On Life With a Hoarder

Remember that sweet little girl I wrote about the other day? 

The one I was going to miss (I do miss) when she returned to school?  Well, she has a problem; she's a hoarder.

The seriousness of this "problem" came to light the other day when I went in search of her wallet.   I realized I hadn't seen it since the day we went on vacation, when she pulled out the spending money her Grandpa had given her, to purchase souvenirs.  But I don't recall seeing it after we returned home.  Not that she takes it out of hiding regularly, she is a saver through and through.  Currently she's saving for a video game player; a Nintendo DS, I think.  I'm not completely sure.  Once I hear  the words Nintendo, or X-Box, or Apple, my hearing falters, my mind wanders.  I'm just not interested in gadgets. 

As I stood in her doorway, however, I realized finding said wallet would not be an easy task. Nora's bedroom is not huge and contains just the standard eight year old furnishings: a closet, Anna's old twin bed, a small nightstand, that long ago belonged to my Grandma, and a dresser, that actually began life with us as her infant changing table and has yet to be upgraded.  On one wall there is a built-in book case (filled to capacity) and a small nook that her dad converted into a working desk.  And that's it!  And, yet, I had NO idea where to begin my search, because Nora's room, is completely filled with crap stuff.  "Stuff" that she simply cannot live without.

To Nora (and hoarders everywhere, I suppose) everything she owns has value, everything has a purpose.  Or contains a special meaning, or memory.   And everything needs to be displayed.  To help with the latter, a few years ago, I gave her a special wall chart--complete with pockets!  A place for her to display her most prized possessions.  And she filled it--full!  Full of photos, drawings, special cards, stories she'd written, poems her sister had written, certificates for perfect attendance, birthday party invitations, and thank-you notes for gifts given at said birthday parties.  And that's just to name a few!   But then there was no more room.

So what did she do?  She moved on to the walls, of course.   And on this day,  I no longer saw the beautiful, butter yellow walls that I know are in there, (because I painted them).  Instead, I saw "Nora's Life," in collage.  I saw her hand-made paper bag puppets, used targets from the gun range, horse posters, maps of America, letters from her teachers, notes from her sister, pictures of her girlfriends.  I even saw a sandwich baggie filled with some of my old junk!  Namely, an old race finisher's medal and a pair of old Christmas socks.  (I. don't. know. why.) And, because she likes her "stuff" organized, she labeled it:  "My Mom's Old Stuff," before proudly hanging it on the edge of her book case.   (Ironically, she gained possession of these goodies whilst I was in the midst of one of my own "clean out my closet" sessions.  But, while I was busy making "keep," "throw away," and "donate" piles, Nora was right behind me, rummaging for her next treasure!  What's that old expression?  One (wo)man's junk is another (wo)man's treasure?

Herein lies one of the biggest differences between mother and daughter:  I don't keep "stuff."  And despite the state that you will very likely find my desk in, should you stop by unannounced,  I hate clutter.   I have designated one closet shelf for the purpose of keeping special mementos, from the girls or my husband, and that's it! I don't even bring the mail into the house without looking through it, removing the junk mail, and putting it directly into the paper recycling bin. The same goes for Nora's "Monday Folder."  When said folder arrives at home, filled with a week's worth of  school work and notes from school, I follow the same practice:  Look, Sort, Recycle.   Of course, Nora doesn't know this.  She probably thinks I keep every paper she has ever written.  Maybe I should bring her into the loop.  Explain to her the problem one encounters when one refuses to let go of the unnecessary.  Maybe, then, she could regain some wall space.

But it isn't just wall space I'm after.  Nora hasn't restricted the presentation of her treasures to just her bedroom walls.  Oh no!  There is NO free space in this room whatsoever!  Her window sills are lined with an array of toys and tools.  From the old;  a buck tool,  a K'nex car she made with her dad, and a pink plastic flower pot, complete with a bobbing daisy, to her most recent possessions, and mementos of our summer vacation;  a set of handcuffs purchased at a Lodge in Wyoming, and a cowbell given to her by an adoring fan, at the U.S. Pro Cycling Challenge in Boulder, Colorado.

