Some of you know that we put our house in Amarillo up for sale in December after I accepted a new position in Fort Worth. We got a contract on the house in late April, and if all goes well, we will close at the end of May.
A contract means moving, and moving means many opportunities to ask myself how I was able to accumulate so much crap. I heard myself saying all-too-often “that sounded like a good idea at the time” before placing an item in a donation bag or in the trash. Seriously, where does all this stuff come from? We haven’t even lived in the house since December (and we only lived in the house for three years), but, man, there’s still a lot of stuff in there. We made a trip to Amarillo over the weekend to clean out the house and pack up the items that the movers will not move. The movers will arrive in Amarillo on Friday to pack up the house, and they’ll load everything on Saturday.
We got a lot accomplished, including mowing our thigh-high grass. We drove up to the house late Friday night and saw the tall grass. We mowed a few weeks ago when we were in town, and the grass basically looked dead. A few weeks later, it looked like the jungle. I know David had a blast with that chore! Our yard is not very big, but it took him several hours to complete the task.
Our trip was short, but we got a lot accomplished. I will admit that my anal-retentive ways made the weekend more complicated than it needed to be; however, I think that I will be really happy that we were able to clean out the closets and donate or throw away a whole lot of stuff. At various points in the weekend, I located bank statements from my first checking and savings accounts, as well as my instructional driver’s permit. I mean, I found boxes of these things that I somehow managed to move from my parents’ home in Amarillo, to College Station, to Lubbock, and back to Amarillo again. I’ll be darned if I move those bank statements, regardless of how proud I am of how organized they were (read – statement with each entry checked off, folded up to hold all of the corresponding receipts – from when I was 16!). The thought of keeping them was tempting, but my mother was there and forced me (thank goodness!) to shred it all. That poor shredder – I honestly don’t know how it is still functional. However, I did keep my instructional permit for my “keepsakes” box. I had to keep something. Honestly, had mom not helped me all day Saturday, I may have just sat in the living room floor crying, overwhelmed and paralyzed with fear.
Late in the weekend, David called me a pack rat. A pack rat? Really? I have what I consider to be a clean home. The words “pack rat” cause me to envision a home with boxes of crap stacked to the ceiling and every empty surface covered with something the owner cannot bring herself to throw away. Like the lawyer that I am, I argued that this definitely isn’t me (all the while wondering in my head if perhaps he was exactly right; he's a mental health professional and reads people well, after all). In the end, he decided that I am still a pack rat, but I just hide it better than other people. Honestly, I do struggle with throwing paper away. It is my downfall. I just always think that I might need it again some day. That being said, I don’t think that makes me a pack rat. We’ll continue to argue over the “pack rat” label, but this weekend was a good lesson on how it is extremely unlikely that I am going to need that receipt for milk and bananas from May 2009 ten years from now.
If you’ve ever put a home up for sale, you know that the house will never be more clean than on those days the “for sale” sign is in the yard. After all, you are opening your home to the world – to strangers – the people you know the least and want to impress the most. Here’s the house in “perfect condition” for all those home showings:
A contract means moving, and moving means many opportunities to ask myself how I was able to accumulate so much crap. I heard myself saying all-too-often “that sounded like a good idea at the time” before placing an item in a donation bag or in the trash. Seriously, where does all this stuff come from? We haven’t even lived in the house since December (and we only lived in the house for three years), but, man, there’s still a lot of stuff in there. We made a trip to Amarillo over the weekend to clean out the house and pack up the items that the movers will not move. The movers will arrive in Amarillo on Friday to pack up the house, and they’ll load everything on Saturday.
We got a lot accomplished, including mowing our thigh-high grass. We drove up to the house late Friday night and saw the tall grass. We mowed a few weeks ago when we were in town, and the grass basically looked dead. A few weeks later, it looked like the jungle. I know David had a blast with that chore! Our yard is not very big, but it took him several hours to complete the task.
Our trip was short, but we got a lot accomplished. I will admit that my anal-retentive ways made the weekend more complicated than it needed to be; however, I think that I will be really happy that we were able to clean out the closets and donate or throw away a whole lot of stuff. At various points in the weekend, I located bank statements from my first checking and savings accounts, as well as my instructional driver’s permit. I mean, I found boxes of these things that I somehow managed to move from my parents’ home in Amarillo, to College Station, to Lubbock, and back to Amarillo again. I’ll be darned if I move those bank statements, regardless of how proud I am of how organized they were (read – statement with each entry checked off, folded up to hold all of the corresponding receipts – from when I was 16!). The thought of keeping them was tempting, but my mother was there and forced me (thank goodness!) to shred it all. That poor shredder – I honestly don’t know how it is still functional. However, I did keep my instructional permit for my “keepsakes” box. I had to keep something. Honestly, had mom not helped me all day Saturday, I may have just sat in the living room floor crying, overwhelmed and paralyzed with fear.
Late in the weekend, David called me a pack rat. A pack rat? Really? I have what I consider to be a clean home. The words “pack rat” cause me to envision a home with boxes of crap stacked to the ceiling and every empty surface covered with something the owner cannot bring herself to throw away. Like the lawyer that I am, I argued that this definitely isn’t me (all the while wondering in my head if perhaps he was exactly right; he's a mental health professional and reads people well, after all). In the end, he decided that I am still a pack rat, but I just hide it better than other people. Honestly, I do struggle with throwing paper away. It is my downfall. I just always think that I might need it again some day. That being said, I don’t think that makes me a pack rat. We’ll continue to argue over the “pack rat” label, but this weekend was a good lesson on how it is extremely unlikely that I am going to need that receipt for milk and bananas from May 2009 ten years from now.
If you’ve ever put a home up for sale, you know that the house will never be more clean than on those days the “for sale” sign is in the yard. After all, you are opening your home to the world – to strangers – the people you know the least and want to impress the most. Here’s the house in “perfect condition” for all those home showings:
Here’s the house with it’s beautiful way-too-high grass and crap everywhere after one of those strangers made an offer to buy the house. Now that’s what I call fair-weather home ownership! 
Pack Rat...no. I think you just amaze yourself with your stellar organization skills!!! Love this house...I will always have memories of great times spent together there.
ReplyDeleteI think you may be a pack rat, but not a hoarder. I think of a hoarder as someone with the boxes everywhere and a big mess. I think my mom was a hoarder. I, on the other hand, may be a pack rat. I agree with Adrian, I loved that house also. Now what happens when we need to have a shower and your nice, clean house is not available????
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