Clean House.

It only took a week but I think we are all turned around from our trip.  The doggy is back to her usual naughty self (I’m fairly certain that she thought we had abandoned her and that she had better be on her best behavior), the littles are happily playing together in the basement toyroom (and destroying it I’m sure) and I am back to my daily dose of Discovery Health, water aerobics and not clearing the clutter that completely annoys me.

I’ve been watching Clean House on the Style channel.  For the record, it’s the only thing I watch on Style.  I have no style…not my house, my closets, my children, my car.  None.  But I really enjoy the bus-wreck watching of people with more mess than me.  Part of the intrigue is “why”.  Sometimes it’s a worthless husband with an overworked (or lazy) wife.  Sometimes it’s someone that can’t say no to handmedowns.  And sometimes it’s the grieving widow who can’t bear to make a change…who can’t throw things out…who is stuck in a rut.  My favorites are the hoarders and the shopaholics.

The premise of the show is that this team goes into the home, finds out what needs to be done, makes the offenders clean up their shit and sort through it.  What isn’t kept goes into a yard sale.  The proceeds are used to makeover a room or two (or three).  I have only seen one time where the homeowner wasn’t pleased.  I mean, who wouldn’t be happy to have a designer work on a room?  Who doesn’t want someone to force you to go through years and years of clutter.


I, myself, am annoyed at my clutter.  (It’s never as bad as those slobs on TV)  I have been for all of my adult life.  I blame the littles…plenty of it is the direct result of placing random things out of reach (currently: box of Lincoln Logs, box of Polly Pockets, 200 piece art set, Dora Memory game…sensing a theme here…everything and anything with a million pieces).  That’s really just an excuse.  I blame myself and my inability to be around a flat surface without putting something on it.  Empty spaces that must be filled.

Closets, pantry, dresser drawers, fabric shelves, freezer, medicine cabinet.  All are full.  Not overflowing but definitely full.  Why is that?  Who does that?

I swear, I need a shrink on speed dial.  Not necessarily because I have a daily case of the crazies (okay, maybe I do but that’s not the point) but because I have an insatiable curiosity (read: nosy) for why people do what they do.  What does that say about me?

If Clean House called me (and they wouldn’t) my story would be that I hate the clutter but I lack the energy to find a place for everything.  It doesn’t help that we are crammed into 700 square feet.  But I could downsize.  I could work harder to keep things in their proper places.  I could stay away from the Carter’s outlet store and do laundry more often.  My story would also be that I’ve always been a little bit of a packrat and that when I got really annoyed I would throw a hissy fit and my husband would find new homes for all the junk that was obstructing my view of the top of the counter.  Sad.  But true.

And there would be some other bus wreck watcher on the other side of the country saying to herself, “Wow.  At least I’m not that bad.”


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