Cleaning Out

This week and next, the kids are with The Grands. It's that time in Northern Virginia, where camps have ended, but the school year has not yet begun. For working shlubs like my husband and me, that means alternate childcare plans need to be made.

We're lucky to have parents healthy and energetic enough to provide "sleep-away-camp" at the end of the summer for our children. For two weeks at the end of August, the kids are out of the house.

Two. Whole. Weeks.

With an empty nest surrounding me, what is Mama dreaming of? Dinner out with my man? Some "me" time? A mid-week getaway?

No. It's time for a good cleaning out.

Rooms will be dismantled, polished to a shine, and reassembled. Anything broken beyond repair, ripped, tangled, or sticky will be tossed. Outgrown clothes will be packed away. Anything that remains will find its way onto a hanger or into a drawer; a drawer that can easily open and close. Outgrown toys will be moved out of sight, and everything will be in its proper place.

All of this will be done in peace, away from watchful eyes and grabby hands.

While there's a part of me that revels in this time, there's another part which feels very, very guilty. You see, I have a secret. 

I am a "keeper".

You'd likely never know it walking into my home. You can open any door to a closet without fear of being crushed by its contents. The rooms are generally tidy, and while it may not pass the "white glove" test, my house does not betray me.

Because I’m a keeper though, I understand the value of a scrap of paper from so-and-so, or the trinket someone lovingly gave me. I attach way too much meaning onto everyday objects. I have stashes of things that have outlasted their original intended use, but, could possibly be used for something else in the future.

I revel in my victory each time I manage to put a stockpiled piece to use in a “second life”. I also gloat when, against my better judgment, I have given in and thrown something out only to find a use for it soon afterwards.

I use both of these scenarios to justify my behavior.

So, while I rejoice in the opportunity to clean out the children’s bedrooms and playroom I do it with a guilty conscious.

What if this Dum Dum wrapper is a special memento from a dear friend?

What will happen if I mistake a piece of art for mere scribble-scabble?

Will they miss this broken cup from the play kitchen?

If I throw this out, will they finally catch on to me?

My husband does not harbor such guilt. Nevertheless, we both know that within weeks (days? hours?) of their return, our efforts will all be for naught. At least we can start the school year off with a clean slate, a tidy drawer, and a little more breathing room.