Extreme Decluttering 101: Everything I Learned From Tackling My Messy House

Confession: I've always liked throwing stuff away, and I've always been quick to get rid of stuff that served no purpose. At least I thought I was.

But this spring I discovered a YouTuber called The Minimal Mom and long story short, ended up getting rid of 50% of our belongings. 

During an intense two months of attic-to-basement decluttering, here are some invaluable lessons I learned about figuring out how to live with less.

1. Invest in a "Maybe" Bin

When I first embarked on my decluttering journey, I kept the things I couldn't live without and put everything else in a temporary "maybe" bin. I was really aggressive about putting things in the "maybe" bin because nothing was permanent: if I regretted not having something, I could always take it back out and forget it ever happened.

I planned to keep things in the bin for 6 months as a test run of minimalism, but I was surprised to find that most of the time it only took about 10 minutes. The act of physically separating an item from the collection of "my stuff," then stepping back to look at my decluttered closet/shelf/cupboard and seeing that I still felt good about it, made letting go of things shockingly easy. 

After decluttering the entire house and garage from top to bottom, I think I ultimately took about five things back out of the "maybe" bin.

2. Consider a Tattoo that Says "Do I Use This?"

I'd done my fair share of decluttering before, but now that I was serious about it I approached each item we owned with the question "Do we use this?" instead of "Could we use this?" (It's super-important to note that these are two completely different questions.)

Honestly answering the question "Do we use this?" helped me part with items I've kept for years but could've been stolen by a burglar in the night and I most likely never would've known the difference.

If I got stuck on any item, I'd ask a follow-up question: "Would my life be any different without this?" It helped to acknowledge that getting rid of many things wouldn't negatively impact my life, it would only make the house less cluttered and easier to clean.

3. If You Won't Regret It, Get Rid of It

I encountered plenty of items that passed the "do we use this?" test, but I still got rid of them because they weren't adding very much value to my life. These two questions helped me identify those items:

• "Will I miss this?" 
• "What would happen if this item was gone?"

"Will I miss this?" helped me part with clothes I still wore but didn't particularly like. If I had other clothes I liked better, was I ever going to regret getting rid of that cream-colored sweater that shrunk a little in the dryer?

"What would happen if this was gone?" helped when I came across a cache of thermoses in my kitchen. If I didn't have the large size, I'd feel annoyed for less than a second and make do with the medium one, so I decided to donate it. 

Everything is a trade-off, and I decided that for me, the convenience of keeping an item has to justify the inconvenience of having to clean, maintain, organize, and store it.

4. We Become Immune to Our Stuff

Everything in our home multiplies, including furniture, decor on the walls and tabletops, and the contents of every cupboard, closet, and drawer. I think this is because we keep adding stuff, only "seeing" the new pieces and not the ones that were already there. 

Less than two years ago, I bought a storage cabinet because our family's scriptures and church books were scattered all over the house and we desperately needed a place for them. But once I purged the bookshelf we already had, it turned out there was plenty of room for them in there. 

I moved our church stuff into the bookshelf, sold the cabinet we'd apparently never needed, and learned a valuable lesson: don't add anything new to your house until you look around at what's already there. 

5. We Don't Have Time for All the Things... and That's Okay

For me, the kids' stuff was the hardest to declutter. We had a large craft cabinet, game cupboard, activity shelf, and a bunch of toys that rotated in and out of the attic. They were all perfectly good things that the kids played with. 

Well, when they remembered those things were there, anyway.

Eventually, I came to the realization that my kids don't have time to play with every good toy in existence (just like I don't have time to read every good book or visit every exciting place in the world) ...and that's okay. 

Decluttering is, at the heart of it, acknowledging that we have limitations on our time. In the end, I made peace with the fact that the kids will play with whatever we have, and they won't play with whatever we don't have, and either way they'll be just fine. (And, by the way, I didn't get rid of anything without their knowledge.)

6. Get Rid of Duplicate Items

We are a family of eight people who eat virtually every meal at home, so I honestly thought we needed two cheese graters, six spatulas, two sets of measuring cups, and eight mixing bowls... because we used all of them!

