We’re in over our heads. The chaos, the clutter, the mess, the missing stuff. We’ve had it. But we don’t know how to fix it.
Nerdguy has officially received his ADHD diagnosis. My questionnaire remains on my dresser, half-completed. Since February. Maggie is a likely. Grace we’re not sure about.
Molly is confirmed. And the only one medicated. She is also the only one who seems to have her shit together lately. I lost her prescription the other day. I was sure it was in the spot on the bulletin board where we keep things like that. You know – the prescription spot. She was completely out of meds, and of course it was a Friday afternoon to boot. I pulled the paper off the board, had a better look at it, and it was for an old, unfilled and unneeded med, long forgotten. The prescription that I needed was nowhere to be found. I tore the house apart looking for it. I looked in every purse, and all the piles. Well, not all because some of the piles are scary. I checked the glovebox of the van, and under the seats. Nowhere. I didn’t want to ask Molly because I didn’t want to cause anxiety about it being missing. But finally I had to. She guessed something was wrong anyway by the sweating and cursing. Actually, I’m always doing those things – she probably would be more suspicious if I were calm, cool and collected. Something else must have tipped her off.
I broke down and asked her.
“You had that purple folder with you!” she said.
“I have a purple folder?”
“Yes, I remember because you kept dropping it in the parking lot.”
“Alright. That’s enough remembering.”
And in a flash of lucidity (rare sighting) I remembered what purple folder she was talking about. I tucked a bunch of important papers in there for “safe keeping.” It even does up with a closure. The Trapper Keeper’s distant cousin. I never would have remembered the folder on my own. I should know better than to be organized. Or I should always be organized. I think that’s the right answer in this multiple choice pop quiz.
But how can I always be organized, when we can’t even seem to be a little bit organized?
We decided that we need to find out how the other half lives, and we have invited a professional organizer to come to our family meeting today.
I’m oscillating between being incredibly excited at the possibilities of what could be, and feeling absolute terror at the idea of showing someone our house. It feels like going to the gyno versus the family doctor. With the family doctor you can dress yourself up all nice, look very presentable, and he’ll have no idea that you haven’t shaved your legs…or leg-adjacent for that matter…since the first Toy Story movie was released. But the gyno is not even going to see your nice outfit, and your secrets are going to be pretty obvious within the first 5 minutes. Having regular company over is stressful enough, but we can generally make the main floor look somewhat okay. But an organizer who is coming to help is going to want to see the basement, the closets, and all the bedrooms. There’s no hiding those hairy legs anymore!!
I’m pacing with worry while I figure out how to hide all our stuff in the van – and maybe drive away in it. What if she says we’re too far gone and only God could help us? I hope she’s not a fainter. Right now I feel about as terrified as I do when I hear a noise downstairs in the middle of the night. But I’m going to put on my big girl panties – if I can find them – and welcome her in to help us, because I know this is what we need, and I’m happy that someone is coming to help us do what we can’t. Asking for help is hard. Admitting we can’t do it all still takes courage, even though I would never judge anyone else for needing that same help. We’re always harder on ourselves. That has to stop too. Wish us luck!