Today I thought I’d talk about something different for a change –

How about death and dying?

(Sorry, there’s that gallows humor again.)

Seriously though…

We all know I am going to keep talking about death and dying…but I’ve gotta pepper in some other stuff or we are all going to end up extremely dehydrated.

So, I thought I’d talk about how my house blew up today.

It started off innocently enough…

You know “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up” and all?  Is this what she had in mind, do you think?

Okay, I confess, I haven’t actually read the book, but I get the idea – as much as you can get the idea of a book from the cliffnotes version you’ve read online.  (Side note, do they still make cliffnotes?  Autocorrect seems to think not).

Anyway, the idea is to hold each item in your hand and ask yourself whether it brings you joy. The problem is, when you are trying to clean out the playroom with your kids, they claim that every single thing brings them joy.

Every.

Thing.

Then there’s the fact that as a 44 year old woman you may look at your wardrobe and realize that nothing brings you joy.

No

Thing.

Especially not the jeans that you bought after that extended bout with the stomach bug.

Then you find yourself wishing you’d get the stomach bug again.

No joy, you guys.

Seriously though, we did get a lot done.

I set up a new office space, and the girls organized their play space. By the way, they threw nothing away and they saved about ten things for a yard sale at which they expect to make millions.

I’m not going to dash their hopes. It could happen. That wealthy excentric collector of incomplete puzzles, or of games missing key pieces, might show up and make them the offer of a lifetime. Then I’d look foolish for doubting my children’s entrepreneurial skills.

Uh-uh. Not me.

$5 for a half finished coloring book? Totally.

I will admit that as I purged and organized I felt as if head space was actually being cleared.  I have about five areas in my house left to clean out, so maybe by the end of the summer my head will be completely empty.

One can hope.

{Editor’s Note – They are actually called Cliffs Notes, apparently. I guess that’s what I get for always skipping to the freaking Cliffs Notes.}

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