Upon entering my daughter Mia’s room this morning, my eyes immediately fell upon her school project sprawled across the floor, accompanied by a chaotic mix of colored pencils, scissors, and glue sticks. On her desk, half-empty bottles of perfume and body lotion jostled for space with Tupperware containers brimming with glittery slime. There lay an old Barbie doll, its hair cut off, next to a pile of mismatched socks.
Instead of taking a moment to appreciate the sunlight pouring in or her creative endeavors, I was bombarded by anxious thoughts: “How did it get this messy again? We just cleared this place out! Where is all this stuff coming from? Is it possible broken toys can reproduce? What’s that smell? If she gets any more slime in the carpet, I’m going to lose it!”
Then, I realized that the Tupperware I was desperately searching for earlier was right there on the floor, while I was down on my knees in the kitchen, asking my kids where all the containers had disappeared to. Only silence answered me.
Nothing motivates me to declutter like a dose of denial and a few fibs. If you think I’m going to keep Tupperware filled with sticky slime that dries like concrete, you’re mistaken—it’ll end up in the trash in no time, and I’ll be celebrating my newfound space with a little happy dance.
I acknowledge that I should probably hold onto more of my children’s projects and papers. There was a time when every piece of art they created was carefully stored in a large Rubbermaid tub alongside report cards and nature finds. But let’s be honest—I’m a natural purger. Having kids can create guilt over tossing their creations, but my inclination to declutter is hardwired.
Clutter triggers my anxiety; I don’t thrive in a space filled with toys, papers, and randomness. I’m not an organizer—I’m a tosser. My mood can shift from calm to “hand me another trash bag, let’s get this done,” in mere seconds. Sure, I’ve likely discarded sentimental items, and perhaps I’ve harmed my kids emotionally by getting rid of their collections of sticks and feathers. However, those feathers came from a seagull, and the authenticity of those sticks is questionable at best.
Will I regret not saving every toy, drawing, or piece of moss from our countless walks? Highly unlikely. But I would regret the chaos that would ensue if I allowed clutter to take over my life.
After a good purge, my home feels joyful. Surprisingly, my kids have adapted; they’ve learned to stash their treasures in hidden spots. They know that if their belongings start spilling out of drawers and closets, it’s likely to be taken away.
Thus, the cycle of purging continues, alleviating stress for all of us. If you’re interested in exploring more about home insemination, you can check out our post on the at-home insemination kit here. For more information on fine motor skills, visit this source. If you’re seeking guidance on what to expect during your first IUI, this resource is an excellent place to start.
In summary, while I may not keep every piece of my children’s childhood, I prioritize a clutter-free environment that supports my mental well-being. My home is a happier place post-purge, and my kids have adjusted to the rhythm of keeping their belongings in check.