Captain Clutter: The Sequel (Dun Dun DUN!)

This past summer left me overly proud of accomplishing some clutter clean up that had been driving me crazy for some time. (And when I say overly proud, I mean just-had-my-first-child-and-convinced-he's-the- smartest-and-cutest-baby-in-the-entire-history-of-all-babies-born-ever proud.)

Unfortunately, Captain Clutter and his mischievous men took advantage of my distracted soccer mom mentality these last two months to stealthy sneak back into my house. What kind of sick bastards take advantage of a woman juggling three kids and their school activities, a full time job, and a house, and a dog that sheds so much hair he should be bald by now? The kind that leave behind stacks of paper that "can't be thrown out yet", junk mail hidden under magazines, and clothes that are two sizes too small from my kids. All my beloved progress...poof!

This time, however, I've made a realization about my clutter-ific tendencies. I can't say no, or, well, not without some serious guilt accompanying it. If someone is trying to foist off their belongings and ask me if I want it, I really feel awful if I say no, no matter how politely I can think of phrasing it. I don't know why I feel this way. Clearly they've already been motivated to de-clutter and are looking for victims, I mean recipients, of all the extremely useful and obviously unnecessary items in their own house. So why should I have guilt for rejecting their cast offs? Why shouldn't they say, "I don't want this crap in my house anymore." and I respond with, "Sure, I'd love more crap in my house even though your house is twice the size of mine and this was clearly too big for that much space but it won't at all be noticed in my much smaller house!"

For example: My mother-in-law has recently retired and has found all this extra time in which she can scour the corners of her house for things that have been there so long they've probably been overlooked as part of the scenery. She asked if I wanted a brand new, never even been taken out of the box, waffle iron. Immediately I think, "Hmmm, I don't have a waffle iron. I could make waffles if I had a waffle iron. The kids would love waffles for "breakfast as dinner" night. I could be a Mom super hero if only I had a waffle maker!" So I say sure. Then I realize, where am I going to put this waffle iron? There was probably a good reason I didn't have one and that reason was more than likely capacity related. As in: This house is already at max capacity! (Although I'm totally keeping the waffle iron and its Super Mom powers.)

I also realized why exactly my bedroom always look like Captain Clutter and his Messy Menagerie hit it the hardest: That's the room where things go to die. Or be sold on eBay. Or stored until I can find my own unsuspecting victims. Basically, it is the house closet. All the crap is taken from the main living areas and the kids rooms and shoved out of sight into the master bedroom. I guess one crappily cloistered room is better than six, right?

So continues the battle between good and evil. And by good I mean me. Evil is, of course, that cleverly foul fiend Captain Clutter. Victory shall be mine El Capitan! Just wait! Muah ha ha ha ha!