Right. If nothing else, this post is proof that I really will blog about ANYTHING.
I have just been in The Loft. Unfortunately, not some cool bar with martini cocktails. No. The space in my roof. The space that I frequent so rarely, I now wonder why I bothered going in there at all. Because it has left me feeling rather anxious.
Daddy Pig is in charge of the loft. Accessing. Storing. Organising. Can you see where this is going…?
‘You do put things in ‘areas’, don’t you?’ I’ve asked Daddy Pig before when he’s trekked up there with some piece of baby paraphernalia that is no longer needed.
He’s always assured me that things are in their rightful places.
Well, I think Daddy Pig and I may need to have a conversation about the meaning of rightful.
Because there is absolutely no organisation whatsoever. Not a bit. There are no ‘areas.’ Just one big explosion of crap.
The Maxi Cosi carseat is having intercourse with the Jumperoo. A suitcase is balancing precariously by the hatch whilst the other holdalls have been discarded mercilessly on the dusty floor. Why are they not all hanging out together? There is a role of carpet with a stroller on top of it. Bags of baby clothes EVERYWHERE. And don’t even get me started on the box of all Beaver’s precious first memories, that I’ve just found stashed in a box full of moth-eaten dressing up clothes and tacky party decorations I hadn’t even remembered we had.
This is the stuff of nightmares. The thing that will keep me awake at night. It’s like a horror film you wish you hadn’t watched. Flowers in the Attic? Try Crap in the Attic. Once you’ve seen it, you can’t erase the images from your mind.
I grew up in a house of ‘Tidy Tillies.’ This was what my mum would say when we got in from school and she’d hoovered. She made it sound so fun but all it really meant was, ‘Take your shoes off and don’t you dare eat a biscuit on the sofa.’
So some of it has rubbed off. But actually I’m not neurotic when it comes to tidiness. Beaver and Godivy eat biscuits on the sofa and sometimes we even have croissants in bed. Wild, eh?
But excess mess. Clutter. The stuff you don’t need. The pointless stuff you don’t even remember you’ve got? The stuff that is important, but you’ll never ever find again because it’s hidden behind all the clutter? Now, this bothers me.
So before I confront Daddy Pig, my question is this. Do everyone’s lofts look like this? Like someone opened the hatch and just lobbed the whole lot in? Or are you all secretly and smugly organised with lovely, designated ‘areas?’
And if you are, before we never speak again, can you tell me where to begin.