A confession

Every remotely introspective person has things that she doesn't like about herself. Here's one of biggest problems.

I am a messy. I have always been a messy. It's not my mama's fault. Heaven knows, she tried to fix me. But I am a mess. I stash stuff in convenient (but incorrect) places. I make piles and piles. When I get something out,  I have to consciously make myself put it away after I use it. And I do, of course, try to do that. But there are lots of times it doesn't happen too. And these days, when I go to clean, there's just so much to do that I don't know where to start.

I am not naturally organized. I like being organized and I can get organized. I like being tidy. If I have plenty of time, I can organize pretty much anything. But keeping it that way . . . ah, that's another matter. I have gotten into labeling things and it does help. I would like to hook myself up with some kind of shock collar that, er, surprises me when I put things in the wrong place. But as I have not found such a device yet, I have found that labeling where things go does, at the very least make aware when I am putting something else in this spot.

And then there's everything else in my life that makes keeping an orderly and clean home difficult. (Myself is the first and foremost problem, of course.) We have the Flash. Sweet, loving, mild tempered dog. Loyal and patient with all the ear pulling, climbing, and riding he endures (enjoys) every day. Now, I do have to give him credit for keeping our kitchen and dining room floors completely crumbless. But then there's the dog hair, the dust, the slobber he slings all over the house, and muddy paw prints. I just can't seem to teach him to wipe his feet. And drool . . . oh boy, this dog can drool. I think he has an hyperactive salivary gland. Seriously, it has to be a medical condition. This is NOT normal.

Our two year old enjoys cleaning up after herself, really. Just yesterday, she put away her little people and a flashlight in Daddy's running shoes. But seriously, she is like a little tornado. And the littlest one is on my hip more often than not...which means I knock things over and don't pick them up. Or I stick stuff places. Or I just don't get anything done!

I'm starting to get overlapping naptimes from the girls most days. So if I'm not scheduled to tutor on the computer, and everyone has clean clothes, and dinner is ready to go in the oven, then I have time to think about the state of the house. But I'm just not even sure where to begin. I always feel like I need a BIG (like hours) chunk of time to do any cleaning. And that is just not part of my reality. I think I need a support group. Anyone else out there suffer from this condition? Are all of my friends really as neat as I think you are? And if so, do you have any tips for me?

I promise, my next post will include lots of warm, fuzzy pictures of small children. Because really, that is what fills my heart and my days. I just needed to share a little frustration with myself!