Mission: Organization

Hey Jakey,

I've been watching too much Clean Sweep and Mission: Organization lately. It's like porn for unhappy pack rats. On "Clean Sweep", people overcome with clutter empty out their most cluttered room and divide their crap into KEEP, SELL or TRASH piles. A designer designs them a highly organized space and everyone lives happily ever after. I drool as I watch these programs, imagining dividing my entire house into KEEP, SELL and TRASH piles.

To this end, this week I decided to combine two of my New Year's resolutions: to rid myself of clutter and to quit dressing like a long-haul trucker.

I started with my closet. Since I've hung a big ol' CLOSED sign on my uterus, I chucked all my maternity clothes. I got rid of all the pants and a lot of the shirts that are the least bit big on me -- added incentive to not gain back any of the baby fat (and then some) that I've lost in the past couple of months. Unfortunately, this only left me with about three pairs of jeans. There was also a bunch of clothes that I just don't wear anymore, so I chucked those. There were clothes with buttons missing, or holes, or stains. Gone.

I emptied out about half of my closet. I can now actually get to the clothes that I *do* wear. There's room enough now that everything that needs to be on a hanger is actually on a hanger, and not piled on the floor. I even went so far as to divide up my shirts by color. I took two huge lawn-and-garden bags of clothes to the Salvation Army store today.

My closet is about 1/250th of what needs to be de-cluttered in this house, and I may *never* get to the rest of it, but I do get some small sense of satisfaction from having done just this least little bit.

I found the photo at the top of this post somewhere near the back of my closet tonight, and it just kinda took my breath away.

I took this 7 or 8 years ago, when my friend L and I went camping for a week at Medicine Lake, in the very northern part of California. Gorgeous. Will we ever again have the freedom to just take off for a week, sans kids or significant others, and just ... camp? And smoke and drink and fish and snack and smoke and smoke some more? Dammit, L! Quit lurking and leave a comment!

Your occupational therapist and your SLP came by for their last official home visit today. You turn three on Thursday, and will no longer be eligible for Early Intervention services. Now that's REALLY sad.

We spent most of their time here discussing the "autism" that was brought up at the IEP meeting last week. THEY know you're not autistic, WE know you're not autistic, so the upshot is ... if the label gets you more services, fine. By the time you're ready for an official diagnosis in a couple years, you probably won't be exhibiting "signs and symptoms" anymore, and then we can say, "I told you so."

When they left, I cried a little bit. I'll miss them, especially Pam. I told her to give me a call if she gets bored and wants to grab a coffee. I don't know if she'll take me up on it, but at least I put it out there.

Here's a picture of your sister on Grandma's lap, and you with your new favorite toy, the AquaDoodle: