I don’t remember ever doing spring-cleaning; in fact, that
feels like the worst season to clean. In spring, I am called outside. The fall however, feels perfect for purging. It is with itching urgency that I threw
myself into the task. I started with things I could control: the bathrooms, the
kitchen, the mudroom, and my bedroom and clothes closet.
Part of the purge coincides with my reading of an important book,
called “Minimalism, Live a Meaningful Life”. Over a year ago, I heard an
interview on CBC radio with Joshua Fields Millburn & RyanNicodemus on “minimalism”. They talked about their journey, and though I
thought it was interesting at the time, I discarded it because they were thirty-something,
single, childless men. How could their words, experiments, and philosophies
pertain to me?
Recently, I heard them again. This time I listened, and it
resonated. We have so much “stuff” in our lives: cars, homes, electronics,
clothes, and plastic containers, to name only a few! I have a full bin of “Single Gloves/Mitts” in
the mudroom. I have been “collecting” for years! FOR WHAT? Do I really expect
that the mate will show up? Why don’t I throw them out, or marry them to a
well-suited but mismatched partner, and put them back into use?
Caring for, sorting, organizing, cleaning, and hiding our stuff consumes SO MUCH of my
time. I am such a master of closet organizers, bins, garage containers, and
under-the-bed storage that I should be the recipient of the “Concealing Your
Crap” award.
After sifting through the areas I had control over, I headed
into the land less travelled, and peeked into the kid’s rooms. By far, the best
collector in our family is Laurèn.
(Although Ward does have a pretty impressive sock collection that takes up three drawers!) Laurèn is fiercely
attached to her stuff. Moreover, she has an internal catalogue of all the
debris flung willy-nilly, like the contents of a piñata across the landscape of
her room. The minute I remove an item, she comes to me looking for that item. So
I won’t start there.
Faven has a lot of stuff too, and she often hoards other
peoples’ stuff and also hides food, but she does a pretty good job of keeping her room tidy. So I will turn my eye
away, for now. Yohannes can also make his room look clean, however, he has
issues all his own. (Isn’t it great that I get to experience the full range of
the spectrum—the whole colorful rainbow—with the different personalities,
temperaments, and habits of my kids?) Yohannes has a “stuffing” problem. He
gets overwhelmed with his things, but he doesn’t want to take the time to put
them away properly, so he stuffs them—anywhere and everywhere.
I had done some reading recently, in a magazine called
“ADDitude”, and was eager to put into practice some of their suggestions. First
I “unpacked” all of the stuff that he had hidden, and sorted it in the middle
of the room: garbage, laundry, recycle, and reuse.
Under his bed was a black
wooden box that contained all sorts of magic paraphernalia—he had pilfered it
from Laurèn and then hidden it. I set it aside. There were blankets,
pillowcases, clothes, garbage, and miscellaneous charging cords for things he didn’t
even own.
In the bookshelf I found candy wrappers (What! My kids don’t eat candy!), granola
bars, pens, pencils, erasers, a spatula, corn skewers, and Laurèn’s pink puppy
iPod stereo . . . Oh, and a few books.
In the shoe organizer hanging in the closet, I found dirty
socks, underwear and t-shirts (he is always running out of clothes, despite
doing laundry regularly). On the top shelf of the closet was a Magic book, wrapped
in t-shirts. I put the magic book next to the magic kit—it would be a great
gift for someone a bit younger.
In the closet organizer (that I so lovingly built) there were two drawers—you know, for things like socks and underwear—among other things, he
had a library notice for a school book due this past March. On the overdue
notice, there was a penned note, “Past due. Your class has lost the contest.
You were the only one who did not return your book.” And even that did not motivate him to return it! (Shame, shame, shame.)
Stuffed into the deepest recesses of the closet was a
potpourri of dried and weathered items that I felt certain should only be
explored in full surgical gear. Nonetheless I forged bravely ahead. Amidst the
Lego tracks, socks—belonging to EVERY member of the family—and crumpled and shredded
paper, was a Ziploc bag—a science experiment?—silly putty? Opening it revealed
that it was, in fact, yester-months lunch! More interesting than that was the
tub of ice cream, Mint Chocolate Chip. Yes, there was still ice cream inside!
I was rooting through the closet, on my hands and knees—it
felt a bit like the closet from “The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe”. My
hands, like small rakes, sifted and pulled the clutter out. There was simply too
much of it, to look at everything. I leaned against the wall to rest; I was in
a sweat! That is when I spied a white glossy paper folded meticulously into
quarters, eighths…sixteenths. I reached over and picked it up. It was roughly
the size of milk jug lid. As I methodically unfolded it, tiny squares of
information appeared—I felt like I was playing a picture puzzle game. How
exciting!
I started to see parts of human bodies: arms, legs,
chests—all naked. I frantically unfolded the remainder. I stared. My mouth
gaped. My eyes teared. My heart stopped…and then started with a thunderous
boom. Without moving my eyes from the cover, I bum-scooted over to the pile of
stuff for re-gifting, and laid my hand heavily on the “Magic” book. I turned it
over in my hands a couple of times, it was a non-descript beige color, and
there was nothing on the front or back of the book. I slowly turned the book so
that I could see the spine. In gold embossed lettering was the title, “The
Magic of Sex”. I opened to a random page, and the pictures mimicked those that
were on the front of the now creased, origami-like book jacket.
I laid back on the floor, amidst the wreckage, contemplating
this sudden turn in our lives. My baby boy
is only eleven. Eleven. My hands covered my eyes, but there was already a movie
playing on the inside of my lids. I envisioned Yohannes and his friends hanging out in
his room listening to music or playing games, but, what if… what if… OMIGOSH! Illustrated
sex education at the Flemons’ house! As my thoughts swung around erratically, I
wondered where he got this book. With one hand still covering my eye, my other
hand reached around for the book jacket. I lifted it up and put it in front of
my eyes, as if to screen the sun. The subtitle read, “The book that really tells
men about women and women about men”. A slow awakening fell upon me as I
realized that (of course) this was our book! Somehow it had moved from the
bedside table to Yohannes’ closet (that is a fascinating story too, but it will
have to be in another post!)
Over these years of intense parenting, like any married
couple, we have struggled to figure out why our physical relationship has suffered. Now, I knew why, clearly we had lost our “Magic”!
POSTSCRIPT
I emptied Yohannes’ room of ALL the hiding places: I removed
his six-drawer dresser and put in three large baskets and eight wall hooks; I
took out the bookshelf and closet organizer, and put in one “milk bin” for
books; I removed his bed-frame, and dropped his bed onto the floor. He came
home later that day, and loved it!
