Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Not Everything Can Spark Joy

So we've been decrapifying and cleaning around our house, and this little miss has been downright bossy.

Do you see that look on Stinky's face? That's the face she makes when she's trying to set me on fire. You see, she was disgusted with me because I wanted to keep one of these.

I know. It's a potato masher. In fact, she had the nerve to say to me, "Mom! Does it spark joy?"

I was all "What did you just say to me?! You did not just ask me if my potato masher sparks joy."

She did. 

And basically, it was my own fault on account of I made the mistake of leaving this book on the coffee table for far too long. Never in a million years did I think that Stinky would pick it up and read it from cover to cover. But she did.

I should have known something was up when she started emptying entire rooms to decrapify, organize, and clean, replacing items one at a time and leaving a discarded pile of detritus in the hall.

But I didn't catch on. I've always been a little slow on the uptake.

I just thought it was cute. I used to do the same thing as a kid. To me it was just normal. In my mind I was saying "Score! I have my own little mini me."

Freak, whatever.

This book has become insanely popular, and to give credit where credit is due, Marie Kondo makes some good points. I completely changed the way I think about stuff and I have been able to let go of things that I've been holding onto for years. And I credit this book and that blasted question, does it spark joy?

My complaint, however, lies in the fact that Marie Kondo is slightly whackadoo because she talks to her stuff. Before you discard, donate, or give anything away you must first touch it, answer the question about sparking joy, and then, here's the kicker, you have to thank it for its service. No lie.

I just can't.

I mean, I am all kinds of crazy, but not that kind of crazy.

So anyway, I sort of forgot my point for a minute. I had to give you the back story on the spark joy thing that has become one of my most loathed phrases.

I frequently post screenshots on Facebook of the text messages that Stinkerbell sends me because the kid cracks me up. She comes up with the most bizarre things. It's like I don't even know where she came from.

Except that I gave birth to her, so there's that.

Often she just sends me pictures which convey her feelings.

I get this one from her a lot. I think it must be one of her short cuts, she puts it up so fast.

Are you getting the message?

I exasperate her. Doesn't that beat all? I. Exasperate her. Whatever.

So in this same thread on Facebook where I posted one of her texts, she comments as follows:

I know, I know. Such a pretty name for such a Stinker. You should know that the only time we ever call her Annika is when we're yelling at her.

Most of the time it's just Stinky.

Anyway, she posts the above comment and then just lets it sit for a bit.

Meanwhile I'm freaking out about the dresses in her closet that I know she must have discarded.

And then finally she follows it up with this picture.

The horror.

The dresses are all gone.

Never mind that it's been seven years since she's worn a dress. Let's reminisce, shall we?

I would pay to see her wear this outfit again. Big money.

And this is one of my favorite pictures. I dedicated a post to this picture titled Juxtaposition, in which Peanut Head instructs the girls on how to put their troops in formation and spot and pick off the officers in battle.

So the dresses really are gone, and as I look around my house I'm seeing less clutter and more of what sparks joy.

Except this. This does not spark joy. I really just need it to mash potatoes, so I kept it. Against her wishes.

A lot of other things that did not spark joy were kicked to the curb though.

And my kitchen cupboards are looking more tidy than they've ever been before.

I'm not ashamed to say that we threw out food that expired in 2010.

Apparently it did not spark joy.

I am most happy about our baking cupboard. It was a hideous mess. I might of threatened my family somewhere along the lines of "I will cut you if you mess up this cupboard."

That ought to spark fear in their hearts.

The bad news is that Marie Kondo went and wrote a sequel.

Damn her.

This is how I feel about her sequel.