The One About Organizing

The One About Organizing

Okay, so I used to be anal. Not the dirty kind, but the very, very clean kind. I liked everything to be organized and as close to perfect as possible. Martha Stewart was my God, and I was her minion. I couldn’t be stopped: I cooked, I cleaned, I organized, I threatened the life of my husband, or anyone else who dared to mess with “The Museum”, as our neighbor’s lovingly (?) called our home. I had lists, and files, and containers, and labels, and charts, and on and on and on. I had it all. I had organization. This was my drug. Then in 2001 I had a baby.

I had accepted the fact, that things might be in disarray for a month or two after bringing this noisy, poopy, pukey creature and all of his accessories, into my museum. I thought that once we settled in, everything would be as it was before. I was wrong. I was really too busy to even notice how bad it was, which may have been a blessing. I am sure that there were little hints here and there. For example, I started making frozen meals for dinner on a regular basis. If I dropped anything on the floor, I just kicked it underneath something else. Instead of folding laundry, I employed the SFBTB method (straight from basket to body). I could no longer watch Martha because it made me want to hurt her and all of her bitchy perfection. I didn’t actually have my wake-up call until 2 different events took place. #1) I took my 4-year-old son to the zoo, and made it to the parking spot, before realizing the he wasn’t wearing any pants or shoes; and #2) I went to Target with a pair of underwear stuck to the back of my shirt, via static cling. And they weren’t even cute underwear; they were “time of the month” underwear. After these 2 evens occurred in close succession, I realized I needed to dig deep and find my less bitchy, slightly more relaxed, inner Martha once again.

I started slowly: Tuesdays and Thursdays were my “organizing days”. I would make a list on Monday, of what I wanted to tackle that week, and I would spend those days getting something organized. Sometimes a closet, sometimes a cabinet, just a little at a time. The more I did, the better I felt. It is amazing, but that guy on Oprah with the glasses and the accent is right: If your house is cluttered, your life will be cluttered too. 

Now, my son is almost 8, and I am back to my old efficient self, minus the Martha worship, and the OCD. I keep everything labeled and organized, so that our lives will run smoother. My friends also hire me to do the same for them. Nobody wants to be digging around in the mornings looking for clean clothes, doing homework in the car on the way to school, realizing you have nothing to pack in your kids lunchbox except for a squishy apple and a breath mint. Being organized can clear your head, and give you more time to spend with your family. Plus, nobody wants to drop their kid off at school with no pants or shoes on.