Yesterday, I decided to get the boys’ rooms in order. With a new school year quickly approaching, it was time to rummage through the outgrown uniforms, toys and general chaos that had taken siege over our entire second floor.
Coincidentally, I also happened to be house-bound, awaiting the elusive cable guy and his four-day window of anticipated arrival.
As I carried each item to its final resting place (garbage, storage or the giant pile in the middle of my kitchen table), I regularly stumbled across another area begging for attention.
The kitchen junk drawer.
In a maniacal frenzy, I attacked each stretch with unbridled enthusiasm, starting and stopping in fits of inspiration. Black Hefty bags were dragged into the alley by the dozen. Clearance Christmas gift bags purchased in 2004 were dusted and sorted. I got the kids involved, encouraging them to dump drawers, plastic totes and shelves with reckless abandon.
Then the inevitable happened.
I crashed harder than 1929.
By one o’clock in the morning, every room in my house looked as though it had been ransacked by intruders. My cell phone was MIA, somehow taken hostage along with my minivan keys.
Thankfully, there was one nugget of perfect order that did get conquered. Despite my raging ADHD, that kitchen junk drawer was spotless.
So I knew exactly where to find the wine opener.
And the remote control, now that the cable was actually working.
I am optimistic about getting the house back in working order today. My kids are less confident. They do not know about my superpowers.
Or the fact that 300 Christmas clearance gift bags and a large basement can hide the Hindenburg.
The desire to live in a world of order is a natural one. The desire for boys to want to get out and do things is even stronger.
And let’s just say we won’t even be grabbing milk from the store until I can find those damn minivan keys.