This isn’t a post beautifully written (even if I could…) about the lessons I have learned from preparing for a move around the world. Not about patience, about acceptance, about calm in the midst of chaos, lemons out of lemonade. It’s about none of that. It’s about the mess. The huge emotional, physical and psychological mess I find myself in. It’s about getting the blah out. Pure and simple processing on the page. WARNING: So if you are a cup is half-full kinda guy or gal or someone who hates complaining of any kind, you might want to stop reading now (and for all 3 of you who read this blog, thank you for humoring me!). If you want to continue, I apologize now for dragging you into the mess.

I’m just going to lay it out there—I HATE mess. My friends and family know that I hate dirt, dust, grime, clutter and mess of any kind. Every Christmas I ask for a vacuum, dust buster or steamer, I am embarrassed to write. I am literally afraid of whatever is on the sidewalks and on the subway floors, seats and poles of NYC. I do whatever is in my power to keep all of that at bay or get rid of it: We don’t wear shoes in the house, I steam clean our apartment all the time, the girls take a bath EVERY SINGLE NIGHT of their lives, we don’t even wear the same uniform more than one day in a row before it gets washed. (And I don’t have a washing machine in our apartment). In a small space such as ours, if things aren’t put away and cleaned up, the household falls apart or seems to in my mind. It’s the broken window theory. Remember from Sociology 101 or the Giuliani administration? According to Wikipedia, “the theory states that maintaining and monitoring urban environments to prevent small crimes such as vandalism, public drinking, and toll-jumping helps to create an atmosphere of order and lawfulness, thereby preventing more serious crimes from happening.” If the kitchen table is littered with dishes, homework, princess paints, magnetic blocks, etc. Dan will inevitably come home and put his tie, jacket, and other work related stuff on top of that pile of stuff. If the table is clear of debris, his stuff will most likely get put away.

Friends, you won’t believe me, but I HATE cleaning. It really annoys me. I am COMPELLED to be so thorough and start at the beginning when all I want to do is curl up with a coffee (or wine, depending on the time of day) and read to my kids sitting on a pile of MESS, but it’s almost impossible. If you came over right now you would see my unmade bed, my kids’ unmade beds, laundry bags full of freshly cleaned laundry on the floor, breakfast dishes on the counter and in the sink, and Mia’s toy trains and blueberries from breakfast all over the floor. And you may think, “totally normal for a household with young kids.” What you may not know is that last night every single thing was cleaned, put away and organized. And within 5 minutes of my kids being awake this morning, it’s now in it’s current state. It’s an exercise in futility to clean up after young kids ALL DAY LONG, and to do it to the extent I am compelled to. As Einstein said, “Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” Yup. I am so tired.

To be able to write this blog or run my business in a house that is in a constant state of entropy isn’t easy and requires letting go. I long to be one of those people (like my eldest daughter and husband) who literally can’t see the mess. Oblivion! How I long for you! But I am not and never have been that kind of gal (I used to have to clean and organize my entire bedroom growing up before I could start my homework) so I have to put the housework that I hate doing out of my head to get done what I want or need to get done. Let it go and know that the mess will be there in a half hour for me to clean up. (Anyone else spend 2 hours a morning just getting their space into functional form so that the day can go smoothly? I know tons of you do. Isn’t it tiring?) And if apple juice is spilled at breakfast onto a phone and homework, and the sports bottle leaks all over the lunchbox, and kids in tights step in it on their way out the door, well, it just might take a bit longer than 2 hours. The good news is that I am able to let some of this go because the house was thoroughly cleaned yesterday and while it’s messy, it’s not dirty.

I was never OCD before NYC. My theory is that anxiety comes up as a result of the chaos and uncertainty of the city around me and just good ‘ol life in general—and I’m not completely clueless about the psychological factors in my own life that lead me to want to control my immediate environment—years of infertility, job uncertainty/loss, insane bosses, elementary school kids labeled “Emotionally Disturbed” with a million issues that I could do nothing to ameliorate other than putting a bandaid on the current wound. All of that lead me to my need to clean it all up in my own space. Keep it all contained so that my little family has an oasis in this hectic place. And so that I can breathe. So that we can go out and dance, sing and play in the dirt-storm (I want to say S–T STORM, but this is a PG blog for my mom and dad), and come back in, shower it off, and get cozy (and clean).

So what the heck do I do when that cozy, clean haven is moving to INDIA?!? A place that isn’t Singapore—you definitely won’t be arrested for throwing your gum on the ground, let’s be honest. A friend mentioned to me that the pics on this blog make India look like Florida. I definitely didn’t mean to give the impression that things with this move are easy or that the place resembles a vacation destination. (Perhaps I was unconsciously trying to present the best because I have been accused of complaining too much. I can go to the negative way too quickly—and it’s because the problems are a more interesting story than the positives. Seeing life as half-full and not complaining as much have been my New Years resolution like 5 years in a row. Or perhaps it’s because that’s the thing about India—there is beauty all over the place. Right next to the mess). Okay, so truth—the air is polluted, the water is undrinkable for those new to the scene, and there are piles of trash on the side of the roads in communities with and without money. I am not trying to be in any way insensitive, so please forgive the bluntness if it comes across as such. But what do I do to keep the chaos (and anxiety) at bay? I do what I always do, start at the beginning, turn over those bath toys and scrub the mold, pull up that carpet and vacuum those crumbs.

With the move to India, it has become all about setting up our environment—and now that we have secured that (hopefully), it’s about setting up that environment. So stuff. Moving stuff from here has become the biggest concern. What to bring, what to leave, donate, sell, store. And how does the move work? Ship, fly? When will we meet with the moving company to figure it all out? I need to know for my own peace of mind, which caused a big blow up today with Dan. Bad. Screaming, tears, anger, hang ups. Yes, I hung up the phone. (See the warning above about this not being a pretty post). Which prompted writing this post. To get the feelings and mess out. And maybe to try to explain them. And maybe, although it wasn’t my intention at the start, try to understand and order them. Because that’s how I handle the mess…”Life’s messy, clean it up.” Bissell’s words to live by.