The teenager within me was well on her way to being a hoarder, but I experienced an internal change about five years ago after many months of illness and a mass sell-off of all things once sacred. Finally the repressed minimalist emerged fresh and free of materialistic baggage. I now thrive on clear surfaces and peaceful rooms.
Unfortunately my children are still in their junk collecting stage, especially FringeBoy who hoards everything from rubber-bands to rocks. (I refuse to mention FringePup in this post.) If it weren’t for a good combination of nagging and bribery, he would still have his baby rattle tucked away in a dark corner of his closet. To avoid my being institutionalized for obsessively trashing my children’s treasures, I only require they reorganize their clutter on a weekly basis; however, they must free our ‘common space’ of their junk every night. I cannot relax in front of the television with a crowd of plastic women staring blanking in my direction, and I don’t enjoy having a Lego spaceship imprinted on the sole of my foot. My children manage to clean-up approximately half their junk daily. I consider that success.
The mouse on my mantle officially became a permanent piece of home decor when he was dusted in place.
Just because I enjoy clear surfaces does not mean I like to dust. The mouse previously sat on this book, leaving a semi-slimy imprint. Believe me, I’d rather he lounge on my mantle than IN my book. As I sank into my chair the other evening, picking up my book on the way down, my fingers curled around a mushy object. At first glance, only the tail was visibly hanging between the pages and my heart skipped a few beats. It’s a medical fact that my heart beats to a slightly irregular rhythm; however, after the mouse shock it now pumps to the beat of a young drummer, FringeBoy.
After noticing the mouse print, I realized it was time to dust. I also decided to junk-up my bedroom a little. I want clean, but I really don’t want sterile. If I keep my dresser top excessively clear, FringeMan may forget he has a wife. For this reason, I pulled my jewels from the wall safe and threw them into some glassware.
I don’t want to give you the wrong impression, I’m really not that clean. My floors are usually a mess and I’ve give up on keeping order in the ‘construction’ zones of the house until all the plaster dust has finally settled, but there are a few rooms I like to stay neat.
I also added this Tweety-Bird cage to my room. FringeMan found it in a trash pile and thought I might like it. Isn’t he a sweet tweet?
Now I’ll apologize for causing you to read an entire post of nothing but plastic jewelry and mushy mice.
Thank you for all the participation in yesterday’s post. It was fun and FringePup smells better…slightly.