I’m a neat freak.
Anyone who has known me or lived with me for even a short period of time (sorry college roommates) is likely laughing in hysterics at that sentence. My outward environment has been anything but neat my entire life. In fact, I’m chronically and hopelessly disorganized.
I've always read in horoscopes that Virgos are anal-retentive, stuck in their ways, and neat freaks. I thought, “Seriously, I HAD to have been born in August. I’m no Virgo…have you SEEN my room?”
My mother, also a Virgo, was always frustrated with me and my messiness. She tried all kinds of ways to get me to clean up. To help out. Thought up games. Rewards. Threats. Nothing ever worked. (I was really good at detecting when my mother had had enough of my messes, and I came up with every excuse, from going to sleep in the middle of the afternoon, or simply make myself scarce when I could “feel” a cleaning coming on.) I remember spending hours in the bathroom reading Archie comics, all the while telling my mom I had a tummy ache. It was only half-true. I’m pretty sure the mere thought of cleaning brought up psycho-somatic symptoms.
Never never never did I want to clean. Neither did I want to bathe! You know that Peanuts character that had the dirtball floating around him and always carrying a blankie, even though he was way too old for it? Yeah, that was me. I think I stopped sucking my thumb in 4th grade or something like that. Horrifying for every parent, I know.
Anyhow. I never bathed, never brushed my hair. It looked like a bird’s nest and was embarrassing for the immediate family who went to school with me. My sister, in a desperate attempt to have a normal little sister, spent hours brushing mats out of my hair one night, exclaiming that people were starting to make fun of me behind my back. Actually they made fun of me to my face. Asked me why I had my hair in a "bun" which was really just a giant mat. You know, like those people with one weird, giant dreadlock? (Clearly ahead of my time.) But I didn't care.
At the time, I was actually sort of proud of myself, for my economizing on time and resources. Going to Catholic school meant wearing a uniform every day, and I’d extol the virtues of “not having to change into pajamas at night, since you could just wake up in the same outfit the next day.” I went entire weeks without ever changing out of my clothes. I don’t think my mom knew about this. If she reads this today, she’ll be mortified. In fact, I'm mortified.
All this is to say that I wish I had been more neat and tidy my whole life. Just like I wish my mom had made me "stick with playing the piano." It would make my life now a lot easier! Maybe? Because now that I’m married with a child and am a homemaker, the Inner Neat Freak in me has emerged - but's it's not good at cleaning. It's never had the practice. It's never honed its skill, yet is just as obsessed as any Virgo should be.
I cannot fulfill the fantasy and desire of having a neat home. Yet, all I can think about is organizing and cleaning. I've subscribe to FlyLady and ChoreBuster. Bought books on Speed Cleaning. (I gave up on Martha Stewart and Real Simple, it just made me depressed to look at all the perfect, minimalist, shabby chic model homes. They all have maids anyway!!!) I donate perfectly good items I have to go out and buy again because I keep thinking if I "declutter" enough the house will *poof* magically become neat! I rifle through the IKEA catalog as if I can manifest the rooms on the pages if I just focus on them enough. I drool over multi-functional rooms and furniture, begging Mike to turn our dining room into a dining room/child’s playroom/guest bedroom/office/art studio.
I’ll shoot off emails with links, “Look honey! An ottoman with storage that cantilevers out into a coffee table!” “Look honey, a day bed that we could use in the dining room as seating as well as for guests to sleep on!” "Look, a gateleg table! All we need are stacking chairs and casters and we can roll everything out of the way for Coco, and back out when guests arrive!"
Oh yes, these guests of ours. We are eternally preparing for their eventual arrival. These fictional guests we’ll be throwing elaborate parties for, having over for cocktails and card games, out-of-towners who can’t wait to spend the weekends with us! Just as soon as our house is perfectly organized and decorated with all the multi-functional furniture.
And then Jennifer Schlossberg (whose blog I’m obsessed with even though I stopped reading all blogs once my baby was born) writes this post about cleaning and teaching your kids to clean. I’m realizing that some of my panic about neatness is because Cordelia is understanding her world, which is largely comprised of the mess I’ve surrounded her with! Toys! Everywhere! Books! Everywhere! Toys and books. And random paperwork. That’s our house. No matter what I do, no matter how much I shuffle things around, how many storage containers I buy, it’s toys, books, and papers.
Ack. How will I, or she, ever learn, to be neat?