But I realized the duplicates were actually part of the problem with my messy kitchen. If something was dirty, we'd just grab the second (or third) duplicate instead of washing it, and so it would go, and by the end of every day the dirty dishes were stacked sky-high.

Once we got rid of the duplicates, we could no longer make that enormous stack if we tried. With fewer dishes, we end up washing the same number of things in a 24-hour period — but now the counter stays clean in between loads. 

I've known for a long time that a perpetually messy kid's room is a sign of having too many toys, but I guess the same principles also applies to kitchens, too.

7. You'll Feel Relieved

Did you know our stuff can make us feel bad? Me, neither. But as I decluttered, some very strange things happened.

For example, I got rid of a dress I love and a wave of relief washed over me. Why? Because years ago, the undershirt that goes with it went missing, and I'd been hanging onto the dress ever since in the hopes of finding a new shirt that could work. It wasn't until I finally decided to donate the dress that I realized I'd been feeling bad every time I saw it hanging in the closet, unable to be worn.

Later that same week, my daughter told me she was glad we pared down the craft supplies. She'd grown into other interests, but the presence of those unused craft supplies made her feel guilty about not using them. Meanwhile, I had no idea she even remembered they were even there.

It's kind of hard to describe the contented feeling of looking around a room and knowing that everything in it is something you use and love, but that's what I love most about decluttering. I'm more likely to fix broken things or deal with paperwork now instead of putting it off, and more motivated to clean up because it doesn't take all day to make a difference. 

And that's really saying something, because I hate cleaning.

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A Gallery Exhibition of Artwork by My Children

Welcome to FOUND ART! 

Found Art is a virtual exhibition highlighting work from six accomplished artists, ages 2 through 14, who I happen to have birthed and raised. 

The pieces in this collection employ a variety of materials and styles, but they are all what French-American sculptor and painter Marcel Duchamp called "found art." 

Found art challenges assumptions of what constitutes fine art, and the six artists featured in this exhibition love to do nothing more than challenge. 

As the head curator of this collection, I sincerely hope you enjoy viewing their work.

 

Wall Motif #1 

Wax crayon on drywall

Free-flowing circular lines evoke a feeling of urgency in this monochromatic work. The shades of green represent the regenerative power of art, while the concentric circles hint at the artist's relentless drive to create wherever and whenever the muse strikes.

Upon the Minivan Floor: A Meditation 

Mixed media

Half archaeological dig, half treatise on the chaos of domestic life, Meditation features a long line of child-centric debris that eventually disappears from view into the No Man's Land that is the minivan's third row of seats. Note the artist's deliberate use of multiples — jackets, water bottles, baby dolls — to highlight the excesses of modern childhood.

Across a Driveway 

Plastic on asphalt

The glee evoked by the vibrant reds and cool blues of the ride-on toys in this colorful panorama is offset by the unnatural stillness of the scene. A dramatic shadow hovers over half of the abandoned toys, symbolizing the yin and yang of existence and calling into question exactly who is going to drag them all back into the garage before it rains. 

Digital Art 2.0

Graphite on computer monitor

People have been creating computer generated art for decades, but what if you just drew directly on the monitor instead? This piece is a conversation about reimagining digital art as we know it — and as suggested by the visual imbalance of negative space in the top left corner, the dialogue remains unfinished.

Sunday Morning Breakfast 

2% milk on wood veneer table, upholstery, and hardwood

The artist has obviously served himself breakfast without assistance, as indicated by the Rorschach-like patterns created by the blobs of pasteurized milk dripping from the table and chair in the foreground. Thoughtful and enigmatic, this psychological work reminds viewers with children why they should never, ever sit down without looking first.

Discarded Clothing 

Poly-cotton blend, faux leather on floor

Liminal space represents an area of physical or metaphorical transition from one place to another. With iconic efficiency, the artist recreates the essence of liminal space by leaving 100% of her dirty clothing on the floor in a way that almost resembles a living body. One practically expects it to get up and walk to the dirty hamper of its own accord... but it never does.

