Trying to lead the simple life

I went over to my neighbor and friend Carmen's house on Friday. Her son, Owen, is about three months older than Wilder, so we got them together for some backyard play time while their mom's had some adult conversation time. It was fun.

It was also eye-opening. Carmen's house is spotless. I must have sensed that it would be. I'd had a dream a few nights before, knowing this playdate (hate that word) was coming up, that I'd gone over to her house and it was a wreck. I woke up with a strange feeling of relief and satisfaction, which evaporated when I realized it was the dream, the belief that Carmen was as big of a slob as me, that gave me that feeling, and that it was probably erroneous.

It was. Erroneous. In a big way. Her kitchen counters sparkled. There wasn't a dust bunny in sight. The whole place smelled like Fabreeze. The toys were kept to a minimum and Owen appeared to be no worse for the wear of not having his life filled with hundreds of shiny, colorful, noise-making objects.

Then I came home to my house. Which smelled like dog urine. Which had loads of dirty laundry on the floor in the living room. Random bits of kitty litter skittering about. Needing a good sweeping. Dust. Toys, toys everywhere! Agggghhhh, Calgon, take me ... wait ...

Ugh. So I decided to make some changes. We've already started, and I have to say already I feel a ton better. This isn't so much about having a spotless house (let's face it -- I'll never be THAT girl) as it is about simplification. Fewer THINGS. We moved the bed out of Wilder's room because, ahem, no one ever really comes to visit us and those that do don't mind sleeping on an air mattress. He already absolutely loves his new area. Room to play, spread stuff around, lay on the floor and dodge in and out of a sunbeam.

I still have a few weeks before I'll be satisfied. It'll take a lot more organizing, a fair amount of throwing crap away or donating it, and some paint (there are two rooms in the house I've been wanting to paint since we MOVED IN -- I am a master procrastinator).

I'll never be a clean freak. I don't think it's in my DNA. Or Wilder's ... at the end of our play time, Owen didn't have a spot on him. Wilder had stuck his head in the dog's waterbowl (AWESOME!) and ground just enough dirt into his shirt and jeans and cheeks to look like he'd had a damn good time. He smelled like dirt and sunshine and warm weather. I was proud, actually, but there's clearly something hereditary going on there in the cleanliness department.

But maybe, just maybe, I won't have to be embarrassed to have my neighbor over to our house here soon.

PS. The dog urine smell is gone. We steam cleaned the carpet this weekend. Didn't want anyone thinking we were OK living with a dog pee smell.

PPS. Up soon, a new video of Wilder playing in his new room. And then bonking his head on the floor. Whoops!