Growth or Dismal Regression?

For the first few years of our marriage, I kept a spotless house. The baseboards were always dusted, the closets perfectly organized. Photos were put into albums in a timely fashion. I always knew where my car keys were, the litter box was always near pristine (for a box of poop, anyway), and the refrigerator rarely accumulated detritus covered in fuzzy blue mold.

Then we moved, and I started graduate school. I actually kept up the pristine home, but I also became increasingly crabby and an unenjoyable person. The problem is that I am not a naturally neat person. I drop my coat where I take it off, throw the mail into a bin to be sorted later, and lose my keys/earrings/lip gloss/that important note quite often (although very rarely do these items not return to me...i guess misplace is a better descriptor of what I do with these items).

When I started my doctoral program(following some much needed therapy as a part of my graduate work) I slowly relinquished my stranglehold on perfection. The basics get done, but between comps/pqe/dissertation/internship applications/having a life, the closets are overrun, the grout in the shower is growing something, and my closet needs a good culling. I am a much happier person. But, I am increasingly agitated by the disarray of our home. Oh, none of it is visible. Walk in and you'll see a good enough organized apartment, but I am tormented by the closet I wouldn't dare open. The mishmash of mail lurking in our mail table, the cat toys I know are lurking under the stove and behind the fridge, and the fact that I haven't dusted the items up there on top of the kitchen cabinets in 3 years.

So, I hereby declare Christmas vacation a cleaning vacation. Closets will be organized, fridges cleaned, papers tossed, and order restored in this home. Hubs will be a participant, even if he does it unwillingly, I expect a good cheer smile. I don't care if it's a fake one. (Hubs's inability to order disorder is another conversation for another day...he's just not got "the gift.")

Hold me to it internets. Or else, I might be writing my blog posts from my own nice hospital stay the next time I can't find that blue sweater/silver earring/last cherry coke zero.