Afternoon Snack 

Stick of butter in wax paper

It remains somewhat ambiguous whether the artist has (1) inexplicably started buttering toast from the middle of the stick, or (2) simply grabbed it with both hands and started devouring it like a salted ear of corn on the cob. Either way, undertones of anarchy are woven into this gritty visual narrative that breaks down some of our most basic social norms.

Home From School 

Backpacks, shoes, and coats in mudroom

This vignette of after-school pandemonium shows bookbags and outerwear flung haphazardly throughout the communal space nearest to the door. Upon closer examination, we can discern that each object was dropped precisely where the artist removed it from his/her person; absolutely no attempt was made to put anything away in its designated place.

A Kitchen Helper

Unbleached all-purpose flour on everything

With humor and whimsy, this piece analyzes the true cost of baking with children. Its composition leads the viewer's gaze from the broad flour strokes on the counter to the abstract splatter on the trash can, then down to the spectral handprints which suggest that our artist is at this very moment running through the house covered in flour.

The Changing of the Roll  

Charmin with repurposed toilet paper roll holder

Part of a recurring installation in our bathroom, this work pushes the boundaries between innovative genius and lazy slob. What really qualifies as changing the toilet paper, anyway? The nonsensical scene is reminiscent of surrealism, a 20th century artistic movement featuring the irrational juxtaposition of images such as this stupid toilet paper shelf we seem to have now.

A Bookshelf 

Bound paper (hardback and paperback)

In this bird's eye depiction of toddler life, the focal point is the empty second shelf that has been unburdened of all its books. After removing each volume at eye level and thrusting it aggressively to the floor, the artist has arranged it in the format of a seemingly random collage. 

Reflections 

Broken glass on tile

Reflections is an allegorical piece that discusses the existence of transcendental beauty in a broken world. Using reflected light and fragmented lines as a commentary on love and loss, this evocative work is the reason I still wear shoes whenever I walk around in this room.

Empty Cream Cheese Wrapper 

Tin foil in refrigerator

With photographic realism, this piece captures the rage-inducing moment yet another empty container is discovered in the refrigerator. It's simultaneously infuriating and perplexing: why would the artist bother walking across the kitchen to return the foil to the refrigerator instead of throwing it away? WHY?

—   —   —   —

For more information on the exhibition, its curator, or its contributing artists, please visit www.UnremarkableFiles.com or follow Unremarkable Files on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or Pinterest.

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2020 in 12 Photos

I almost feel responsible for the unexpected way 2020 went, because it was the first year that Phillip and I got our acts together enough to sit down on January 1st and plan out our entire year. We should've known that was asking for disaster.

We were going to travel! Use every one of his vacation days to the fullest! It was going to be such a great year!

And in a lot of ways, it was a wonderful year for our family — just not in any of the ways we were envisioning.

This year I blogged less than I have in any other year, probably because for the last nine months the kids have all been home 24/7. By the time I'm finished getting everyone snacks, it's about time to go to bed.

In January, I watched Cool Runnings with the kids, stayed up late reading a book about cadavers, and got a cold for the first and last time this year. (Turns out that when my kids aren't allowed to lick other kids at school they bring home way fewer germs. Weird.)

I wrote 56 practical tips for raising independent kids, my daughter chose an unusual violin mantra, our Christmas tree from 2019 just wouldn't die, and we went to the library and ended up watching a fire dancer.

I learned in February that if you've never seen 6 excited kids meeting 10 excited puppies, you don't know what chaos is. 

My 8-year-old got in trouble for running up a $200 tab on her school lunch account (guess it's all that independence I wrote about in January.) I tricked Phillip into making a triceratops cake and remembered why I was so exhausted when the kids were little and I had to drag them all to the store all the time.

We got new couches and I took a 90-minute dip in a sensory deprivation tank. I also took a shot at being wise and cobbled together 30 lessons I've learned from 15 years of parenting.

