I was never a neat person. I was never a clean person. I am a slob, I come from a long, proud line of slobs, and I married a slob. The slob runs deep in my veins. Very much with the slob. You get the point. There are two kinds of slobs, I think. Those who are OK with it (mess in sight, mess out of mind), and those who are not (mess out of sight, mess out of mind). My parents are a perfect example of each type. My dad is a sort of happy slob, who doesn't seem to mind chaos around him. He functions just fine in his office, sitting among boxes of birthday cards from 1986 and that Consumer Reports that has the issue about the car seats.
-I'm sure it's around here somewhere, let me find it for you.
-That's OK dad, I think they've probably changed a bit since 1990.
Then of course, while he's looking, he might come across a piece of mail that arrived for me 2 weeks ago, probably my college newsletter, and can't imagine why I don't want to take it home with me. It must be important because it came in the mail. All mail must be saved and sorted through, preferably at the breakfast table, much to the annoyance of my mother, who is the other type of slob.
This other type of slob is one who abhors clutter, but sometimes is powerless to stop it. This slob may have rooms in the house that are perfectly neat and clean, but man, you don't want to open a closet door. I am this type of slob. Many people think that my house is neat, "where is all your STUFF?" Please do not go in my basement, garage, and dear god don't open that drawer, because you might get buried alive in all the crap I'm hiding.
So. I want to battle it. Part of my problem is that our house has no storage. Seriously, there is no coat closet, no linen closet, and no shelves to speak of. I use this excuse a lot. I often ask the BHE, "Aren't you supposed to, like, put up shelves or something?" and he's like, "Hmm. Sounds complicated."
So I want to document my mess. Share the burden.
Mess #1: My pantry. This would probably be neater if it were in plain sight, but it is strategically hidden behind a wall in our kitchen, so guests don't see it. Don't even get me started on the hazards to Edwin in this space, which of course, is his favorite place ever. It's like Disneyland! He especially likes trying to get at the blades of the Cuisinart, which is on a low shelf because I'm the worst mom ever.
Please help me.