If I didn’t have three kids, nor a husband, I am pretty sure I could live in a “tiny house.”
I hate clutter. I hate saving every single piece of art work. I hate having school reminder papers strewn about my kitchen counter. It drives me flippin’ insane.
My kids – at some point in their lives – have been mini-hoarders of shit.
Thank God my oldest has outgrown the need to save every single piece of scrap paper. His room, aside from one container on his dresser, is a clutter-free zone. Granted, it still smells like a giant bottle of Axe Body Spray exploded and coated every inch of the room, but otherwise, it’s in tip-top-shape.
But, the twins room. Oh Lord.
If that room were the first room a robber would lay eyes on, I’m pretty sure he/she would call the producers of “Hoarding: Buried Alive.” There’s no way in hell they would enter that room. It’s the room where toys go to die. It’s the room that underneath the bed, a monster would never sleep because he would be poked to death by some unknown object – like a loose bobby pin or uncapped pen.
Once upon a time, I bought cloth baskets for the twins to separate their items according to toy theme – cars, dolls, markers/stickers/pens, electronics, etc. It was my hope to have the room look organized. Clean. Clutter-free.
But what happened was the twins took that as an open invitation to cram as much shit into one cloth basket. It’s a game – who can cram the most off-the-wall-random-shit into one basket.
There is no winner.
The nice, square baskets have lost their shape. They now resemble octagons. There is no shelf big enough for an octagon full of eraser tops, half-used pencils, miss-matched pieces of jewelry, earrings without backs, broken watches, Pokemon cards, Shopkins, Legos … you name the toy, somewhere in my twins’ room, you will find its long-lost friend floating in a bin or basket.
Earlier today, I was trying to locate a snowflake stamper … I ended up filling two bags full of garbage instead. Included in the bags was a Disney Frozen candy container filled to the brim with OLD CHRISTMAS CANDY FROM LAST YEAR!
And that is the real problem – I cannot go through their stuff when they are HOME because they will go bat-shit crazy when I toss out a doll minus a head or the smallest Lego piece imaginable because someday, down the road, “THEY MAY NEED THAT TOY.”
So, I do what I always do and just transfer more random shit toys to the basement. I now know where the concept of “Toy Story” came … random, sad, lost toys trying to find a new home. A place where they will be played with and loved on a daily basis by some chubby, sticky hand of a toddler.
But for me, I am thinking about renting out a Dumpster and just hauling the basement bins directly inside. I wouldn’t even dissect the bins. I would simply just drag them up the eight steps and haul them into the Dumpster.
If the twins don’t care enough about what’s inside the bins to even play with the toys, why are we keeping these bins? It’s just more clutter.