Declutter! De Clothing! De Chaos!

Decluttering makes me happy. Please don’t look at my desk.

Marie Kondo is everywhere. I mean, I haven’t (yet) watched her Netflix show or read her book(s?), but I keep hearing her name connected to the art of decluttering, and boy, does she look happy on the covers.

Even before her “revolution”, I loved decluttering more than anything else. We have (until recently) lived in homes that are small and/or low on storage, and at least one of us is a packrat…possibly four of us. When kids go to bed or husbands travel, many, many things quietly find their ways to new homes in donation bins, recycling bins, and garbage cans. And this makes me happy.

So, um, this is my desk. I am a beautiful paradox.

We had boxes that we packed for a move across Canada, that sat in our basement (unopened) for three years, moved back across Canada again, sat in our basement again, and then, when the basement flooded, were moved out to our garage. Still unopened. They sat there for four more years. I had little parties out there, reducing ten unopened-for-seven-years boxes down to six, then to three… by the time we moved to our next house, we had only two, well-edited boxes of crap that my husband wouldn’t let me throw out. I see this as a win.

I started sorting through our closets again last week to reduce the overflow, get rid of too-short or Sunday clothes (because they’re holey… get it?) and stop myself from saying “I have nothing to wear” when, in fact, every drawer is full.

This is the handy checklist I used to determine what to keep and what to get rid of:

Have you worn it in the last year? (Note: This one is optional for me. I do have to keep room for different climate- and career-based storage, as my current reality as a writer/personal trainer in London (rainy, low of -2, sweatpants) is a far cry from my senior paralegal/fitness instructor reality in Canada (hot, rainy, snowy, low of -35, suits and heels) and I am NOT going to buy all new suits and snowthings.)

Is it missing a button or needs to be hemmed?

Will you really take the time to sew on a new button or hem it?

Is it full of holes?

That weren’t put there by the designer?

Does it look worn out, faded, or cheap?

But not in a good way, I mean?

Is it so tight that you can see underwear lines through it?

What? You weren’t wearing underwear in that photo? Huh.

Did you wear the item when you were pregnant?

And is your youngest child older than five?

And you’re still wearing it? Really?

The bathing suit too? Really?

Did it fit you when you had lost 15 lbs from a combination of the flu and a really bad breakup, and you looked like a skeleton, but hasn’t fit you since, but you kept it because maybe one day you’ll be wasting away on your literal deathbed and want your hospice aide to help you wear those teeny sparkly jeans again?

Really?

My youngest has a much better, quicker method, which she explained to me clearly when she was three. My mom had knitted both girls sweaters, and the five-year-old put hers on and dashed off to play. The little one tried hers on, took it off, and said, “Give it to Carmen.” (Carmen was her best friend at daycare.)

“But,” I said to her, “Your Grandma made it especially for you! Don’t you want to wear it?”

“No,” she said. “It doesn’t make me feel happy.”

The answer to that one question, “Does it make me feel happy?” (with perhaps an exception given for my super-comfy, worn-during-three-pregnancies maternity hoodie), for all of my items-in-question, of course, is a resounding, “No.”

And that was it.

I got rid of a sizeable pile of clothing and shoes, and, while I admit that there is still an embarrassing amount left, I looked at each item, trying it on as necessary, to see if it made me feel happy. If it fit funny, pulled, gaped, squeezed, or required more-than-the-usual-amount of tummy-sucking, it was gone.

Next up: the kitchen counter, which I can’t even look at without weeping.

And don’t even ask about my desk.

Update:  I spoke to a friend about the Konmari principle (still haven't watched the show) and it IS all about keeping only what brings you delight.  Obviously, my daughter is a genius.  ~KH

Karen (Power) Hough is a writer and blogger with an Honours BSc. in Human Kinetics, and dreams about living in an IKEA showroom. Her part-time “superhero job” has been as a fitness instructor for over 20 years. She currently lives in London with her husband, three energetic kids and a codependent dog, and bores/impresses them all with stories about how she used to be a nutritionist, personal trainer and national-level fitness competitor.

