Brave Enough to Get it Done

Our dining room table isn't used for dining. At all. It's more of a storage table. For junk. And lots of it. The Hubster has been asking me to clean it for maybe a year now. (exaggeration. maybe.) It's an eyesore.

I think the last time I cleaned it was in June for Baby Miss' 1/2 Birthday Party, which is actually her real birthday party. (A story for another time.) As soon as the party was over, it's almost as if the junk came from their hiding places, exhaled, and walked right back to their spots.

We received a small break today from the girls and there were a ton of things I planned to do, including taking a nap. But when The Hubster went upstairs and I turned to follow, the table called my name. It was  a mortifying desperate cry for help. I felt obliged to save the poor thing, so I cleaned it.

When I push things off they become almost as heavy as an extra limb. The piles add up, and the task gets pushed to the bottom of my list every day. The list that transitions from a 'To-Do' List, to an 'Eh. Whenever You Find the Time' List. I can't sleep and I slowly start to feel depressed about it. Yes, depressed! Instead of just fixing it, I continue to avoid it. Like cleaning the toilets. And when I finally do the task, the weight is lifted and I can breathe. Though it took me forever to finally do, I'm glad I bravely faced the haunting piles of clutter on our dining room table, which isn't used for dining.