Let go

I live in an three bedroom house with a yard. Currently there are three of us in the house, one in each bedroom. Theoretically two of the people will move away, should move away, ought to grow up and move out so as to become separate adults. Plus they need the experience of living alone or with someone who is not mom, so they can face head on, the truth that this mess is of their own making. It’s not mom’s, it’s not their brother’s stuff, it didn’t just magically appear. The stuff cluttering the table and the floor and the coat rack is their own, and if they want it put away, they have to do it.

Likewise the dishes, laundry, grocery shopping, vacuuming; and on a longer timescale, defrosting the freezer and cleaning the oven. These things don’t just happen. There are no janitors, no lunch ladies. When you live in a place, it’s you, your place, your rules, but also your mess to clean up.

I have never lived alone. I’ve learned the lesson of responsibility for my own stuff by living with roommates at college, by living with my husband, by caring for and collecting necessaries for one, two, three, four, five, six, seven children, and then progressively loading their stuff onto them. My husband ducked out. Fortunately for me, he didn’t have much stuff.

I, on the other hand, find security in having more than enough stuff. I’m not into collecting clothing, per se, but I own two weeks’ worth at least, without repeating anything but shoes and bras. My idea of true security includes a year’s worth of food, plus laundry soap, dish soap, hand soap, shampoo, toothpaste, pain reliever. I even own a year’s worth of new toothbrushes, for when mine wears out.

It’s hard to decide what to get rid of, once the obvious garbage is gone. There are too many edge cases. I pick up a book to get rid of it, and start reading it. I only recently determined I’m not going to do more crafts with my children and not by myself, either, so the gallon containers of miscellaneous craft supplies are going to the homeschool co-op, one thing at a time. There are no grandchildren on the near horizon, and even if there were, it’ll be years before they can cut and glue things with me.

I’m learning to let go.