clutter

I have this slight condition that does not allow for me to be surrounded by junk.

Before I go on, I have to clear up one fact: Nothing I own is junk. Nothing. How can I say this with such confidence? Because the moment that something shows slight junkitude, I donate it or pawn it off on unsuspecting friends or put it outside with a "FREE" sign on it. Nothing lasts long around here. Did I ever tell you about the house three doors down? My old pictures are on the wall, some of Jake's baby stuff is on the floor, and my old chair is by the door. I don't even know the people, but I have a bad habit of walking around just before dark when people still have their curtains open and I can see in the windows. I'm creepy.

One more fact: most of Dave's crap is junk. Just ask me. Baseball junk, hunting junk, work junk, junk junk. Junk junk junk junk junk junk junk. All taking up valuable space where I could put my things.

I streamline Jake's stuff to age-appropriate toys that are in in decent condition and do not make noise. Now that he can fit into his clothes for an entire year, the boxes of small stuff are dwindling. I almost have plans for his summer 2Ts. Almost. Jake doesn't have a lot of junk, but only because I'm in charge of his things.

I was sorting through Jake's downstairs toys last week and saw that some of his things are getting a little beat up. The $1 helicopter puzzle is peeling away from the pressboard, some of the Matchbox stuff is missing wheels or doors, a dented kaleidoscope, a ragged looking barking puppy keychain. I want to throw these things away but these are his treasures. His friends, his comforts. He has 50 matchbox cars down here but if you take away one he will notice. I've tried, just on a lark. Jake is very good at playing by himself, and when he is quiet that means he is taking stock of what he's got. He touches everything, lining it up nicely before putting it away. He knows what cars are in my purse and which are in my messenger bag. He can tell you what is in his wagon upstairs from the kitchen table, and he tells you about what's in his toybox when you put him to bed at night. It's amazing, but annoying on trash night.

When I was little, I used to get so angry when I woke up and something was missing. Even worse is when I know I put it away carefully. I didn't lose it, I didn't break it, I didn't leave it in the middle of the room, I just loved it. Aggressively and often.

I don't remember when I started cherishing my things, but I know it was around about the time I was Jake's age. My toddlerhood has two very distinct periods. First Period was In the Trailer No Brother, and Second was In the House With Brother. I remember a few Trailer No Brother toys that didn't make it to the house. I still blame Brian for the loss but I'm sure my mom had a hand in it.

I don't want to traumatize the boy, but I also don't want to traumatize my sense of order.

Then again, since we are all tanking miserably maybe I should hold on to what I've got or my baby will be forced to play with sticks and rocks and that's not safe. They break bones and poke eyes out.

What's a girl to do? How does one find a balance?

Sigh.

In the same vein, I washed out one of those giant Swanson's chicken broth cans and cut a piece of construction paper to fit around it. Tomorrow Jake can decorate it with his crayons and I will glue it on and he can put the pennies he earns for doing his chores and using the potty in there! Hooray! Pennies are so much cheaper than presents and treats and the boy loves them just as much! Plus they are smaller than Hot Wheels!

Kids are such suckers!

Plunging markets are so much fun!