The Prim-Rose Path to Hoarder-dom

Jefe told me the other day that I was on the prim-rose path to becoming a hoarder.

I know, right?

That sort of made me mad, because really? Me? A Hoarder? As if.

I’m more of a clutter person, than a hoarder person. I have piles and piles of crap and then when I get around to going through my piles, I stash things. Mostly in cupboards in the kitchen. Then I have to go through the cupboards and clean them out.


Watching the Hoarding: Buried Alive show sort of motivates me to not keep stuff. I mean seriously. Seeing them pull thirty-seven dead cats from a house will do that to you.
Not that I would ever actually HAVE thirty-seven cats.

I hate cats. I think they’re gross.

Truthfully, I sort of hate that show, too. But, it’s like watching a train wreck. Once you start you just. can’t. stop. watching. 

I’ll start watching and slowly find myself with my hands over my mouth with a horrified look on my face. At the commercial break, I’ll hurry and wash my hands. Then I’ll start picking up my room again, only to find myself again with the horrified look on my face. At the commercial break, I’ll wash my hands again and throw a bunch more stuff out. Rinse and repeat that cycle over and over again.

The last time I watched Hoarders, I totally cleaned out my closet and sent five bags of clothes to the D.I. and filled up two garbage bags full of junk.

Last weekend it started again.

Hoarders was on and Jefe was out of town. I did the rinse and multiple repeats of the hand-washing routine and then made the mistake of walking into my office—which could also be called “The Third Garage.”

It’s the dump all, catch all of our house and it looked GROSS.

I gasped and immediately started purging.

I Was Not Going To Become A Hoarder So Help Me Allah.

I took two - thirty gallon tubs full of books to the D.I.

I filled an entire jumbo garbage can full of old junk like: ripped up scrapbook paper from 2006, a box for a telephone I threw away two years ago and a binder for the La Leche League from when Thing 3 was born in 2003.

IN. CHICAGO.  

Yes, we totally moved the La Leche League binder thirteen hundred miles.

I know. I’m sick.

I also found a couple of Christmas presents that I had hidden in a box in the closet, so I let Moxie have them. Thing 1 wasn’t going to miss them anyway seeing as how she never even had them.

Then the most disturbing find of all. I found a twenty gallon see-through tub that was filled TO THE BRIM WITH . .

{insert dramatic music}
{dun dun dun dun}

FABRIC.

Lots and lots of fabric.

Like enough fabric that I could have made four king size quilts—Fabric.

People.

I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO SEW. 

Like AT. ALL. 

Gad-zooks! Jefe was right!

I was on the prim-rose path to hoarder-dom and it was paved with lots and lots of pretty FABRIC.

I admit it. I have a weakness for the stuff, but seriously? A TWENTY GALLON TUB FULL weakness?

See?  That’s how it starts, people.

You see some pretty fabric and think “I can totally make a baby quilt out of that.” Or “I think curtains would look quite lovely made with this print.” Or “That print would make the most adorable matching dresses for my girls.” And then it happens.

You find yourself on the Hoarding: Buried Alive show except it’s not the cat’s your buried with—It’s Fabric.

Lots and lots of pretty Amy Butler fabric.

And, I would totally be one of those people who cried because you wanted me to throw my fabric away, too.
But, I’m telling you right here and right now, I won’t do it.

I WON’T!

I like my fabric. It’s kind of pretty. And I need it. Or else I might die.

{now pardon me while I go wash my hands.}

{i'm not really a hoarder, either.} 

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