A Mommy Story

A certain blogger (ahem, Mrs. Fortune) laid claim to the title of the worst housekeeper since Oscar Madison. She provided proof to back up her claim, although she failed to show the bedroom.

While I adore Mrs. Fortune and would never do anything to hurt our bloggy friendship, I would like to challenge her on this topic. I fully believe I am the worst housekeeper ever. Not only do I have pictures to prove it, I have references as well. My mother would gladly affirm to my title as the Queen of Clutter, and my grandmother and aunts would concur.

And now, the proof. First is the room known as my room. It’s a guest room as well as my sewing/craft room.

OK, you could argue that since it is a craft room, a certain amount of clutter is allowed. The bags and boxes are full of fabric that will someday be turned into little dresses. The tote under the bed contains Cordy’s outgrown clothing I want to put on e-Bay. And this is a room that is upstairs, out of the line of sight of the casual visitor.

But there’s more:

This is my computer desk. It looks particularly bad right now because I am a wee bit (like, say, 3 months) behind in balancing the checkbook. I used to do that every week, entering every receipt into Microsoft Money, then filing the receipts away neatly. Well, having a baby does change everything, they say.

But again you could argue that it’s a desk space – a work area – and therefore can easily become cluttered. Plus, it’s an armoire that can be closed. (or so the theory goes) OK, fine. Then here is my ultimate evidence:

This is the console table visitors see upon first entering our house. We bought it so that we could organize all the crap we tend to drop at the door. Ha. Now we have buried it beneath the crap it was purchased to conquer. Look – the lamp even appears to be crying out for help, drowning in the baskets, books, and clutter.

I could show more pictures, but I think my point has been made. And like Mrs. Fortune, I will refrain from showing my bedroom, because the site of that could eliminate my readership entirely.

While I am embarrassed at the clutter I have, I don’t even know where to begin in cleaning it up. Every few weeks, I’ll sit down and begin in a corner, but soon give up to the enormous task facing me. One day I’ll get it under control.

Is there anyone else brave enough to show off their clutter? Bad housewives of the world, unite!

(Oh, and if I suddenly disappear from here, it’s because Martha Stewart found me, ball-gagged me and is holding me hostage until I come up with a game plan to clean this place up, along with painting the walls and making origami lanterns and my own raspberry jam to serve at a beautifully decorated 4th of July party.)