packrat

There’s an old men’s tale that women grow up to be just like their moms. Guys would claim, “don’t get married to a girl until you’ve seen what her mom looks like; she’ll look just like that in 20 years.” In this respect, I attracted a few guys. Well, maybe it was just my mom that attracted them, but I was closer to their ages. My mom is a very attractive woman. And I certainly hope to look like her at her age. OK, I know that tan will never happen, but maybe I could just keep her long eyelashes.

Here we are. Wow, this picture is eight years old. I must remember to take some more pictures of mom and me.

Here, this is a little newer (only three years old). You can get a look at the whole family in this one.

However, there is a trait of my mom’s that I hope not to inherit. It has nothing to do with physical appearance. It’s her clutter. My mom has junk everywhere. She has piles and stacks of papers that are yellowing around the edges. She has holiday decorations she never puts up. She keeps all boxes, bows, and ribbons she ever receives so she can reuse them. She has piles of clothes to mend that I wanted back in third grade. She has filled every closet, nook, cranny, and empty room in her house with thirty years of accumulation that she plans to do something with some day.

I can not stand it. I just want to have a giant garage sale and get rid of everything she has that’s remotely sellable and take the rest to the Goodwill and the dump. Mom would never go for it. I’ve proposed it to her many times. I’ve also mused aloud about a giant bonfire and she was much less than amused. If she had any idea that I was putting this dirty little secret about her on the internet, my phone would be ringing angrily right now. “Holly, take that off the internet! They are projects and I am working on them!”

There are days when I leave mail on the counter, or a pile of receipts in a drawer. I see these tiny molehills and imagine the mountains they could become and think to myself, “oh God, it’s starting!” So I try very hard to remain organized.

Here is my belt drawer.

And my makeup drawer. I have created a compartment for everything so everything has a place. If there’s no place for something, it’s time to get rid of it. I’ve already begun slipping in this new house with three times the space of our old apartment. I haven’t sorted out my clothes in months. I have papers and receipts that need to be sifted through. The other day, I threw away four socks, just to feel like I’m not hoarding anything. I must keep this under control. I must not give into genetics.