Why You Should Get Rid of 100 Items

I'm really getting into a minimalism thing lately. I've been discovering the power behind the words, “Less is more.” I think most of us would agree that we have too much stuff. Almost all of us would acknowledge that we have items that have no sentimental value to us and have been sitting hidden away somewhere in our house for years, unused. I saw an Internet challenge going around recently that encouraged people to get rid of 100 things this month. Sound like a lot? You'd probably be surprised how easy it is. I've been going through my house bit by bit and throwing away or donating the things I've been holding onto unnecessarily. So to encourage you to take on this challenge, I present to you four benefits of having an uncluttered house:

1. You will get more out of what you own if it is accessible and easy-to-see.

This is nearly impossible to do if you have so much stuff that it is crammed into closets or stacked in large, impossible piles. I discovered this recently when I was cleaning out my kitchen and found a casserole dish I didn't know I had because it had been shoved in a dark corner of my kitchen cabinets. Interestingly enough, I had been looking for just such a casserole dish the night before while I was making dinner. It had probably been sitting in that cabinet for years, untouched.

2. Minimalism leads to easier upkeep and more frequent cleaning (because it's easier).

Do you have that one space that you HATE dusting? It's probably because it has dozens of miniscule trinkets to move and dust individually. Minimize these areas. It's okay to have some. It's even better if they're displayed in a china cabinet where they won't collect as much dust. I find that the less I have, the more likely I am to clean. If you have so much stuff that you feel like it's controlling you, it's time to purge.

3. You will buy more purposefully.

As you clean out, you'll come across things you bought on a whim and never used. You'll discover you have multiples of something that you bought on different occasions because you thought the other one was lost. And you'll find stuff that looked good on the shelves but that lost their appeal after you brought them home. You will learn to ask yourself questions as you shop, such as: “Where will this item be in 5 years?” “How often will I use this item?” “Will this item be difficult to clean?”, etc. I am still working on this, personally. I get the “I Wants,” as my mother used to call them. But I am slowly realizing that the less I buy, the more years there will be between “decluttering phases.” And you better believe you'll save some coin!

4. Future generations will be left with memories, not endless piles of stuff to sort through.

Okay, this one is slightly gloomy, but consider what things are precious and will be handed down to your children when you die, and what things they will go through and say, “What is this? I don't remember Mom or Dad having this. Is it important?” Maybe you ended up with 4 sets of china, but one set belonged to your great-great grandmother when she immigrated from Germany. The easiest way to denote the importance of that china set is by getting rid of the other ones (if you don't use them, of course). I have more tips regarding this, but I'll save that for a future entry!

Well, I hope that's sufficient motivation for you to get rid of 100 items! It doesn't have to be 100—set a goal that's reasonable for you. In my next entry, I'll give you some tips on decluttering. Aaaand this has officially become a Mom Blog. (Okay, it was probably official a long time ago.)

Exhibit A. The contents of my "toiletries shelf" in the linen closet, most of which I couldn't see and hadn't touched in years, BEFORE:

And AFTER:

Reflections as I Wake Up

I sit at the kitchen table nursing a cup of coffee, with generous cream. If I tilted my head at a certain angle, I could see the clouds outside skimming the dark liquid in my cup. It isn't too often that we have clouds--more commonly, the sky is a vast, endless expanse stretching over miles of unbroken golden grasses. I never imagined myself living in the prairie, 3 hours from a big city and even longer to the nearest mountain range. I'm tired this morning, trying to shrug off the fog of sleep that hasn't lifted since I was awoken by calls of "Mama!" over the baby monitor at 8am.

But my daughter watches me with sparkling eyes and firmly grasps her sippy cup of milk in front of her, chattering away. "Mama has coffee. Baby has milk!" She smiles a wide smile that could only be the result of deep, dreamless sleep. Sometimes I peak in her room before I head to bed for the night, and I usually find her pressed up against the slats of the crib with a pacifier in her mouth. A path of light shines across the floor of the room, but she rarely stirs.

Morningtime is a drawn-out ritual of drinks, breakfast, dishes, vitamins, tooth brushing, and dressing. We take it slowly, and it is often a 2-hour affair between the time she first stirs to the time we are dressed, pressed, and ready to head out on errands (or adventures). Her little bare feet beat an uneven rhythm on the laminate floor as she runs from hallway to living room, from living room to kitchen. I know that Daddy can hear it as he dozes downstairs.

