Let’s be perfectly honest here: the only time I do a spring clean is when my mother offers to help and the only time we have time for that is when I’m on mat leave. If this kid is our last, then whoops, there goes the house.
That being said, I have been anticipating this clean for a while and actually looking forward to it quite a lot. I don’t feel as much sentimental attachment to “stuff” so I’ve been able to let go of a lot.
It’s been interesting the reasons I come out with for why I have something that really doesn’t make sense in my life. Some are rather hilarious: we put an incredibly expensive pair of salt and pepper shakers on our registry as a joke because “who would spend that much on salt and pepper shakers?” And of course, we found out just who would spend that much.
My mother peeled the price tags off of the teacups that match our dinner plates. “Why did you get both the teacups and the coffee mugs” she asked, the latter of which she looked at skeptically considering she had come across the one mug which doesn’t match anything but is the only mug I’ll drink from. Ultimately the answer was: “I thought I’d need both for when I had people over for dinner parties or the holiday feasts. You know, in my fancy dining room.”
Oh there was that raised eye brow again.
I’m not sure which part caused the skepticism first: the fact there is no dining room in the house (one of the two compromises I had to make), or the fact that I generally don’t host dinner parties or holiday feasts because it exhausts me just thinking of the planning and then anxiety of it all.
I have hundreds of dollars worth of dishware going unused because I’m not living the life I thought I was supposed to.
I did keep them – the teacups and the coffee mugs. I’m terribly aware that I’m raising at least one girl who is, at the age of two, planning elaborate tea parties. I have no vain hope of bequeathing it to her, given it’s no where near as durable as I had been told the brand was. But by that same token, I’m not going to be “saving it” for that perfect occasion. One day we’re going to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and lay out a picnic blanket in the backyard. We’ll invite all of her friends — both real and imaginary — and wear fancy dresses. And rather than using her pink, plastic, singing tea pot with the purple plastic teacups with holes in the bottom, I’ll bring out my teacups and saucers, the sugar and cream, and we’ll all drink “tea” with our pinkies in the air.
It may not be the life I envisioned, but it certainly sounds like more fun.