Mayday, Mayday!

I called “Mayday” and got myself an “International Labor Day”! (Happy both holidays to you, by the way.)

Clutter has been reaching epic proportions, and there’s just never any time to clean it up. Or, more accurately, I clean up at least 45 timed minutes every day once Working Mom gets home. Even so, though, the clutter builds up slowly, stealthily, until it reaches shoulder height or worse.

It’s been going on like this for months: the slow accretion of junk on all horizontal surfaces until there are few surfaces left. Finally, Park Buddy kicked my butt and told me to get some help. So I called “Mayday” — to my mom! Grandma Doo is up for a few days, watching Boobaby pretty much exclusively (except for naptime, when Boo won’t give me up).

While they’re playing, I have been able to, just today:

  • Blow out the combined medicine cabinet/linen closet. We had 74 individual packs of soap, including trials and samples and other random bits. We now have one small box.
  • Declutter the top of the dresser, excavating one pretty important bill from March. (Ouch. But good ouch, like peeling off a scab.)
  • Clean the bird cage. Poor bird.
  • Changed the air filters. Poor us.
  • Recycled three bags of paper, tossed two bags of trash.
  • Emptied six shoeboxes of photographs, setting about 10% of them aside for scanning.
  • Dusted surfaces that haven’t been graced by the blessing of Swiffer for months.

I’m still working on it, too, so I’d guess I’ll double the length of that list by day’s end. I have all sorts of witty observations in my head about how and why we collect stuff, good magpie-based similes, a paean to the Swiffer (of course), but no time to blog more now. Must … keep … cleaning …

Thank the maker for Mayday. Thank the maker for International Labor Day. And, of course, for my mom. Yay, Grandma Boo.