Okay, truth time. I am not a very organized person. I'm not trying to label myself, or give excuses for the state of my home, I am just stating a fact. Organization is hard for me. I know most people find it hard to organize, but it is REALLY hard for me. I do it in spurts. Fits of cleaning and organizing come over me, and the house gets all nice and neat, but then reality sets in. I have no clue where I put anything, and then I spend the next two weeks tearing everything apart looking for who knows what... That little doo-dad that I thought wasn't important and I tucked it away in some remote corner of my home? Well it turns out that I do need it, right now, and I have no clue where it is. The keys from my husbands old broken down car? I'm pretty sure that I may have thrown them away, but I have no way of knowing. My house is under construction, so just about everything is put and stored where I can see it. The problem? Everyone else can see it too, and it doesn't look good. It looks messy. It looks cluttered. It looks dangerous for small children, or even very small adults. But what am I to do? If I put it away then I lose it. My nice camera that my parents gave me for Christmas 3 years ago? Can't find it. I probably packed it away somewhere thinking "Oh, this is THE PERFECT SPOT!!!!!! It will be safe, I'll know where it is, its great!" At least when it was sitting on the table I knew where it was.... I feel like one of the Seven Dwarfs when Snow White cleaned the house. Seriously? Who hides dishes in a cupboard??? Honestly now people....
But there is another dilemma afoot, more than just the disorganization. My husband and I are wanting to start having children. I can't raise kids in this!!! Bad enough that we have a cat and dog, but kids?! This is madness. The only solution is that I need to change. That is really my only option. I have no routine for myself, or the animals, and that needs to change. The Handsome Boy's routine? Easy. Get up, bathe, get dressed, eat food, hang out with me, go to work, come home in the middle of the night, eat more food and hang out with me, go to bed. My routine? Other than the hanging out with the Handsome Boy, there is none. And THAT is my problem. No matter how much the Handsome Boy's younger brother may claim that needing a routine is a sign of schizophrenia*, I need one badly. (Besides, HE's the one joining the Marines. Who's gonna have a routine then, huh?) So I have come to a fairly drastic decision. I have decided to look into this "FLYLady" stuff that my mom was doing. Nobody likes to admit something like that, having to do the apparently stupid thing that your parent was doing. I am swallowing my pride and doing it nonetheless. Posterity depends upon it. And so starts my self appointed training regimen of learning how to keep house and do it in such a way that I don't drive myself crazy.
Day One: Shine your kitchen sink.
I can handle that.
*The Stinky Boy has no clue what he's talking about. Schizo's talk to imaginary friends and think that the Satanics are after them. They don't have routines because it makes them predictable to those who want to destroy them.