Mission: Organization. Kind of.

I believe we all have an inner packrat which always comes under closest scrutiny at the New Year when resolutions are to be made. For some, that packrat may be as small as the tiniest mouse, while for others, it may more closely resemble the R.O.U.S.’s (Rodents of Unusual Size) from the movie The Princess Bride.

I fall somewhere in the middle.

I do like to think of myself as a fairly organized person. I'm a Real Simple magazine addict and I'll watch any HGTV show that holds a promise of organizing tips. I'm a huge proponent of de-junking and un-cluttering life. But, you wouldn't know this if you looked at the secret stash of stuff I've been keeping at my mom’s house since moving out on my own over five years ago. I've spent a lifetime accumulating souvenirs of different events and they all currently reside in my mother’s basement.

When I was younger I filled up my room with stuff until it was overflowing. Then, just in time, my brother got married and I took over his room in addition to mine. If Harry Potter had lived at my mom's house he'd just have had to stay in the cupboard under the stairs because there would have been no room for him in my second bedroom among the Rubbermaid storage totes that stacked to the ceiling.

So, I made it my goal to condense the thirteen boxes and one trunk down to a more manageable number. The goal was to end up with one large tote and one small which I probably should have admitted to myself is unrealistic, but I was determined to try.

And actually, it was pretty fun to go through all that stuff and remember some good times. I found a doll my dad gave me, notes and summer girls camp stuff, and stories I wrote in the second grade. I also discovered things that leave even me wondering what in the world I was thinking keeping them.

For instance, I still have in my possession my mouth guard from seventh grade basketball, complete with the mold of my teeth still attached. I also have my “Don't Use Drugs Ever” sweatshirt from Indian Hills Elementary School. (I'm keeping this one!) In one trunk I found a box of random magazine clippings and a mildly disturbing drawing of a woman with a body proportion problem and only 3 fingers. After looking at this picture which I drew as a four year old, no one can be left to wonder why I didn’t pursue a career as an artist. I have binders filled with baseball cards, meticulously organized according to league and team, with a special stash representing my fifth grade devotion to Manny Ramirez. Another box represents my sixth grade devotion to the singing group, All-4-One.

After sifting through these funky items from my past it has become clear to me that my inner packrat is out of control. It’s time for an intervention. Of course I need to de-junk and get rid of some things. But where do I start? After all, that Lego man with the missing foot could come in handy one day. Right?