Saturday morning Flipper and I drove around the corner to a friend's house with refrigerator boxes crammed full-length into my car, forcing me to drive hunched over and looking out a small square of unobstructed windshield. Luckily for us and every other driver on the road, it was around the corner. I was there to get assistance building a massive mushroom from cardboard. More on that later.

While there, I was able to indulge in one of my endless, secret fantasies: I got a full house tour, which included the kids' rooms. I love interior decorating, although I am awful at it. I think I would be better at it if I had an unlimited budget.  I think that about a lot of things!

Their house is small, less square footage than my townhouse, but the rooms, particularly, the kids' rooms were ... clean. And neat. And very, very tidy. Lately I have been dismayed at the sheer overwhelming detritus of childhood, or at least Flipper's childhood. All the stuff! And all of it small, and all of it with meaning. The little Russian Doll she got from a friend two years ago, jillions of those flat glass marbles that you can use to make mosaics or anchor plants in vases; Flipper has so many of these little "jewels" floating around our house that I find them everywhere, all the time. But, of course, each one is "valuable" (oh, how our definition of valuable changes as we grow!) and therefore each one must be kept, because it isn't exactly like the other ten million ones.

And then the art. The endless, endless scraps of paper, the rejects, the masterpieces. The crayons, the pastels, the markers, the pencils. The paper. The scraps of fabric, each with a needle poking out somewhere, waiting to stab you painfully in the thumb, the tangled skeins of yarn, embroidery thread, wool ... the list goes on, but I think you get the picture. And the picture, well, it isn't a pretty one.

But when I was at my friend's house, we got to talking about a lecture he attended at our children's school, a lecture about "Simplicity Parenting." As a result, he and his wife were committed to letting go of books, toys, knickknacks. Things. Cluttery, get-in-the-way things. Too many things keep children and adults in a state of feeling overwhelmed; even too many choices overwhelm us. So we talked about it, and then I went home. I tried to ignore the state of our house, but I couldn't. And then I spent 5 hours cleaning, and, more importantly, clearing old things, stuffed animals, the Russian doll, about a million pictures and drawings and paintings in various stages of completion, mangled doll clothes, broken crayons ... the list goes on. And on. As the afternoon wore into evening, I became more and more ruthless, keeping very few things, and throwing out the rest. I boxed up and kept her stuffed animals, for not great reason except many of them are beautiful and largely un-played with, and I just couldn't toss them in the trash.

The next day, I did it again. All in all I toted 6 bulging bags of trash and debris to the dumpster, and 3 heavy bags of clothes and shoes and books and other random but perfectly serviceable items for donation to the back of my car. Then I cleared out my father's old, beautiful roll-top desk he received for Christmas when he was 7, gave it a quick polish, and carried it upstairs to Flipper's incredibly gorgeous and clean room. She pretended to do homework. I rested. Flipper is at that precious age where she hankers for homework, believing it to be fun. Her school does not assign homework until the students are in the 5th
grade. By that time, I think she will have changed her tune. But she sat at her little desk, a desk she can finally use now that she can get to it again, and practiced writing numbers and letters while I rested some more. Now, let's hope I can keep it that way! No matter what, I
won't let things get so crazy again. It will be my homework, literally.

Leigh appears Fridays on TriangleMom2Mom. Read more about Leigh on her blog Flipper and Me.