Friday, August 29, 2014

Why I Choose to Be Disorganized

I hate being organized.

Okay, I hate trying to be organized.  I have never been organized.

Being a self-proclaimed CEO of the Schaafsma Household, I expect myself to be uber-organized, with all my ducks in order, etc., etc., but it's too much.  To get my desk cleaned off, bills paid within the deadline, and everything filed, is a monthly accomplishment.  To do it daily is ridiculous.

Likewise, the only way I am going to clean up after dirtying a dish is to make my kids empty the dishwasher before I even wake up in the morning - so there are no excuses.  I need my kids to keep me tidy.  Pathetic, isn't it.

Walking through the aisles of the public library this afternoon, I averted my eyes while passing the self-help, homemaking, and family cooking sections.  No matter how many times I have attempted to improve myself, I eventually go back to my "old ways".

"Old ways" include baking homemade muffins filled with whole grains, berries and/or chocolate chips, and leaving the bowls, spoons and measuring cups on the counter. Doing a full load of laundry, washed and dried, and dumping it on my bed to be folded later, only to be thrown to the floor as I crawl into bed at the end of day. And finally, my husband's favourite, when changing the bag of milk, I cut the corner off, let it fall into the top drawer, and leave the used bag of milk in the sink, expecting it to wash and recycle itself later.

Sad.  I know.

Okay, so these are extreme, and heaven help me if my mother-in-law reads this, but I am my father's child, and expect to be picked up after, even though there is no one to do it.  Fortunately, I married a man who cleaned his mate's room in college, and was trained by an uber-organized woman to clean up after himself, love the one your with, and even pick up after them, (a.k.a. enabler).

Part of it is mom's fault, but I love her for it.  I grew up in an artist's home.  We painted, we imagined, we created with clay, props, knitting, dolls and the like.  Who had time to clean up?  While others learned how to cook and clean and take responsibility, I was having too much fun.

One day a few years ago we had both moms over for a visit.  The dads were helping Mr. Man build something mannish, while the women sat inside with the kids.  My mother-in-law got out the ironing board and ironed Mr.'s work shirts (but not his cape) while my mom sat and read stories to the kids.  Two totally different ladies.  And two totally different offspring.

I went away for a week back in April, and Mr said the kitchen counters were spotless except for the two days my mom came to stay and help.  "It was as if you were home!" he said, laughing.  She was having too much fun cooking and baking, building forts in the basement and going for walks.  The work would get done, but not right away.

Over the last few years, Mr. and I have met just about halfway.  I've learned how to clean house, thanks to a few friends and pinterest, and he has stopped freaking out and running around cleaning if someone is coming over.  In fact, friends have stopped warning him and just show up in order to keep him from working up a sweat.

He should just do it like me. I just pile the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, the oven, or a box out back.

There is a new neighbour next door, who I am sure I will write about in length this year.  C-r-a-z-y.  However, I have yet to invite her in as my house has kids, a large dog, crumbs and kids artwork all over.  Is a new person ready for this?  I don't know.

Luckily we have a grand gazebo in the backyard complete with a futon, table and chairs in which to entertain.  So far she is a backyard neighbour.  Plus, she might steal something...

Honestly, I don't do a lot of what I used to.  I've grown up.  And mom even comes over and cleans up things I've missed.  She, too, has grown up.  (But she brings fun activities with her.)  I pay the bills mostly on time, I fold the laundry and teach the kids how to do it, and I actually like sweeping.  Mr. Man has stopped doing the chores over again after I have done them, and has succumbed to letting me throw the milk bags in the garbage instead of washing them out (because they never get washed out).

I will never be the "tidy mom," or the "organized mom," but like my mom before me, I will be the "creative mom," and most importantly, the "loving-supportive-good-for-a-laugh mom." When averting my eyes from the organization section in the library, I am not looking down in shame, but in pity.  Pity for those who have not reached my level of maturity and self-worth.  I am disorganized, but  such a lovely person - and my kids love me.

Mr. Man? He just buys them candy.

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