Things are out of control.

I mean, not really. Things are fine. Marriage = fine! Work = fine! Family = fine! Amazon Prime shopping and delivery = fine!

So, all of the important things are a-okay!

But friends: My house. Oh my god, the house.

I currently have five canvas bags scattered through the house filled with God knows what.

Actually, that’s a lie. I know what they contain: Loose diapers, pacifiers, bottles, change, candy, wipes, papers, children’s art work, a credit card here or there, a Jury duty summons I really need to find, thank you notes I need to mail, gym clothes for work, unpaid bills, ground up Goldfish, earrings, hair ties, tissues, lint.

How does one have all of those things in FIVE various bags, you ask?

I do not know. It’s a gift.

There’s also this special thing that is happening next to my bed. What is this thing? How did this happen?

Our cars are filled with snack bags, water bottles, jackets, scattered Cheerios, dry cleaning I haven’t dropped off (stuffed in yet another canvas bag), strollers (one in each car), empty Seltzer cans, boxes I need to return to Amazon, stray socks, and shoes.

So. Many. Shoes.

I was organizing the dishwasher last night before running it and noticed Nat just threw this in. In case you are confused, it’s a dirty Tupperware container that’s CLOSED. I mean. What? What is happening??? I didn’t even say anything because what do I even say about this? Is my sweet husband really some sort of sociopath? (Don’t answer that.)

The other night, the light bulb next to my bed just shattered. SHATTERED. All over the place. We vacuumed and crawled around on our hands and knees to pick up stray glass, lest a shard get stuck in a tender, little person’s foot. Every night, I go to turn on this light. Every night, I look at the base still stuck in the socket. I then wonder when I will ever get around to cutting a potato in half to attempt to screw it out. I wonder when I will then walk to the basement to get another light bulb. July? August? September?

Never? My bet is … never.

There are piles of things that I need to “file away” on various surfaces. Wrapped baby gifts I haven’t mailed in months. Bills I need to pay (or at least sort). Children’s art work I should probably toss but can’t bear to. Receipts from Amazon. Nat’s doodles. Actual, printed-out photography (how did I get those??? Where am I supposed to put them? Do I take a photo of them and upload them to Google Photos and then throw away the originals?). Legos, legos, legos, legos, legos, legos, legos, legos, legos. And more Legos.

Here is my DREAM: I want to take a GIANT trash bag, sweep everything inside (including toys! Oh my god, I’m getting turned on even thinking about just throwing away errant toys), throw it all away, cut off all my hair, climb a mountain, and then whip off my shirt do a Brandi Chastain scream on the top of it.

Instead, I do the dishes. I pack lunches. I get the kids to bed and read them stories. I look at my bags, my piles, my unorganized sock drawer and do nothing. Because on the hierarchy of things I need to address, tackling clutter is so low on the list. It’s right after the dog on the priority list, so pretty far down there. (Sorry, Scout. Love you!).

I then cuddle up on the couch with my husband (who may or may not be an actual sociopath) and our poor, sweet neglected dog and watch an hour of TV. During this time, I could theoretically take five minutes to go get a potato, cut it in half, step over that giant wire pile that is next to my bed (whom I’m growing much more fond of as it continues to grow) and get out the broken-off light bulb but I forget EVERY. SINGLE. NIGHT.

It’s a life, isn’t it?

[Note, the featured photo is from the story of the Collyer Brothers which is a FASCINATING tale and will turn you only only reading newspapers online.]

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