Tuesday, September 7, 2010
As I rummage through the top drawer of the bathroom vanity for a hair grip, I feel a little hand hovering over the drawer's edge at the same time, searching for something. My son, Oliver, loves this drawer because so many miscellaneous items live there. There are hair scissors, old soothers, toothbrushes, bobby pins, tubes of toothpaste, nail files, brooches, the odd photograph and a gazillion other random articles. It's a miracle they all fit in there.
It's a place of fascination, curiosity. Or, it's a bloody mess.
Later, as I'm making dinner, I reach into a kitchen drawer for a slotted spoon. It's another drawer of interest - an accumulation of every kitchen implement I've ever owned and a host of other things that probably don't belong there. Reaching in there is like reaching into pile of straw and hoping to retrieve a matchstick. But somehow I find what I need.
There's a pattern of spaces just like these in my house, where things have collected and sat unsorted for a long time. The entry closet is filled with winter and summer jackets, boots, sandals, hats and scarves, dog leashes, scarves, handbags and vacuum attachments.
I open it, I look at it, I think, this is a bloody mess, then I close it.
I am not an organized person. To me, an organized linen closet is one in which sheets are neat-ish-ly folded and stacked so that things don't fall out onto me when I open the door. When it comes to filing paperwork, I've been known to gather letters into a pile and stuff the whole pile into a closet in the hopes I'll never see it again.
On the outside, everything seems tidy and fairly organized in my house (sort of). But on the inside it's a different story. My theory is, as long as I can find things, and they're clean, that's good enough.
There was a time when I was a teeny little bit worried about my lack of organizational skills. And then I smacked myself over the head with a rolling pin and came to my senses.
The thing is, every time I look at a closet that needs organizing, I find something better to do. I say to myself - look here girlie, what do you want your gravestone to say: "Sarah, brilliant mother who loved spending time with her family, being creative and cooking the most delicious foods ever tasted." OR "Sarah, had organized closets.". And that sort of settles it.
I'm easily persuaded.
So I go about my usual routine of (lovingly) flinging clean laundry into drawers, roughly folding towels and bedsheets, and wedging my pots and pans into the cupboard wherever they'll fit. That's about all I have time for.
But every now and then, on the sly, I sneak a look at the Martha Stewart web site and browse the pages on home organization. I hang on the shots of wardrobes lovingly arranged with compartments for everything, and laundry rooms with baskets for clothes and glass jars labeled for detergent and softener.
I picture myself, living in this kind of organized bliss. And then I snap out of it. Because, the thing is, in order to have all of one's kitchen supplies organized into glass jars with labels one needs spare time. Spare time. Em. What is that anyway?
I figure there's only two ways I'll ever be this organized: 1) when I become wealthy enough to hire someone to do it for me, or; 2) when I'm retired.
Either way, it's going to be a while.
For now, I'm happily unorganized.
Posted by Lady Mama at 2:06 PM