urge to purge

        

Can I do it? We shall see. 

Here are the embarrassing before pictures 

(sorry for any trauma this may cause the viewers). 

If I don't publish these, I may backslide and we can't have that.

After OD-ing on Peter Walsh this week, I have decided to tackle the pantry/office. That 12 x 7 ft. box that houses all our food, baking and canning supplies, recycling, egg cartons, a small library and all of our business/officey/homework stuff. A lot of function required for one little room. This space has been sitting here for 4 years with the ugly wallpaper half torn off and piles of papers that are growing exponentially, as bad as any I've seen on the Oprah show. I take half-hearted stabs at cleaning it out every few weeks or so, but it never stays sweet for more than two days. Thankfully, the room has a sliding door for when a carful of visitors is spied pulling into the driveway. 

As I toss the stacks of clutter into boxes and bags labeled donate, recycle, keep, do, David is laughing, asking me "Does your butt make me look fat?" He gently and with good  humor points out my tendency to claim that when "this one thing" is set to straights, all my problems will melt away. For example, "If I can finally find a great hairstylist, everything else will magically fall into place!" or "Once I have perfected my meditation technique, the rest of you people will be soooo relaxed!" I acknowledge that he is correct on this point.

For all my tendency to create stacks, I totally love to get rid of stuff. Last year I actually threw into the trash most of my college papers and several boxes of old, incriminating photos. I have taken no less than 10 packed van trips to church rummage sales, Goodwill and St. Vinny's in the last few years. And everything that didn't sell at last summer's yard sale went straight to donation. On the flip side, I do seem to be the extended family's chosen receptacle for memorabilia. And every other little piece of junk does sort of look like a potential art project. And what if the IRS calls? Or what if I have to summon every last medical record in order to change health insurance companies again? Everything begs to be treasured.

Part of the challenge in this house are the three museum curators: Daddy and the two older kids. Nothing can be thrown away: "That ripped up piece of cereal box I found on our nature walk five years ago is important to me, Mama!" , "Please save all of that old dusty furniture in the attic for me so I can have it when I grow up!" or "Honey, I simply have to keep everything I ever wore or collected in my 25-year military career . . .  you never know when they may call me up again!" Once the pantry is cleaned out, I wonder what my funny guy husband will say when I tell him that HIS basement office is making my butt look fat?