I admit it, I’m a type B, and I’m proud of it. Although, I must admit when push comes to shove–gasp!–I’ve got Type A tendencies. There I’ve said it. You know where I’m coming from. It’s where the shit hits the fan, and things just gotta get done. Although most people would probably nicely sum up those qualities in three little words “master of procrastination”. I do indeed revel in my type B category, but life does seem to dictate the need to kick it into high gear every now and then. You know exactly what I mean. “Mom, didn’t I tell you that you are chaperoning for tomorrow’s school trip, oh and by the way you have to bring a snack for the whole class.” Um, no, son, you really didn’t. So, through no fault of your own, you have to switch into type A overdrive.
But, back to topic–I really do admire those type A’s out there. It’s so refreshing to walk into a home that’s not strewn with hidden cheese stick wrappers, missing lego parts that you know goes to some set somewhere lurking everywhere but where they are supposed to be, and juice stains that result from not insisting that my kids slug back their refreshments in the kitchen. I just don’t have that discipline to lay down the law all the time–I have a tough enough time keeping my own things in order, then throw in two kids and a husband, and whew, chaos ensues.
I also secretly pine for a house beautiful home, but yet deep in my heart I know I’m most comfortable in a comfortable clutter. I yearn for being able to see my countertops at all times–and believe it or not that sometimes happens, but usually in the wake of company coming to visit. What makes it worse, is my husband is also a member of the comfortable clutter club, and when you add the two of us together, you can imagine the disarray that results. But I have to stay the effort required to keep things in “Type A Order”, would make me batty, and I am much happier knowing I have food in the fridge, clothes on my back, and still am able to enjoy a bit of time outdoors as a result of not slaving over perfect order in my home.
So, I guess I’ll just have to be happy with my type B status, and be grateful for the glimmers into the type A world. I can always wish I might strive to get there, but am secretly hoping I never quite make it, as I’ll ditch my organzing duties in a heartbeat for the chance to get out there and do something and feel the wind in my hair–and that my friend is what makes me happy to be alive!