The DG is overdoing it, but doesn't really have a choice right now

With the advent of my new life (single mom!*  part-time worker!), I now have the best situation possible in the worst situation ever this new challenging reality:  our nanny, who is wonderful, comes to my house at 7 am, and also manages to leave the house almost impeccable when she leaves at 4, despite caring for our two girls, an extra little one (nanny share!), and picking up Vaughn and the extra's big sister for a 15-minute spell at the end of the day.  I have no idea how she does this, but she does.

I have incorporated a new cleaning schedule for myself, as the old method of waiting till the entire house needed cleaning (and laundering) was causing too much procrastination and fleas stress.  So, if you've ever wondered how the Domestic Goddess spends her time "off" work (which I refer to as my vacation from home), with two little girls underfoot, and sometimes a schoolkid in the way too, I present you with:

The Domestic Goddess Gets Her Act in Gear
aka Scheduled Within an Inch of Her Life

Monday:  It's not just Monday Gum Day anymore, no!  It's Mopping Monday!  The entire house gets swept and mopped with the trusty bucket, and either Mr. Clean or my Vim Hardwood solution, on alternating weeks.  But yes, the kids are still allowed a stick of gum after their afterschool snack.

Tuesday:  Vacation.  Up at 6, out by 7, somehow washed and dressed and fed, also having made breakfast for the kidlets, at work by 7:30, home by 4.  Just in time to make dinner.  Yet still, it's a vacation.

Wednesday.  Why, it's Wacuuming Wednesday!  Or Vacuuming Vednesday!  Call it what you want!  Also includes dusting and sneezing.  Baseboards, tops of doors, corners, rugs, stairs, playmats in the basement, couches, behind the toilet, blinds, under beds... did I mention how many dustbunnies my tiny house can produce in a week?  A lot. Also, the kids have gymnastics at 4:30, and we eat at 6.  I am still amazed that this is (sometimes) possible, thanks to the magic of crockpottery and programmable ovens.  Or shawarma, whatever.

Thursday:  Vacation.  But at least it's Pizza Day at V's school, so my lunch-packing is less intensive,** and it's also tv night, so I get 30 minutes to myself in which to order (or "bake") pizza, as it's also Pizza Night.  And then I welcome the babysitter, as I have ball hockey in the evening.  Thursday is a Good Day.

Friday:  TGIBF!  Baffroom Friday, that is.  Bathrooms, mirrors, windows and surfaces, oh my.  But it also has the luck of being Overlap Day!  Our nanny arrives at 7:30, so I can take Vaughn to the bus stop.  I have an extra set of hands to watch the two littlest ones, which lets me take Ailsa to her dancing lady class (or out for some special one-on-one time), clean in peace, and I have even managed to take a few naps.  Heaven.

Saturday:  Fitness first:  I teach Attack at 9 am, which means getting the crew up and in the car, which is already running by 8:27 at the latest.  I drop them off at the gym daycare, be a superhero/rockstar for an hour, then shower, bundle them up (is it spring yet???), get back in the car and home for an early, quick lunch, then off to the rink for 11:45, enough time to tie skates on three of us (Tamsin stays home with a sitter, Grandma, or Daddy, when he's in town), do skating lessons for an hour, then home to naaaaap.  Saturday night, as always, is reserved for a movie, served with wine, cheeses, and grapes.

Sunday:  Nobody in the house may make a peep before 7:30 am.  One day, my kids are going to read this and either feel betrayed and furious or have their suspicions confirmed:  7:30 is whenever the hell I decide it is.  Chris and I sneak into their bedrooms on Saturday nights and set their clocks back accordingly.   But anyhoo, I digress.  Sundays are for raisin toast, smoothies, and groceries.  That is all I ever schedule for Sunday.  And, of course, it's the second tv night of the week.  Oh, blessed, blessed 30 minutes.  So quiet, so peaceful... oh god, I have to pack V's lunch tonight...


And there you have it.  It's not unmanageable, as long as I stay on top of things... it's been 5 weeks of this schedule, and so far, the house is clean and presentable(ish), I haven't died from exhaustion, and the children haven't come down with rickets or ... well, rickets, anyway.  Unfortunately, they want an extra (vacation) day out of me at work.  Which impacts Baffroom Friday.  And Ailsa Time.  And, ultimately, ME time.

