Fifteen Minute Leap

This morning when I staggered into my living room, I realized that the combination of last-minute wrapping and packing, my husband and his brother having an unchaperoned boys' weekend, last night's eleven o'clock billions-of-presents-and-luggage unloading session and this morning's frantic search for items in said luggage, had anhialated my living room. This is what I saw.















It was enough to make a grown woman curl up on the couch with her baby, a chocolate bar, and next semester's textbook, and spend the rest of the afternoon trying to plan a syllabus and deny the fact that the living room carpet had ever, in fact, existed at all.

It was almost enough. Before I could surrender to denial, I started channeling the Flylady.

I laced up my hiking boots and, whispering fiercely that I could do anything for fifteen minutes, I set the timer.

Fifteen minutes yielded this:




Another fifteen and I got this:















And finally, after one last hurrah, I was triumphant.



It was just one small step for the Sanity household, but refusing to give in to clutter was one giant leap for me.