This is not good as both Maj. C and I hate clutter. Although Maj. C is the neat freak of his family, I actually hate clutter more than Maj. C. -- my parents once described my taste in kitchens as "autopsy chic." I hate not being organized, I hate having "stuff." My dream home would be a concrete box with windows, books, an Ipad, and my family (not in that order).
Whether or not I sold out to the the military-industrial-baby-complex is yet undecided, but babies really seem require lots of stuff. All my intentions of baby minimalism collided with reality once the Bunny arrived. Decor in the living room went from Scandinavia modern (ahem, IKEA) and MCM (liberated furniture from my parents) to Fisher-Price Happy Jungle Jumper and other Chinese plastic horror shows.
Since my life has devolved to merely surviving fluctuating and every increasing chaos (see the Third Law above), I have four things I cling to-- If I manage just these four things, I feel OK with my frumptastic baby-food-smeared/cat-hair-magnet/sleep-deprived self.
- My purse/diaper bag is organized and stocked (so I can go out the door at any time)
- My bed is made (falling into a made bed is a gift to myself every evening)
- Cat box is clean (I hate coming back from work to a smelly house)
- I have a list (it may never get checked off, but I have a list)