Frosted Mini-Whats: Hoarders

I'm a thrower. Always have been. I don't get sentimental over stuff. I throw things out like nobody's business. And then I married a non-thrower. To a saver like David, everything has value. Nothing should be thrown out. You might need that 25-year-old map that charts roads that are no longer there, so for God's sake, don't throw it out. My pack rat also has a special filing system called the floor. We don't fight over money, we don't fight over our kids, but we've fought over whether things should be thrown out.

I learned early in our marriage that if I was cleaning and wanted to throw things away, I better do it (a) while he was gone, and (b) make sure the garbage truck picked up the remains before he came home. True story: David came home to find his special filing system of piles of paper on the floor stacked neatly on the desk and two big bags of garbage lined up next to the door. He went through the bags to make sure I hadn't thrown out anything important and/or valuable. By the time he was done, I no longer had my floor, and there was only one bag of garbage left.

He has mellowed over the years. Living in a 500 square foot space for two years in Japan changed both of our perspectives on what was actually necessary. But our son has picked up the cause. Calvin has taken David's pack rat mentality and raised it to near hoarder status. Even true garbage might have value, and I've seen him agonize over whether he should really throw out the used and crumpled post-it notes. It's enough to make me tear my hair out.

Mostly I try to ignore it by closing my eyes when I walk by his room. But since I've injured myself every night tucking him in this week, I decided enough was enough. Calvin was gone all day, so I dove in, taking my phone with me in case I got lost, and letting the girls know to come find me if I wasn't back in a couple hours. Here is what I started with.