Psst... don't tell my husband!

I have a secret that my husband may think he knows, but until now has been unable to prove. I am about to reveal something that I think he suspects, but I would have denied if he asked me about it.

When he's home (and in my defense, most of the time when he's not) I am like the cleaning Nazi. I fuss at him and my little one to keep their stuff cleaned up. I give them huge exasperated sighs of disgust as I pick up things around them. I make loud noises when I clean the kitchen as they sit obliviously watching cartoons. I make them put away their laundry. I want the towels folded correctly and the dishes in the right cabinet. In short, I want them to be neat, tidy, and organized. Wishful thinking and entirely futile.

That said, I offer this:


This is what my living room looks like currently. Not only does it look like this, but it has for almost 24 hours. What is all this stuff? Crap. My grandfather is having a yard sale next week and this hideous pile of crap is about half of my total contribution. Half. The other half is sitting in my basement looking equally untidy and waiting to be carted upstairs to join the unholy mess that is my living room. Sigh.

Of course once all of this has made it's way through my living room and out the front door, it will not be returning. It will either be sold at the yard sale or donated to Goodwill or Salvation Army. I'm done with it. This is a big step for me, as I am a crazy pack rat. Somewhere in my basement are reports I wrote in junior high. I am 25. This makes my hubby crazy, and I am trying hard to let go of things I've had for years. This gigantic mess is my first step, so I think it's justified. So sweetheart, you still have to clean up your stuff. Sorry.