It's a constant point of mental exasperation. Lorie and Ashton are constantly losing things or unable to find things. Katie and I stay fairly organized and don't have this problem. Alex is still just a six-year-old mass of chaos, but I think he's leaning in the Lorie/Ashton side of disorganization. It's slowly driving me crazy.
Getting Ashton to put things away and keep his room clean is an ongoing battle that I'm having difficulty understanding. It's like the kid can't really SEE things. He'll look at his hellaciously disorganized room and not be able to see what I see. He just doesn't hold the same importance in staying organized that I do.
The other night I had just gotten over a particularly bad bout of having the kids clean up their rooms and the living room. I was sitting on the couch watching TV with Lorie and my eyes fell on the entertainment center; where two Wii game boxes sit hastily discarded from earlier that day.
A small part of my soul just up and died as I sat staring at the Wii boxes.
Why am I the only one that can see these things? Why do I feel this way? Why does it bother me so much and what can I do about it? I believe right down to my toes that there is power, efficiency, and a good way of life in staying neat and organized. But why does it bother me so much when I see two Wii game boxes out of place?
My brain turned away from the TV show we were watching and ran down introspective lane looking for the cause.
I was in the Boy Scouts. I was a particularly bad Boy Scout and hated camping. So I hated disorganized campsites because it took longer to pack up and get out of there. No... that wasn't it. Didn't feel important enough to be a root cause.
Before I went digital, I had to carry around my reading material, usually a stack of comics, around with me everywhere. It was ponderous and heavy and inefficient and there was always the danger of losing the stacks of comics. As a result, I always made sure I knew where my bag was at all times. No... this isn't it. It feels more like symptom than cause.
We constantly moved in my childhood. My father was in the Air Force and we never stayed in one house more than a few years. We were also constantly leaving stuff behind, as the amount of belongings we could bring from house to house was limited. Not only that, but having your own space was kind of a premium. It was usually the first thing I worried about when we got to a new house.
This may have something to do with it. It feels closer to the mark than the Boy Scouts or my ever-present bag of reading material. But it's not quite the whole enchilada.
1979. I was ten. Our house in New Hampshire was three stories and a basement. Going up and down the stairs was a pain in the butt. So I would go up to my room and get some comics to read, then bring them downstairs to the living room to read there. Mom was constantly on me about keeping my toys and comics in my room. I... like Ashton... seemed hesitant to learn my lesson. One afternoon I cherry-picked the best and most loved comics out of my collection, a good solid stack twenty or thirty comics deep, and went down to the living room to read. I was negligent. I left the comics there and got distracted. Mom found them and by then she had enough. She took the comics and said they were gone for good.
I was devastated. Much more angry at myself then upset with my mother. How could I be so careless. My chest felt empty, like it does today when I realize a prized possession has been lost or broken.
A month or so later, when cleaning part of the basement, I found the stack of comics hidden on the floor behind a stack of boxes. She hadn't thrown them away after all. I asked her about them and she gave them back to me. I know that ever since then I've been very careful with my belongings.
Is that it? Is that the moment I learned this life lesson of the value of cleanliness and organization? (Would Ashton even notice if I took away the things he leaves out?)
As an adult, I never lose track of anything. I can be trusted to keep track of objects because I generally don't trust myself and constantly double and triple check. When we're out at the grocery store, I check the location of my keys, wallet, and iPhone constantly. To the casual observer it looks like a nervous habit. Touch the pocket, touch the other pocket, touch the shirt pocket, repeat. It's so ingrained on me that I became furious beyond believe when I thought I had lost my own car keys a few weeks back. Someone else had misplaced them and that wasn't my fault, sure. But it WAS my fault that it had been several hours before I noticed that they were gone. And I was livid with myself over it.
I get frustrated with the kids for not being able to learn the lesson of organization and taking care of their belongings. My concern is that these are tools that I know will serve them later in life. But with myself... I become mindlessly angry if I feel I've lost something.
Now, if you'll excuse me... I have to go help my wife. As I write this it's a few days before Christmas and she can't find a bag of presents that she bought. Sigh.
Thanks,
DCD
"A place for everything and everything in it's place." I also touch my iPhone all the time. It's so small. I lost it in the house and had to call it using the house phone-it was under a book I was sitting down by the fire to read.
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