maybe I have an undiagnosed phobia or something

I fear clutter.

While I love the whole "homey, lived in" feel of homes with coffee tables topped with an array of magazines, the morning paper piled by the recliner, or the 324,780 pens in the junk drawer, it just doesn't work in mine.

Don't get me wrong - I'm no clean freak. And I inevitably have that drawer (or two. or five) that I can never keep clean and organized. But even though I can't keep it clean, it still bugs the crap out of me that it's there....taunting me and just BEGGING to be annihilated.

This weekend, I started the charge. General MacArthur would be proud.

Using my dad's infamous motto of "When in doubt, throw it out," I started waging a war against my room, cabinets, bathroom, and hopefully the rest of my house. I have a dedicated corner of my room where a pile for Goodwill is steadily growing, and I'm sure the garbage man loves the extra contributions I'm making to his job as well. Not only am I cleaning out things that haven't seen the light of day since our move back to Oregon 5 years ago, but I'm also (-gasp!-) noticing things around my house that really do require a trip to Lowes or Home Depot. The air vent in the hallway that's been haning crooked since July (it's not MY fault that the drywall decided to disintigrate), the cabinet door that is coming loose off of its screws, the formica on the counter that is starting to peel back (I'm sure the scotch tape holding it on won't last for long), and I'm sure that the furnace filters really do need to be cleaned. Do I know how to fix half of these things? Heck no. But that's why I'm so lucky to have male family members who are more than willing to teach me how to use the toolbox I got for my birthday last year.

You never know - I might find out that some of those tools actually have a purpose besides chipping ice out of my freezer =].

Anyways. There's just something about this time of year that makes me want to get rid of everything I don't need. Maybe it comes from the habit of getting ready to move every spring (which has been our tradition for the past 5 yeras), or maybe it's the fact that I'm actually growing up and having to do this stuff for myself. Either way, I'm sure that my parents are reading this and having minor heart-attacks, since they probably thought that they would never live to see the day where I'm trying to clean out stuff and work on house projects.

When did I grow up? And how do I make it stop???

All I know is that it feels sooooo good to have everything organized. Even if it is just the shoes in my closet, and only until I throw today's shoewear of choice back into my closet tonight.

Gampa? Pops? G-Daddy? Goodness.

Hello, my dear blog. How I’ve missed you. Ever since my place of employment decided to install new internet firewalls blocking most of my favorite blog sites, it has been forcing our relationship to crumble. Please forgive me and be patient with my tardiness in returning.

And besides, nothing THAT interesting has been going on. I get up, I go to the gym, I go to work, come home, and hit up the occasional happy hour or two.

But I did go home last weekend to visit my parents, and my sister and brother-in-law happened to be visiting, too. We had a great time, especially laughing over the fact that about every 20 minutes, we got to hear, “DAMMIT, I have to go to the bathroom AGAIN.” Nugget seems to be getting bigger by the day, and therefore having more of an impact on her bladder than K would like.

Ever since we found out that she’s pregnant, my mom has been ecstatic over the fact that she’s going to be a Grandma, and I think the entire town of Mayberry knows that she’s getting a grandchild in July. My dad, on the other hand, has a bit more control over his excitement. Don’t get me wrong, he’s happy for my sister and excited about Nugget, but the fact that he’s going to be a Grandpa….it makes him sound….old. Never mind the fact that the man has had a head of white hair since he was 20 and will be eligible for the Early Bird Special at Denny’s in a short 3 years, but he’s having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that his daughter is going to have a kid. A kid who will call him Grandpa and be a constant (joyful, I’m sure) reminder of his own age.

This being said, over the weekend I was deemed the lovely task of going to Mr. Google and finding alternatives to the name Grandpa. Here is a small sample of the names I found:

Gramps

G-Daddy

Boppy

Banpa

Papps

Grampster

PeePaw

Grand-Dude

Guppa

You get the idea. My sister refuses to bring up her child to call our dad “Uncle,” and he’s not too fond of “Grandpa”…what’s a family to do?

After some careful thought, my mom came up with the compromise/solution: My dad will be known as “PapaKay,” like all one word (it makes sense since all of our names start with the letter ‘K’)

Sounds young enough, dontcha think?