Note on my survival

I’m often asked how I survive living with as many kids as I do. And while I don’t like to think about it much because examining too closely leaves me in a self-wallowing stupor, I can share a few helpful tips:

1) Assign a day to specific tasks. Coming home to a filth pit is no easy task for someone who is just OCD enough to want to spend a Saturday organizing a 15-year-old box of screws. And while I’m not *exactly* that person (the box was 10-years-old, TYVM), it is hard to accept that my home can’t and won’t be spotless simply because I will it to be so. But I also don’t want to spend all my “free time” cleaning. Thus, the invention of SATURDAYS. My aim, usually, is that each kid whose specific chore deals with cleaning MUST complete the task Saturday morning. So by Sunday afternoon, when they have finally, officially quit procrastinating and done their task, I will have a clean-enough home for the week. Then during the week, I try not to get too agro about the un-swept floor or the toothpaste globs in the bathroom—because I know those tasks will be attended to come the weekend.

2) Everything has a home. Years ago, as I was heading off to college, I had a friend give me this little nugget of advice. I was overwhelmed by all the stuff I had and trying to keep on top of it all. Her thought was, “If every thing has a home, just return the item where it lives when you’re finished using it. Then you’ll always know where to find it.” Obvious, yes? But really great advice. From that point on, I’ve continued to literally think, “Where does this live?” when I’m putting items away.

3) Let it live where you need it most. I realized this one just this morning, when I was in my closet gathering laundry for the wash. “Remember to put spot cleaner on that shirt,” I thought, immediately realizing that I never, never, never remember to do anything of the kind even though I own several (and by several I mean more than three) bottles of Shout. And then I thought about why I never spot-treat a stain: I forget about the stain by the time the clothes hit the laundry room. The solution? Keeping a bottle of Shout in my closet. It’s where I disrobe, it’s where I notice the stain—seems like a no brainer place for an extra bottle of spot treatment. It’s almost exactly like why I keep that grilled cheese sandwich under my bed.

4) Like items with like items. To a newbie, a kitchen can seem like a massive repository a bunch of stuff related to food, all randomly situated. To a seasoned kitchenista, everything is exactly where it should be. My small bit of kitchen organizational abilities came from the half-semester Home Ec class I took in seventh grade. It goes as such: All glass baking items in same cabinet near the counter where I do my mixing; all baking sheets together near the oven; all pots and pans together in the cabinet beneath the stovetop; most used plates and cups on their own shelves, but on bottom shelf within easy reach for shorties, etc. In the pantry, I keep cans on one shelf, boxes on another. I try to keep my fridge similarly organized (dairy and cheeses in one place, veg and meats in their own spots) but sometimes that proves futile. Thus:

5) Decide what can slide. Of the current 8 occupants in our home, roughly 7 could care less about my organizational peeves. They grab, use and put things away—just not necessarily in the item’s proper place. Some things never find their way home again. I make corrections; I put things where they go. And over time, people slide into knowing that the barbeque lighter goes in the knife drawer with all the other potentially hazardous items, and when they are done using it, they leave it on the counter for me to put away, along with the empty wrappers that belong in the trash, or the box of cereal that never made it back to the cabinet—all knowing full-well that I will buzz about in grumped-out whirlwind returning items to their homes. This makes me crazy. And that is why I don’t get mad about the towels when people fold them wrong. See? Because I can’t control everything. And it takes a big person to recognize that fact. I just refold them while quietly huffing to myself.