Anyone who has known me or lived with me for even a short period of time (sorry college roommates) is likely laughing in hysterics at that sentence. My outward environment has been anything but neat my entire life. In fact, I’m chronically and hopelessly disorganized.
I've always read in horoscopes that Virgos are anal-retentive, stuck in their ways, and neat freaks. I thought, “Seriously, I HAD to have been born in August. I’m no Virgo…have you SEEN my room?”
My mother, also a Virgo, was always frustrated with me and my messiness. She tried all kinds of ways to get me to clean up. To help out. Thought up games. Rewards. Threats. Nothing ever worked. (I was really good at detecting when my mother had had enough of my messes, and I came up with every excuse, from going to sleep in the middle of the afternoon, or simply make myself scarce when I could “feel” a cleaning coming on.) I remember spending hours in the bathroom reading Archie comics, all the while telling my mom I had a tummy ache. It was only half-true. I’m pretty sure the mere thought of cleaning brought up psycho-somatic symptoms.
Never never never did I want to clean. Neither did I want to bathe! You know that Peanuts character that had the dirtball floating around him and always carrying a blankie, even though he was way too old for it? Yeah, that was me. I think I stopped sucking my thumb in 4th grade or something like that. Horrifying for every parent, I know.
Anyhow. I never bathed, never brushed my hair. It looked like a bird’s nest and was embarrassing for the immediate family who went to school with me. My sister, in a desperate attempt to have a normal little sister, spent hours brushing mats out of my hair one night, exclaiming that people were starting to make fun of me behind my back. Actually they made fun of me to my face. Asked me why I had my hair in a "bun" which was really just a giant mat. You know, like those people with one weird, giant dreadlock? (Clearly ahead of my time.) But I didn't care.
At the time, I was actually sort of proud of myself, for my economizing on time and resources. Going to Catholic school meant wearing a uniform every day, and I’d extol the virtues of “not having to change into pajamas at night, since you could just wake up in the same outfit the next day.” I went entire weeks without ever changing out of my clothes. I don’t think my mom knew about this. If she reads this today, she’ll be mortified. In fact, I'm mortified.
All this is to say that I wish I had been more neat and tidy my whole life. Just like I wish my mom had made me "stick with playing the piano." It would make my life now a lot easier! Maybe? Because now that I’m married with a child and am a homemaker, the Inner Neat Freak in me has emerged - but's it's not good at cleaning. It's never had the practice. It's never honed its skill, yet is just as obsessed as any Virgo should be.
I cannot fulfill the fantasy and desire of having a neat home. Yet, all I can think about is organizing and cleaning. I've subscribe to FlyLady and ChoreBuster. Bought books on Speed Cleaning. (I gave up on Martha Stewart and Real Simple, it just made me depressed to look at all the perfect, minimalist, shabby chic model homes. They all have maids anyway!!!) I donate perfectly good items I have to go out and buy again because I keep thinking if I "declutter" enough the house will *poof* magically become neat! I rifle through the IKEA catalog as if I can manifest the rooms on the pages if I just focus on them enough. I drool over multi-functional rooms and furniture, begging Mike to turn our dining room into a dining room/child’s playroom/guest bedroom/office/art studio.
I’ll shoot off emails with links, “Look honey! An ottoman with storage that cantilevers out into a coffee table!” “Look honey, a day bed that we could use in the dining room as seating as well as for guests to sleep on!” "Look, a gateleg table! All we need are stacking chairs and casters and we can roll everything out of the way for Coco, and back out when guests arrive!"
Oh yes, these guests of ours. We are eternally preparing for their eventual arrival. These fictional guests we’ll be throwing elaborate parties for, having over for cocktails and card games, out-of-towners who can’t wait to spend the weekends with us! Just as soon as our house is perfectly organized and decorated with all the multi-functional furniture.
And then Jennifer Schlossberg (whose blog I’m obsessed with even though I stopped reading all blogs once my baby was born) writes this post about cleaning and teaching your kids to clean. I’m realizing that some of my panic about neatness is because Cordelia is understanding her world, which is largely comprised of the mess I’ve surrounded her with! Toys! Everywhere! Books! Everywhere! Toys and books. And random paperwork. That’s our house. No matter what I do, no matter how much I shuffle things around, how many storage containers I buy, it’s toys, books, and papers.
Ack. How will I, or she, ever learn, to be neat?
I'm a Virgo who's experiences are almost identical to these! I'm naturally, with age and children, turning into a neat freak but you'd never know it looking at my house. Old ways are hard to break.
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