I have come to realize that I am pretty terrible at quite a few things. The Lord gives us all different gifts, after all. I’m chatty, well-spoken (or so I am told) and can write well enough (again, allegedly). So that’s my “thing.”
On that note, I’m certain that I will never excel in, say, trigonometry. I am also not cut out for skydiving for obvious reasons that I would scream and immediately perish from fear.
It turns out that another gift I have is that I’m apparently wired to be wickedly good at organization. Sure, I would rather have been a mathematical genius, but here I am tasked with being a whiz with a label maker.
I used to accomplish an awful lot in a day even with young children, if I do say so myself. I did this by becoming a self-made early riser. I got up at 5 a.m. Dressed. Meditated with coffee, cleaned the kitchen, tidied the house, started laundry and often had dinner planned and prepared before sunrise. If all went well, by the time our children were up and out of bed, I had the household set and our day on track.
Now that I’m done bragging, let me also admit something: toddlers stay up later than I do. I routinely adhere to a 9 p.m. bedtime.
It all started innocently enough — with a label maker.
I told myself it was just for the spice rack. Maybe I’ll label a few drawers. Then I labeled EVERY HANGER IN MY CLOSET.
In doing so, I became known for being really good at decluttering.
“Let it goooo!” I would sing as I cast out clutter. I eschewed most storage totes as “clutter coffins!”
You get one or two sentimental totes full. I like one per child, honestly. Seasonal storage? Sure. However, if you aren’t opening totes at least annually to decorate for a holiday, why are you keeping all that stuff? Soon, I was not only organized, I was an “organizer.” I am someone who has empty cabinets. My sock drawer has subcategories.
People think being good at organizing is a virtue. It’s not. It’s a lifestyle with side effects. Like alphabetizing other people’s bookshelves when you’re just there to feed their dog. (Sorry, Karen, but “Harry Potter” under “Fiction” instead of “Fantasy”? What kind of monster?)
I wasn’t always this way. I once lived wild and free, like a normal person. My Tupperware lids wandered the earth like lost souls. Receipts festered in a drawer. Then one day, I color-coded my closet — and something shifted.
At first, my family praised me. “Mom can find anything!” they said. But now? Now, they fear me.
Mr. Wonderful hides his clutter in defensive piles. He might “need” that one miscellaneous bolt and wad of crumpled receipts some day.
This man, bless up, still comes in and asks me, straight-faced, “Where is that whatchamacallit I left on the table … six weeks ago?” The funny thing is, I probably know. He may not like the answer (in the trash), but I KNOW.
But I can’t stop. Organizing follows me like a rescue mission. I tidy rooms that aren’t mine. I straighten crooked picture frames in public spaces. I alphabetize magazines on waiting room tables.
Even my dreams are well-organized. I recently dreamt that I was back in my childhood home preparing to reorganize my closet. I could see it all so clearly. I had big plans for a bookshelf. I was so disappointed to wake up and realize the task didn’t exist.
Good news, Mom, I finally want to clean my room! The bad news? It took over 30 years.
So yes, I’m good at organizing. Dangerously good. And like most talents, it comes with responsibilities.
If you invite me to your home, I will alphabetize your spice rack while pretending to listen to your story about Cheryl from work. If you say “I really need to go through my closet sometime,” I will appear at your door like Mary Poppins with a roll of garbage bags for donations, my trusty label maker and a glint in my eye.
GirlWonder has learned to weaponize my power for good. She has only to say “gee, mom, I just don’t know what to do in this space…” and I’m in the car. “Help is on the way, dear!”
I also set timers to keep us on task. “I bet we can knock this out in 60 minutes or less!” Love me or hate me, but I’m telling you this is my hobby. I adore it.
You’ve been warned — or promised. I guess it all depends on how you feel about clear spaces and uber organization.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to rotate my pantry storage for optimal expiration efficiency. Again.
(Kymberly Foster Seabolt loves her label maker very much! She welcomes comments and tips in care of FosterSeabolt@gmail.com; P.O. Box 38, Salem, OH 44460; or KymberlyFosterSeabolt.com.)
