Today I start my
I know to some of you, it is like a sweet waltz...cute, pink rubber gloves, a shot or two of Febreze, the mist of fresh lemons, fluffed up pillows and sunshine on polished floors.
But, I confess. For me it is like the demolition derby. It's mean -and dirty- and someone is bound to get hurt.
Now before you jump to conclusions, I am not a hoarder. I throw my empty egg cartons out on a regular basis, I don't own cats, and you can actually find the extra toilet paper.
But I do have a slight problem with organization. Add to that -the fact that I like to keep things because I may need them some day.
That, my friend- is the greatest of all cleaning sins.
My brain knows that I'll probably never need that tub of scrap fabric because I'll never get around to making a quilt.
It also suspects that all those buttons and bows and stickers and beads and bangles and bobbles and boxes of stuff... will never be transformed into darling jewelry or an amazing scrap book.
My brain is also pretty sure that those fifteen pair of jeans will be out of style before I ever fit into them...that my son will never miss his old history notes...that I will never need seventeen disposable Glad containers...that those thin, left-over slivers of soap don't amount to a nickle...and it knows with almost perfect certainty that I will never break out the blue champagne flutes on New Year's Eve.
I should listen to my brain. It's real smart.
(When it doesn't listen to my heart, that is.)
My heart wants to cuddle old magazines and used picture frames and decorative pillows with needlepoint Santas. My heart wants to save worn loafers, torn nightgowns, holey socks and cowl-neck sweaters. My heart wants to preserve the electric skillet, the giant blender, the Jerky Shooter and the spice rack with the dried up cloves.
But today, dear heart of mine, you lose.
Today, my brain will rule!
And someday you will thank me...
My new issue of Woman's Day says to take on Spring Cleaning as a series of twelve weeks. Hence, a 12-Week program. (Just like all other physical and mental abuses!)
They say to only focus on one room a day, allowing some type of time limit to decide what to pitch and keep. And to place the "not sure" items in the garage.
Silly people! Where will we put the car?
I confess that I need this 12-Step therapy.
I- at this very moment- have a huge 30 gallon trash bag in my front closet. No- it's not full of extra blankets, or seasonal tablecloths or crisply folded sweaters.
It is full of the contents of a junk drawer.
A drawer in my kitchen island that we removed when we laid laminate flooring.
Six years ago.
I have makeup in the vanity from my days with Amway- when I color coded a group of wanna-be-millionaires and painted my face with Artistry cosmetics. Yeah. That was 1993, folks.
Don't be a hater.
I'm trying to reach out here...
And that's the first step.
The next step is getting off this computer, snapping on my cute, pink gloves and gassing up my demolition mobile!
Come back tomorrow for Step 2: Anxiety.