The Art of Anal Retention

I've always preferred to be organised, if at all possible. When I was a kid, I was a bit anal about my stuff and how it was arranged. You know, the bed had to be made just so, and the teddies and dolls that sat on it had a particular order. I had a dressing table with little ornaments on it that were arranged in exactly the way I liked. At school I was the same - locker neat and tidy, desk kept in order, homework done on time. Nerd. Dork. Anal retent. First-born child. Yep.

I can't say that I am still as organised these days. After all, I have quite a bit more to look after than a bed, a desk and a dressing table. But I like to keep the semblance of order, at the very least. I buy things to keep my receipts organised; I organise drawers and baskets for keeping toys and clothes neat; I make lists for the supermarket and keep leftovers in Tupperware (which, I'm sure we're all aware, is a poorly-disguised reason to indulge my fetish!). I stay up late putting things away (most nights); I keep my pantry and cupboards tidy; and the baskets in the bathroom are so numerous that Christian has increased his level of testosterone just to cope.

I realise that most of the time my anal-retentiveness is severely hampered by my three kids, two cats and one puppy dog. It is impossible to remain sane whilst living with three mini-hurricanes in a small two bedroom unit if you are constantly trying to keep the house ready for a photo shoot with Home Beautiful. So normally, I try and keep things until relative control, if only so that we can find clean clothes in the morning and eat while sitting at the dining table.

However.

This week I have been so disorganised, I would struggle to organise the proverbial warm breeze in a curry-eating contest. We spent Saturday at my in-law's house, celebrating my brother-in-laws' birthdays. Which meant by the time we arrived home, there was insufficient time to catch up on the household chores I usually do on a Saturday (because Christian is home to share the question-answering and entertainment load). So on Sunday, I was already behind the 8-ball...and by the time yesterday rolled around I was drowning in an untidy shambles. (This is despite the sterling efforts of my husband, who enlisted the help of the kids early on Sunday morning to tidy the house while Mummy had a little lie-in. When I emerged from the blissful coma I had been permitted to fall into, the family room was beautifully tidy, and the kitchen was spotless. It's just unfortunate that by the time the kids had done their thing on Sunday afternoon, all of Christian's hard work had been undone.)

After school, kinder, and my cleaning and tutoring jobs yesterday, the house had been neglected, to say the least. I had a letter that I needed to get out to the parents in Jack's class, but whenever I had tried to print it yesterday, something went awry. So I spent a good part of today trying to rectify the situation (this is after I photocopied 700 notices for the cake stall at the school fete and distributed them to each class...all with Phoebalina and the Mouse in tow). I felt marginally better after I pegged out a few loads of washing, did the breakfast dishes, and began to tackle the pile of paperwork that had been dumped unceremoniously beside my bed. I managed not only to print out the errant letter, but I made 22 copies so that I didn't need to use the photocopier at school before collecting Jack.

Nevertheless.

After dealing with a late (forgotten) phone bill, a late (forgotten) credit card bill, and a lucky-you-found-it-in-time ambulance subscription renewal, I looked around...and saw the following: four baskets of unfolded washing draped attractively across one couch, enough toys on the floor to sink a Toys 'R' Us, the remnants of lunch on the high chair and table still waiting for the magic Chux to come and wipe it all away, an overflowing bin full of old paperwork I had just disposed of, and a baby gleefully eating bits of her sister's afternoon tea that she had found on the carpet. Nice.

So, my friends, what do you think I did? That's right! (You are so clever, you know me too well.) I picked up the Mouse, held the Ballerina's hand, and shut the front door behind us firmly. We gave the letters to Jack's teacher to be distributed, collected our boy, attended yet another fete meeting, and arrived back home to our pig sty mess unfinished jobs. Since Christian is at parent-teacher interviews all night, I managed the dinner / bath / bed routine by myself...but unfortunately, a naughty ballerina and an hysterically-sobbing mouse prevented me from even thinking about getting organised until nearly 8pm. By which time I needed respite, and turned to you.

So you see, the washing is still sitting there. As are the dinner dishes, and the toys, and the unwashed school clothes, and the unfed pets now delicately snoring at my feet. And the anal retent in my gut is slowly unfurling and stretching her claws. She's starting to poke me oh-so-gently in my lower intestine, and very soon, if I don't get off the couch, she will begin to blow hot air down my neck. The only way to quieten this serpent, is to start to fix the catastrophe that is my house. So I will chip, chip, chip away at the mess until the room starts to resemble a room again, and not a uni student's kip. I will find my kitchen underneath the debris of lentil shepherd's pie and yoghurt. I will excavate the mountain of unironed clothes to find things to wear tomorrow. I will put the toys, and the puzzles, and the pencils away in their proper spots. And tomorrow, when I have two hours between dropping Jack at school and visiting Argie, I will do a couple of things to make my brain stop screaming for order...such as pay that rent bill...and clean out the fridge...and send in the form for Jack's school photos...and when the girls have strewn toys everywhere at the end of the day, I will smile and sigh. And give my inner anal retent an elbow in the guts.