Getting Organized...

I don't know whether it is because it's the beginning of a new school year, or that I'm just finally fed up with the piles of paper and boxes, but I'm having an overwhelming urge to get organized. I have always been a person that enjoys being organized. I crave it, much the same way as I crave Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream.

The difficulty comes with the realization that I'm not really any good at getting organized. As much as I love all things organizational -- I could unload some serious cash in The Container Store -- I often find the process of sorting through endless piles of paper rather tedious. And, quite possibly, I have a genetic predisposition for being a pack rat. Add to this the fact that I have a long-running love affair with paper, preferably in cute and whimsical patterns, and we've got a recipe for frustration.

The other complication here is that my oldest child is a very prolific "artist." Well, at least a generator of something akin to art. If artistic talent were determined merely by the amount of art produced, she would undoubtedly have been proclaimed a child Picasso. It's not just that she produces an inordinate quantity of scribblings and sketches, it is that she has a sixth sense for when Mommy has decided to purge... ahem... selectively downsize, our art collection. This child has no interest in properly disposing of items in the trash can UNTIL Mommy has just buried two or three of her creations therein. And then, voila, an instant fascination with the trash can! And not just those items lingering at the top, but those strangely familiar pages tucked deep down under the remnants from the morning's breakfast. No remedy will calm the tears save Mommy sifting through the ick and retrieving the masterpieces and restoring them to a place of honor. Or at least a pile of similar pictures, awaiting the darkness of night, to be disposed of directly in the outside trash bins. I suppose her reluctance to part with her artistic creations is also a genetic predispostion towards pack ratiness. I ought not to judge.