I called my mother last night to see if she had sorted the papers that I asked her to. Of course, I didn’t want it to seem that a stack of papers was my main reason for calling, so after I made small talk for a couple of minutes I asked, “Were you able to go through any of those papers in the kitchen?” Truthfully, I didn’t know what to expect. Would she make any progress at all? She tends to sleep late on her days off and always wakes up with a splitting headache or a stomach pain or an earache and spends her day in the recliner watching her story. She responded, “Mm-hmm, and I cleaned off the end of the counter again in the kitchen.” I pushed her a little on the “mm-hmm.” “So you went through all the papers in that tub and the tote?,” I questioned. “Well, I went through part of them and plan to do some more tonight,” which is Mom’s code for I will not be doing all of that today. But hey, I’ll take what I can get.
Today my hubby and I transported papers, magazines, a computer modem, and a cellphone from my parents’ house to the recycling center. I feel just a tiny bit lighter, as though my lungs can expand more fully to allow me to breathe a little deeper.
House of Hoarders 