Here I am in my brokenness. The bare-naked, butt-ugly truth that is my mess.
The basement is, as always, a disaster. I'm surprised we haven't lost any kids in there yet!
Our "shoe bench" that no one has ever been able to sit on, in the 2+ years we've had it. As you may have guessed from the pile of stuff in front of it, some days we are lucky to even get to it.
The map that the kids keep knocking over and leaving on the floor. And the old picture frames that need new pictures and a home on the wall.
A basket of WHO KNOWS WHAT that has plagued various rooms in my house for the last 2? 3? years. (Victory note: I went through half of this basket with the help of my housekeeper, and found the title and lien release to my husband's car which has been lost for... 3 years?)
The countertop in what used to be my husband's bathroom (off his computer room). It should now be my kids' bathroom. If only their lazy (overwhelmed) parents would get their crap outta there!
The usual state of the kitchen sink. Although the dishwasher runs 1-3 times per day here, we are perpetually 1-2 loads behind.
The inside of my bathroom cabinet, which has been 1/3 emptied by a little monkey who left its other contents all over my bathroom floor.
Two boxes of random crap that I cleaned up from the bathroom counter & floor. Oh how I wish I was one of those people who could just dump the contents into the trash instead of having to go through them all!
My bed. In my defense, I usually do try to keep it cleaned off, and this particular day was using it as a staging area to bag up things we're not currently using like outgrown kid clothes and maternity clothes. (Yes, my baby is 13 months old and I have not put away the maternity clothes yet.)
If you were to go upstairs in my house, you might think I was a collector of porcelain shoes. However, if you were to ask me about them, you'd find out the truth. The collection belonged to my grandmother. They were very special to her. I ended up with them and feel too guilty about keeping them around, but also too guilty to let them go.
The banister top, which in theory should contain nothing. (Yes that is toddler art on my wall. From the 2nd toddler. It's been there at least 2 years.)
The nightmare that is my closet.
So... now you can see why I'm at the end of my rope. Yet, I still struggle mightily with throwing anything away. Even though I am reasonably certain there is peace on the other side. (There is, isn't there?)