This morning, as I stepped into my daughter’s room, I was greeted by a chaotic scene. Her school project lay abandoned on the floor, surrounded by scattered colored pencils, scissors, and glue sticks. On her desk, half-empty bottles of lotion and perfume mingled with Tupperware containers overflowing with glittery slime. A long-forgotten Barbie, its hair haphazardly cut, loomed next to a few mismatched socks.
Instead of appreciating the sunlight streaming through the windows or admiring her creativity, my mind spiraled into a frenzy of anxiety.
“Why is it always such a mess? We just cleared out so much clutter. Where did all this come from? It feels like kids’ belongings multiply overnight. Are broken toys capable of reproduction? What’s that smell? If she gets more slime on this carpet, she’ll witness a side of me that’s not pretty.”
Then I remembered the Tupperware I had been searching for earlier in the kitchen, while I knelt on the floor, frustratedly shouting, “Where did all the Tupperware go?” Only to be met with silence. And yet, here it was, scattered around her bedroom.
Nothing motivates me to declutter more than a whirlwind of denial and a bit of frustration. If my new Tupperware gets filled with sticky slime that dries like concrete, it’s headed straight to the trash. And you better believe I’ll celebrate with a little dance, because nothing brings me joy quite like a successful declutter.
I know I should probably keep more of their school projects. There was a time when every crayon drawing was lovingly tucked away in a Rubbermaid container alongside report cards and every leaf they collected. Okay, that’s a stretch—I’m more of a purger by nature, but parenthood often brings a sense of guilt about discarding these little treasures. But I’m wired this way; it’s part of who I am.
Having clutter around my house serves as a trigger for anxiety. I’m not an organizer; I’m a tosser. Clutter sends me spiraling from calm to “pass me another trash bag” in seconds.
I recognize that some items I’ve discarded were sentimental, and perhaps I’ve hurt my kids by tossing their stick and feather collections. However, I have to remind myself that those feathers were likely from a germ-ridden seagull, and the authenticity of the sticks is still debatable.
Will I regret not saving every toy, picture, or piece of moss from every single walk we’ve taken? No, not likely at all. But what I would regret is allowing the clutter to pile up in my home.
My house feels vibrant and happy after a good purge, and oddly, my kids have adapted. They’ve learned to keep their valuables hidden and understand that if their belongings start overflowing from closets and drawers, it’s time for them to go.
This approach alleviates a significant amount of stress for all of us, so I will continue my purging ways. If you’re curious about other parenting insights, check out this article on home insemination for more engaging content. And if you’re looking for reliable resources on family-building options, this website provides invaluable information.
In summary, while I may occasionally toss away sentimental items, my mental well-being takes precedence, and the joy of a clutter-free space is worth it.