And it doesn't stop there.  Her bed has become a homeless shelter for every stuffed animal in the North Tacoma Territory.  And her "library..." Let's just say it has expanded beyond containment.  Until recently, the overflow simply spilled out onto the floor.  When that became a problem, (i.e. her mom told her to pick them up) she "organized" them, by topic or author,  and neatly stacked them around the perimeter of the room.  But (I ) she didn't like the look of that.  (I) She wanted them contained.  So she brought in my old running shoe boxes, filled them with as many books as she could (which wasn't many) and lined THESE around the room.  But that didn't work either, because she couldn't get the lids to stay closed.  So, in a last ditch effort, she replaced them with my biggest and best  Tupperware and Rubbermaids.  And they worked mom!  Each of her books had found a home.  And her room looked like we had just moved in.

Now, I'm no expert on hoarding,  but I have seen enough day-time T.V. to know that once you choose to box and pile your junk belongings behind your sofa, (or, around the perimeter of your room) rather than recycle, donate, or dispose of it, you probably need some help.

Thus began Project Clean Sweep.  

Since Nora was at school, I only had a few hours to complete my mission and, hopefully, find said wallet.  So it began.  I recycled an entire rubber maid container filled with hand-made paper airplanes! (Is my child the ONLY child who will spend hours making boxes of paper airplanes?)  I threw out the bag of "My Mom's Old Stuff."  I emptied her walls of garbage and ancient letters from school.  I took those old running shoe boxes, and crammed them full of tiny stuffed animals.   And then I hid them under her bed.   At least she can't say I got rid of them.  (The word enabler is suddenly coming to mind.)  

And maybe that's what I am.  Maybe this is all my doing.  Maybe I haven't shown her how to let things go.  But then I looked to her window, and the string of memories lining its base, and realized I couldn't say goodbye to these treasures either.   Wasn't it just yesterday, she and Dave sat at the dining room table, heads bent together, referring to the sheet of directions only when they got stuck, and assembled that K'nex car?  And that pink flower pot?  It was just last Christmas, at her school's Holiday Gift Shop, that I let her buy it; because she'd wanted to have "something pretty in her room."

So I left the car.  And I left the flower pot.  Right next to the cowbell and her buck tool.  I did, however, throw out the stick,  that had been laying there for who knows how long.  In short, I emptied her room of the real junk, and left her the rest--to say goodbye to, when she's ready.

And I'm happy with the results.  Her room looks cleaner, fresher.  The yellow walls seem to shine a little brighter.  Her bed now has plenty of space for me to sit and read with her at night.  And, most importantly, tucked deep inside her sister's hand-me-down purse, underneath a bandanna-wrapped feast for one (three very hard, very old Fig Newtons, one package of Toy Story Fruit Snacks, and one brown Tootsie-Pop), I found the missing wallet! 

Hidden inside this little satchel:
Nora's Little  Meal to Go

It makes sense to keep her wallet in her purse, that's what we girls do.  What I don't know is why she stashed a pouch-full of snacks in there as well.  Was she preparing for The Next Big One?  Was she recently upset with her family and planning to run away, hobo style?  Or was she just making sure she had something to get her through the night the next time pizza is on the dinner menu?  (Yes, I have a child who does not like pizza)  Whatever her reason was, at the time--it was important to her.   

Thus, Nora (and her purse) clearly demonstrate the irony of hoarding.  How despite the value or significance or importance hoarders initially place on their possessions, eventually, like the possessions themselves, the significance and importance are forgotten.  And that's what I'm counting on.  I'm hoping Nora will have forgotten exactly what was hanging on her wall, because it lost its importance. That she won't remember exactly how many stuffed puppies used to reside upon her bed.  Instead, I hope that when she enters her room after school, she will (A) thank me for all my hard work, (I can dream right?) (B) enjoy the serenity her room now offers, and (C) maybe, just maybe, she'll spot the GO RADIO SHACK banner I hung on some cleared wall space--

That's My Girl:  Cheering on her mom's favorite team

so she'll never forget how much fun we had last summer riding bikes, camping, counting antelope, and following Pro Cyclists all around Colorado.  

(Hi.  My name is Sonja.  And I am an Enabler.)