Cleaning Out the Chaos

"Where does all this stuff come from?!" I exclaimed as I was cleaning out our newly-married daughter's room this week. Our old Victorian is short on closets, but high on ceilings -- most of them are 12' at the peak. It's amazing what you can amass over the years. I'm pretty sure there's a giant truck backing up to the carport in the quiet of night, with some kind of elves loading junk into my house. There can be no other explanation why I can't ever seem to come to equilibrium with the clutter. 

While I was at it, we yanked everything out of our nursery and I painted the old wood floor (again). I think it's on its fourth color since we moved here eight years ago. The initial hue was light purple. I've painted it plum, cream, light green and now Renwick Olive. Maybe we won't have to insulate under the floors, the paint is so thick. I threw a second coat on there last night. Here's hoping it all dries good. I can't abide a sticky paint job. My grandkids were bemoaning the fact that they couldn't play in there, and began quizzing me about their toys. "Are you going to throw them away, Yaya?" Tempting, when I see the nice, clean expanse of floor yawning before me. But no, we'll have to jumble it all up again. Some things are worth saving.

We have a massive squirrel problem. Despite my Annie Oakley efforts on the back porch, the "Wildlife Busters" guy said that our attic is basically a giant squirrel's nest. To get rid of them, you have to get in the attic. To get in the attic, you have to purchase a new ladder that actually holds people who weigh more than a hundred pounds. Then you have to chase out or dispose of the squirrels. Then you have to plug up the gazillion holes those varmints have chewed in the soffits and fascia. Then you have to install a fortress of metal around the perimeter of the house. That just ate up two of my recent real estate closings, and the tax man ain't gonna hold back just because we've got critter issues. There are people that hate me because I sit on the back porch and hunt squirrels. Please don't hate me. It's for the greater good.

I alternate days, with my new empty nest. One day, I cry as I remember my babies and all the years of happy dances with them. The next, I laugh because they are now all beautifully asleep with their good spouses. Pa and I can run around however we want without worrying what time they're gonna get home, or if they're going to up and marry some idiot. Then the next day, I'm all misty with my thoughts again. I'm sure somewhere along the way it will begin to balance out. All I have to do is think on those amazing grandbabies and it begins to make a lot of sense. I'm way too tired to be raising kids again, but grandchildren are the sugar-sweet, bodacious reward of the silver-haired. I'll take it.