Watching everything grind to a halt in March felt like watching a car accident happen in slow motion. The kids were slightly disappointed when all their things were canceled, but we adapted. Having home church and spending so much time together ended up being a huge blessing.

Phillip finished his grow-a-beard experiment and ended it by trolling his parents into thinking he'd shaved it into a bushy 1980s mustache.

Lastly, an obscene amount of traffic suddenly started arriving at my post 20 Things to Do When You're Trapped Indoors with Tiny Humans, which unfortunately was a sarcastic post I'd written years ago that was no help whatsoever for beleaguered parents in quarantine, so I decided to write a real one.

Quarantine still felt like an excessive April Fool's joke, but we tried to make the best of it. Phillip made some serious progress on finishing the basement while the kids and I floated homemade boats in our driveway puddle and made up themed days of the week.

We watched General Conference and made one teensy visit to urgent care so the 6-year-old could get his head stapled shut. Apparently where there's a will there's a way, and kids can hurt themselves even when they aren't allowed to leave the house or see other children.

My blog joined Instagram but just between you and me, I think I'm about 10 years to old to even be on the platform. I have no idea what I'm doing there.

We called 911 when my 11-year-old fell and had a seizure, and in tamer moments, we made our own ice cream and I celebrated my 38th birthday.

After a full year of pleading from the 8-year-old, we finally caved and got two pet rats. Though we love Scout and Piper, both turned out to be pregnant and we lost both litters in the most traumatic way; none of us even want to talk about it.

We got in touch with nature and made birch beer floats from scratch (we boiled sticks from the woods and everything) and played with a mole we caught in the yard. 

On the blog, I published some musings on when you're done having babies as well as a roundup of 7 Zoom features I wish I could use in real life. 

In July we bought a van! Our old one was on its last legs and hardly made it to the dealership. I also wrote what reality shows would be like if parents wrote them.

With nothing else to do all summer, our calendar was wide open for our annual pretend trip around the world. Usually we have enough free time to cover 4 or 5 countries; this summer we covered 9. 

This month we lost our minds over falafel in Israel (in general it was a really good summer for international food), visited a butterfly garden in Mexico, and got totally confused about how Komodo dragons work in Indonesia.

In August, we took a family camping trip to the most beautiful campsite I've ever been to in my life... even if it did have pit toilets.

In our continuing fake trip around the world, we learned about Morocco, Thailand, Saudi Arabia, Cuba, and Somalia (my favorite moment: when we sat down to watch a movie about Somali pirates and the standard pre-show warning came on that "piracy is not a victimless crime.")

In real life, we sourced two huge couches from Facebook Marketplace and put them stadium-style in the basement to watch movies, I fell in love with Alanis Morisette all over again, and the kids entertained themselves with a bag of rice and a package of balloons for an entire weekend.

Society hesitantly decided to try life again this month. My 14-year-old had a weird outdoor masked violin recital and the kids started hybrid school, which sure made for different "first day of school" pictures than in years past.

We met our friendly neighborhood black bear for the first time (but not the last one), my 9x13" pan shattered in the oven, and I was almost maimed by shards of glass from an exploding bottle. 

It was an exciting month.

I could not stop drooling over the fall colors in October. This unedited picture was taken with my about 15 minutes from my house. (I don't have a nice camera, I just live on the cover of a Hallmark card.)

I enjoyed the simple moments like watching a tree removal company at work with my little boys, and even when our town made the jerk move of cancelling trick-or-treating at the last minute we still had a great time at home. 

I got trapped in a giant hedge maze with a child who needed to pee and stayed up until 2 A.M. making a massive rainbow surprise birthday cake. On the blog, I suggested some new parenting-related dictionary entries for consideration by Merriam-Webster. 

In November, I started teaching my oldest how to drive, Phillip turned 40, and we took a quick couple's trip to a little artsy town on the coast while our kids held down the fort at home. 

A friend's teenager taught me how to use a record player and my 9-year-old talked us into letting her get a crayfish named Phredd. Phredd kind of creeps us all out, but it's not his fault. We're just not that into disgusting-looking crustaceans.

