really ugly side to my laid back personality. I absolutely suck at time management, managing tasks, or being organized at all. This is strange, because I love to organize. I would sleep in a tent for a week in anticipation of The Container Store opening its doors if they ever open one in my state.
Hoarding runs in my family. I don't just mean people in my family have a tendency to be a pack rat, I mean hoarders. Just like the TV show. I don't talk about it much, if at all, with people who aren't family because it's embarrassing, and I would never mean to insult any of my family members' "weaknesses". I live in absolute fear of becoming that way. It tends to worsen with age, and it's usually with the loss of a parent that I've known family members to go full tilt.
So this brings me to tonight. After the meal planning was done, and the kids were ready for bed, I decided that I would make myself organize at least one small area of my house. Richie and I have the upstairs to ourselves and there is a door at the foot of the staircase. I have a horrible habit of stashing things there. Just throwing clothes there, or pictures, or books, or jewelry. Anything that needs to be taken upstairs. Then I shut the door. And I'm sure you're thinking a small pile, but no, it's more like you better be good at lunges, because you're clearing the landing and the first two stairs. This is so embarrassing to admit, but I want to be accountable. Even if I'm just admitting a very bad habit to a subscription list of five people, I'm doing it just the same.
I'm instituting a basket system, and a "get off your lazy butt, Molly", system asap. But before either of these go into effect, things needed to be cleaned up. Because things just get tossed there, whatever it is gets trampled. So I got it cleaned up and in the process I found a lot of things ruined, or close to it. Two photos that are dear to my heart...crumpled. A small shelf I had been meaning to hang up upstairs...broken, but repairable. A bracelet that belonged to Richie's aunt that passed away in October...broken. Actually, snapped in half. The list is quite long, and I'm going to spare my ego. Anyways, I cried. It wasn't even over the stuff...ok maybe the photos. Mostly, it was over me. I was disgusted. Thankfully, my whole home isn't like this. A few areas here and there, and the basement as a whole, but still. Shame on me.
Have I mentioned that the thought of an emergency worker coming into my home and seeing one of these messes makes me almost as anxious as the thought of having a reason to call 911?
But no more, I'm done. The next time that someone comes to my home and wants a tour, they're going to see every inch. I'm going to be ready.