I think the real reason I wrote this down was to just confirm to myself that I am doing the impossible, but making it possible...as long as I don't think about it too much.  It becomes overwhelming at least 3 days a week (guess which ones?), but if I just follow The Plan, one day at a time, it's doable....but maybe it won't be if I add an extra day at the office, so seeing this in black and white will give me the backbone to stand up and say, "I can't," something that I don't like to say, ever.  Or maybe, most likely, I wrote it down so that when Fis asks me if I've renewed the plates/hung our degrees up/called the garage, I can just send him this link and say, WHAT DO YOU THINK?




*  No, he's just in Toronto.  We're still in the pool.
** Despite Fis' assertions that I'm paranoid, they totally judge you by the lunch your kid brings to school.

Retro-post: Autumn Leaves and Digging Down to the New Digs

Wow, am I delinquent.

Finally, photos (a few, anyway) of the new house.

First, let us think fondly back to the autumn, when it was still somewhat nice and warm out. Here, the kids frolic on our front lawn, under our beautiful maple tree, in a rare moment that we were outside, instead of frantically scrubbing through layers of filth and smoke*.


The day that I picked up the keys, I opened the front door, and the smell of old smoke hit me, and I saw what we had bought. Oh dear, what have we done? The ceramic tiles in the entry hall were nondescript grey and icky-looking. The carpeting on the stairs was patchy dark brown with darker brown stains, the hardwood throughout the house was dingy and scuffed, the baseboards were in serious need of repainting, the windows were hard to see out of, and the bathrooms...oh, shudder.

But each layer that I take off (and am still taking off) reveals amazing things: the tiles are prettier each time I mop. They're actually a gorgeous, glazed clay, and it's a shame to cover them up with a front door mat, even for the winter. The carpet was vacuumed twice, sprinkled with baking soda, vacuumed again, and steamed twice with Mom's carpet steamer. WOW. Turns out, I have almost-new-looking beige berber. No kidding. The hardwood is a lightly-stained maple in excellent condition**, and has a nice, warm lustre. The windows, once cleaned (ever seen a paper towel turn black after washing ONE window???) let in so much light that, during the day, I rarely need to turn the lights on, and, most importantly, the bathrooms are no longer health risks. And the trim, well, a once-over with a Magic Eraser turned them bright white again.

The whole house needs a coat of paint, and there are several "projects" that we'll need to do to make it our own, but now that it's clean and livable, and our pictures are hung on the main floor(though the antelope may have to be relocated; we have a Medicine Hat corner in our living room with a lovely line drawing of the Monarch and the bridge (thanks, Scott and Jen!), but the antelope just don't seem to work there - Suffield folks, you know the antelope to which I'm referring... maybe the guest room is a better place for them), it feels like home.

Exterior improvements: BEFORE the first project.

I'm not sure if you can zoom in, but this is the front of our house. Note the cheap, stuck-on letters on the front door.

AFTER: Well, the Christmas lights are hung, there's lovely Christmas greenery (thanks, Laurel and Mike!), the house number is now the bright white shiny thing to the left of the door, the snow covers all the leaves, and we have removed the riffraff and his pumpykin from our doorstep.

Another neat thing: this is the view from our dining room/office.

To note:

1 - who are these kids, and why are they in so many of my photos?

2 - the candy basket (bottom left) is in its post-holiday wax phase - overflowing with goodies! Yay!

3 - and what's that in the background? Lettuce look closer, hmmm?

Whaaaat? A bonus kitty that came with the house? This kitty, we think, lives behind our garage (left side of photo), and comes to visit us on our deck every day at lunchtime. You can sort of see our yard, as well - it's a good size, and has a little garden patch.

I'll sort of try to promise to update this more often, but some kids (see photo) are driving me crazy.

*Note to self: when kids turn 10 and 11, send them to clean a smoker's home. That should discourage them from ever taking up the habit.
** Well, it was in good condition. Dinky cars are hard on floors, it seems.