I don't recall ever being ambitious. Not in the sense that people today mean it, anyway. I used to think that was a fault in myself, but now I see it as a blessing. It's not that I don't lead a productive life. I just feel utterly content in my role as wife and mother, and nothing else appeals to me as desperately as that does. I love the chattering and the cuddles and the cats that have to constantly be taken off the counter-tops. I love the slow-paced driving in a city where no one is in a terrible hurry. I love the prairie skies and the coulees and the muddy, unpredictable river. I love the cool berries sitting in my fridge and the crumbs that have to be swept up after almost EVERY meal, along with the expectant face that has to be scrubbed down, too. All of it is beautiful and satisfying to me.

I wonder if we've lost something by always reaching for something greater. If that desire is in your heart, follow it. But if you are content and filled with joy from details and crayon drawings and dirty dishes in the sink after a well-cooked meal, follow that, too. Don't let anyone tell you that motherhood is an occupation for second-class citizens. Anyone may be able to do it, but not everyone can do it well. Take pride in it, and take a deep draft of your morning cup of coffee for me, because goodness knows that I need another one.

10 Minutes of Chatter in the Life of a 20-month-old

On August 4, 2014 at approximately 9:35am, I grabbed a pen and decided, on a whim, to write down everything my child said for the next 10 minutes. I decided that the resulting monologue was interesting in a weird sort of way, so I'm posting it for posterity. Q is particularly chatty in the morning. My input during her monologue is minimal--I occasionally repeat things back to her so that she'll finally stop saying them. The writer's comments are in brackets.

[Q comments on her surroundings.]

Baby on the chair.
Bella on the table.
Bella on the counter.
Baby on the chair.

[Q comments on Mama "coloring," referring to Mama writing down Q's words.]

Mama color it.

[Q takes a swift deviation to discuss hotdogs, which are not visible nor were previously discussed that day.]

Mama hotdog.
Dada hotdog.
Baby hotdog.

[Back to noticing Mama's list-writing.]

That's Mama color. x5

[Q decides that Bella-the-cat's name needs to be repeated out loud a couple dozen times, most commonly in groupings of three.]

Bella. x23

[Q discusses her drinks on the table.]

You spilled it.
Want milk. x3
Want water.

[Q continues to be flummoxed by Mama's continual note-taking.]

That's Mama color. x3
That's Mama pen. x8
Mama color.
That's Mama color.

[Back to drinks.]

Water. x2
Milk. x6
You spilled it.

[Babbling. Q decides she wants to play with her robot blocks.]

You want robots. x3

[She decides to answer her own demand in the affirmative.]

Okay.
I'll get you robots.
Stay on your chair.

[Mama obediently brings the robots, and Q ups the ante. She is not only the director, but the narrator as well. She tells Mama to build, gives Mama her due praise, and holds both sides of a conversation with herself.]

Mama make a tower robots. x2
Mama get it the black robot.
Mama get it.
Okay.
Dump 'em out.
Black robot. x4
Mama make a tower robots.
Okay.
Give me 'nother one.
Dump 'em out.
Mama do it.
Yay.
Mama do it.
Yay baby.
Yay.
Mama do it.
It fell over.
Mama do it.

[She abruptly switches to another subject, using the fake British pronunciation of "baby."]

Bobby.
Little bobby.
Little bobby sit on the chair.

[Q drops her milk.]

Mama get it. x2
(Babbling)
Dropped your...
Mama get the milk.

[The rest of her monologue, for the most part, is a rousing account of more robot block building.]

'Nother robot.
Black robot.
Try again.
Oh! Fall downd. x2
Green robot. x5
'Nother green robot. x3
Fall downd.
One robots.
Sit on the table too.
Owl Feathers and Hoot. [Her stuffed owls.]
Mama get that.
Mama.
Mama build a tower robots. x3
Okay.
Give me 'nother one. x5
It fell.
Try againd.
Baby try againd.
Mama try againd.
Mama build a tower robots.
Hang on.
(Squealing)

9:46am.

She said "Mama" 39 times in the span of 10 minutes. I wonder how many times she says it per day??