My List of Things that need Decluttered.

It is the middle of July, look yet I have this overwhelming urge (some may argue need) to have a good spring clean.  In true House Doctor style (remember the rather stern American lady circa 1999 when property and house shows were all that dominated our television screens) a good ‘decluttering’ is in order. This is my list of things that need decluttered.

1. The corner in our home office which is currently being overrun by boxes of books and bin bags full of baby clothes. These are the outputs of a previous attempt at decluttering which resulted in me trying very hard to be ruthless and remove items from blocking up our cupboard space that were never going to be used by us again. I recall poring over each title, patient remembering when I first read the book, wishing I could find the time to read it again, before being prodded by Super Daddy to ‘get it in the box.’  The same applied with the baby clothes.  Each item was carefully folded (many sniffed!) and I remembered dressing my littlies in the pretty pink dresses (LPP – just in case you wondered) and baby blue romper suits (LMB) and pondering as to exactly where the time had gone.  Pleas of ‘Can’t we hang onto it just in case….’ were met with a definitive ‘No’ from Super Daddy.  Secretly I like to think the fact that they are still in our possession is an indicator that the definitive ‘No’ was perhaps a ‘maybe’…..
2. My glove compartment in the car. Until very recently this contained only the sat nav, the handbook and service documents for the car and a half eaten pack of Jelly Babies from a previous journey to Centre Parcs.  When I say half eaten, I don’t mean we scoffed half the pack and there is a half pack ready and awaiting consumption on our next long car journey.  I literally mean half eaten, as in, already been in the mouth of a small child and subsequently removed when half chewed and handed back to me with a brisk ‘don’t like that one’. This changed when at very short notice a few weeks back, a friend asked for a lift to a kids party that we were all off to.  I rarely have adult passengers in my car, therefore the front seat is almost always littered with empty water bottles, umbrellas, used parking tickets and randomly, gloves.  A quick scurry around the car in advance of picking up said friend means the glove compartment is bursting at the seams and pops open like a wound up jack-in-the-box every time I go over a speed bump.

 

3. My head.  At any one time I have at least 1572 thoughts whirring round and round, growing arms and legs and morphing into full scale plans and ‘must get round to’s’ The result is usually a mammoth list writing session which then spirals into a frenzy of activity for approximately a week when I eventually feel I need an evening / weekend just to sit on my backside and ‘think’ rather than ‘do’.  You can see how this becomes a cyclical process.
4. The drawer on my bedside cabinet.  Once filled with pretty note books that tied with flowery ribbon and captured my every waking thought and key moments (my favourite being the hurried scribbles I still managed to write whilst having contractions in the run up to LLP’s arrival.  “11.53pm – What the F*** was that?  Aaargh. My stomach is cramping beyond belief.  12.09am – Here comes another one!  Think I might need to tell someone about this.  12.23am – Oh my God.  This is painful. And really happening.  I must brush my teeth. “  Given then randomness of the teeth brushing comment after just three measly contractions, it will come as no surprise that four hours into my labour I was signing ‘Copacabana’ in the birthing pool much to Super Daddy’s bewilderment.)  The pretty little notebooks are still there, tucked under a pile of price tags from clothes that I’ve bought over the years and hurriedly stuffed into the wardrobe before Super Daddy noticed.  Why didn’t I bin these straight away?  I think somewhere in my subconscious I thought I would one day pull all of these out, whip out a calculator and shock myself into frugalness by totting up exactly how much I’ve spent on clothes over the years.  I dread to think.
5. My ironing pile.  Can you declutter an ironing pile?  I guess if I trash the bulk of the crushed beyond all recognition items that are at the very bottom of the pile, and rationalise all the bits in the middle that I am unlikely to wear again (mint green polo neck jersey dress anyone?) and hang up all of Super Daddy’s work shirts without actually ironing them, then that might count.  Either way, my ironing pile p*sses me right off.

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