Organizing chaos

The whole family spent most of the weekend sorting and organizing our loft/mezzanine/bomb site in an attempt to wrestle order out of the chaos of toys, audio racks, unpacked bookses of box*, kids’ art and old schoolwork. It’s in these cozy situations that the personality traits of each parent and child shine forth for all to see, stumble over and get a little grumpy about.

  • The bloke and the lad cannot bear to throw anything out. I can hoard, but at least I’ve got over the worst of it. Now I hoard selectively, so it’s called collecting.
  • In theory, I like to be organized and know where everything is. The lass loves to be organized organize, in theory AND in practice. Between the two of us we’ve labeled nearly every tray, drawer and shelf. The bloke passed on to the lass a 2006 filofax type organizer with paper, ruler, calendars, and a calculator. Her happiness knew no bounds.
  • The lad can’t decide to throw anything away; the lass avoids the decision by generously giving it to me.
  • Putting a parent and child together who are alike can get very testy. It’s okay to call time out for strong liquor. For the parent, that is.
  • Encouraging creativity in children is all very well but there’s room to teach them about selectivity, overexposure and the art market.

The work will continue this week and I’m looking forward to the end result. Perhaps not as much as the lass, who wondered whether mum and dad would keep working on it and finish it after she went to bed. I love my children dearly but not THAT much.

*I packed over 40 boxes of books for our last house move. I challenge anyone to come out of that unscathed.

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2 Comments

  1. February 23, 2009 at 1:06 pm

    I tried to put order into what we call the playroom but is actually just a dumping site this past weekend.

    I grew very testy indeed…

  2. innercitygarden said,

    February 23, 2009 at 1:57 pm

    We’re all (minor league) sick. Just enough snot to delay any plans we had for chucking stuff. I did move a couple of the kid’s trucks that were annoying me most into my sewing cupboard. The kid kept parking them so that the sliding door wouldn’t open, so they were lucky to avoid the chopping block.

    My aunty M does require periodic visits from a neice who, as she puts it, “has no ruth”. Which I find reasonably easy when I’m dealing with her stuff. My stuff, on the other hand, is vitally important and must be kept.


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