CLUTTER

Married six months shy of two decades. But Husband still surprises.

My Christmas surprise: out of town family is planning a visit. On the day after Christmas. On the day before son’s early-morning surgery.

Surprise!

Me: You're kidding, right? We just had 30 people for Christmas dinner. The house is trashed. Dishes, platters and glasses are all over the place. Squashed lasagna noodles are crusted on the floor. THERE ARE NO CLEAN BATH TOWELS!

Husband: They won't care about any of that.

Me: I care. Call and ask if they can make the trip on Wednesday. Or Thursday. Friday. Saturday.

Husband: Don't worry about it. Plans are all set. They'll be here at three.

  
End of discussion.

Is there a superlative for livid?

I had just been punted into the Cannot-Win-Zone. Of course I'd like Husband's brother and family to visit! We rarely see them. They can visit and stay as long as they’d like. Just don’t pull into my driveway during my Day-after-Christmas-Collapse.

Why? Because I want to sleep past seven on the day after Christmas. I want to hang out with my kids- without time constraints or pressure. I want to serve leftovers. I don't want to clean, cook or make pleasant conversation- with anyone.

Reasonable, right?

  
Truth be told, the most compelling reason to keep visitors out of our house on December 26th is that Clutter Rules: especially on the day after Christmas. Clutter rivals Laundry for most hated entity imaginable.

Open a closet- rolls of wrapping paper will fall on your head. Venture barefooted into the family room obstacle course- smash big toe into a chess board or computer that's been left under a pillow that shouldn't be on the floor. Try to answer the phone. I double dare you to run from room to room, reaching into five empty phone cradles to locate the ring-a-ding before that call shoots off to voicemail.

Clutter Rules.

 
Disclosure: My in-laws are surgical-unit-neat. Clean. Tidy. Clutterless.

We are fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants-life-is-a-busy-adventure-let’s-work-practice-finish homework-read-write-visit-or-cook-a-huge-meal-and-have-a-dinner-party-CLUTTERED.

I gave up on perpetually organized closets, drawers, counter-tops and kids bedrooms long ago-when 24 hour days lacked enough time to clean, cook, discard, organize, take care of kids, keep a job and get any sleep. I try not to sigh audibly when I visit a friend’s home and I can see counter tops. I break a commandment (Thou Shalt not Covet thy Neighbor’s Clean Garage) every time I glance across the yard and see my neighbor's Big Boy Toys hanging neatly in a row.

My Clutter Tipping Point- is the one remnant of my pre-kid organized life. Once the CTP shifts into overdrive, I become a cross between a woman in need of an exorcism and the Tasmanian Devil: i.e the most popular person in my house. Overdrive always occurs the day before a party- or an out of town visit.

In-laws arrived Monday afternoon. The moment I saw my nephews, I stepped from Cannot-Win and She-Devil zones into Reality. I remembered how terrific it feels to have kids you love-but too seldom see- walk into the house and feel right at home. We noshed on leftover crab cakes and dips, talked through our relative checklist, then moved on to a more important matter: Mexican or Pizza?

Cousins ran off to X-Box. I apologized to Brother-in-law for the chaos of the surroundings and the schedule. “Wish we could have done this mid-week,” I said.

“I kind of like showing up during all the commotion,” he answered. “After we cleared out my in-laws’ house last spring, we decided to get rid of as much stuff as possible. It’s been a cleaning and discarding frenzy in our home ever since.”

My first interpretation of that comment: "If I was one of your kids and you left me this houseful of stuff to clear out, clean out, and throw out, I might hate you for all eternity.”

But upon further reflection, I'm thinking that my brother-in-law was reminding me that every once in a while, it feels good to skip order and choose the moment; however untidy that moment may be. Commotion, chaos, and clutter is the stuff of life; a signature of a living, breathing family. 

So too, is spontaneity; the kind of spontaneity that entices a family to hop in a car and travel twelve hours, just so they can have dinner with loved ones they haven't seen in far too long.

Reality check. The perfect gift to give this hostess at Christmas. 

Next year I hope my Brother-in-Law will bring it two days after Christmas!

QUING Hereby Decrees: It's Christmastide. Family trumps tired.