November 29th, 2010
Just re-posting this…because HOLY TIMELY…
Just checking in to say that my husband and I are not divorced yet. Oh, it’s OK, probably. I’m crossing fingers that we will weather Project “Tidy House in Sequence Beginning (with) Large Obvious Wrecks & Stains” (THIS BLOWS), also referred to pseudo affectionately as the “The Huge Intrepid, Super Ballsy Long Overdue Weeding-Out Strategy” (also THIS BLOWS).
Seems someone (**cough cough* I’manidiot **cough cough**) took it upon themselves to declare the days following Thanksgiving as “Organization Time,” and so we are cleaning out the kids’ toy bins, drawers, dressers, closets, etc. ALL WEEKEND LONG.
AS IN FRIDAY, SATURDAY, and SUNDAY WEEKEND LONG.
The problem here is two-fold: one, I suffer from chaos disorder; and two, I don’t like to be told what to do. So this leaves me with (1) not knowing what to do with all the crap, and (2) not liking my husband’s suggestions (which, in my defense, usually amounts to “let’s put everything in this plebian-looking industrial-size utilitarian container!“) or (let’s take off the closet doors!,” his nonsensical organizational omni-answer).
So I love my husband, but we are so painfully mismatched in our organizational approaches that I really and truly dread de-cluttering with him. Like I said, I am genetically predisposed to repel all organizational efforts, and even if I wanted to establish order, I do not have the brain circuitry to do so. I lack the DNA, I’m telling you. I could stick something in a drawer (and I do, oh how I do), and forget it’s there until The Rock finds my birth certificate while looking for the toilet bowl cleaner (which, in my passive-aggressive defense, NEVER happens).
It’s like I know what needs to be done to organize, but I can’t get there. Seriously. You should see my sock/underwear/bathing suit/silver coin collection/1999 movie tickets/kids’ immunization records drawer.
On the other hand, organization was bred into The Rock’s family. His grandpa used to take 10 minutes to open a Christmas present because he did it so methodically and calculated (with a pen knife) so the wrapping paper could be refolded and used again. Also, The Rock’s mom has things like “recipe collections,” and “photo albums” to organize her stuff. I find this baffling. My mom just stuck all her photos in a big box prone to water and fire damage, a tradition I proudly follow to this day.
Still, I pretty much know where things — the important things — are located. I have a half-assed organizational system that sort of works. Or at least it used to, until my second pregnancy, which stole most of the brain cells responsible for memory. Now, I kind of just grope around in the usual places and hope to find what I need, like smog certificates that were due 10 days ago, or an EPT indicator stick.
Also, did I tell you how I went to a Hewlett-Packard focus group a few weeks ago? To offer input on an in-progress product that could further organize moms’ lives? And how all the moms there were actually organized? And how I had to admit that I was not? In the least, littlest, fractionest, teeniest bit? And how any product designed to organize my life would be futile and an exercise in ridiculousness? Then how I publicly shared I hate paper? Because it’s more stuff I have to not organize? And so I don’t have things like recipes, or grocery lists, or master calendars, or any of that detritus? Because it’s more debris to de-clutter? Well, let me just say about that: a collective gasp arose from the moms, and one politely but firmly told the HP engineers, “we’re not all like that.”
I was so mortified at myself after that focus group that I went right out and bought a master calendar. I filled it out and everything. And you know what? The Rock said something to the effect of it wasn’t organized enough. I guess I needed to fill in more than one month at a time?
I swear, I’m gonna kill him this weekend.
No divorce. Just death by master calendar blunt force trauma. And then I’m going to stick his body in an industrial-size utilitarian container, kinda like a tribute. Or in the closet? I haven’t settled on a body disposal site yet. My indecisive gene is even huger than my chaos gene.
Just kidding honey! I love you, and hope that together, we can harmoniously tackle Project THIS BLOWS. Because a solid partnership like ours should not crumble just because your mom’s eggs had too much organization in them.
p.s. And I’m sorry I gave that bum our umbrella. I just couldn’t find the right drawer for it. Also, it’s Christmas! I thought it’d be nice if I enabled more efficient four-seasons panhandling.