Since we didn't really go anywhere (remember all those plans we made at the beginning of the year? Pfft.) Phillip took all his vacation in a big chunk at Christmastime and got a ton of work done on the house. 

The kids drew names for "Secret Sibling" and told the secret immediately, but I guess it's the thought that counts. We also waited too long and couldn't find a Christmas tree anywhere, so we had to improvise and I actually loved the end result.

2020 was an unconventional year that called for bottomless reserves of adaptability, understanding, and resilience. Pretty much everything from March onward was either canceled or bore little resemblance to how it usually looks. 

But it was a year where my kids became better friends and our family scripture study became more regular and meaningful. I think we're all thriving, and a lot of it is directly due to the unique circumstances 2020 handed to us.

Happy New Year's, and see you in 2021!

(Want more? Never fear, you can still read the Evans family's "12 Photos" updates from 2019. 2018. 2017, 2016, and 2015!)

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Zoom Features I Wish I Could Apply to My Life

Before COVID-19, I had no idea how many things could be done virtually.

School, music lessons, church... my son's Gymnastic Ninja class has moved to Zoom, people.

I'll let that sink in.

At first I may have underestimated the power of Zoom, but now that I'm a believer here are 7 features of the videoconferencing app that I'd love to incorporate into my daily life:

1. Muting People

Nothing would revolutionize parenting more than the addition of a "mute participants" button. This is hands-down the #1 feature I would transfer from Zoom to my real life if I could.

Just think of it: no more stories about video games. No more plot summaries of animated movies that are longer than the actual movie.  No more made-up songs where 80% of the lyrics are the word "butt."

I'm getting a little teary-eyed just thinking about it.

2. Waiting Room

If life were a Zoom call and I was the host, I could send the participants to a waiting room until I was ready.

This would obviously be useful in a lot of situations, but probably most of all 5 AM when the kids are at my bedside trying to pry my eyelids open and asking for cereal.

I could also use a waiting room when they're literally lined up behind me waiting for help with tangled shoelaces, minor wounds, and errant mobile devices. Or when someone is going ballistic outside the bathroom door because I've been in there for 10 seconds and they need a cheese stick.

3. Change Your Background

Do you know what could really boost my morale when I'm hunched over the washing machine doing an infinity's worth of laundry? A change of scenery.

My neighbor sets her Zoom background to one of her latest vacation photos, and that sounds pretty good to me.

A white sand beach with some palm trees instead of a floor littered with sofa cushions and a pair of underwear someone tossed on the mantel three days ago would be a nice change of pace.

4. Turn Off Your Video

When I drop the kids off at school, fate ensures I don't see anyone on the mornings when I'm wearing real clothes and am reasonably well-groomed.

It's only when I look like Nick Nolte's mug shot that I have to get out of the car and end up trapped in a conversation about the upcoming PTA fundraiser.

What I wouldn't give for the "turn off video" option at moments like these. If I could've chosen for everyone not to see me looking like a bridge troll, I 100% would have.

5. Automatically Record a Meeting

In our family, we like to sit down with the kids for periodic family meetings. The meeting agenda goes like this: "Mom's about to lose her freaking mind and this is what you guys have to start doing ASAP unless you want me to drop you all off at the fire station."

The kids are contrite. Of course we'll start cleaning up after ourselves, Mother! Of course we'll help out more around the house! We had no idea we were causing you such distress. Never fear, our constant bickering will cease this instant! 

What I really need, though, is for those family meetings to be automatically recorded because 15 minutes later the kids have completely forgotten they ever happened.

6. Screen Sharing

During meetings with his coworkers, my husband finds it helpful to illustrate his points by sharing screenshots and diagrams. This is a feature I could really use with our kids, to be honest.

There are certain seemingly simple concepts that no amount of nagging, lecturing, or explaining can help them understand, like how to flush the toilet or stay seated in a chair during a meal. I think they need a visual.

Would it help if I could share an infographic on bathroom etiquette or the importance of not running around smearing peanut butter all over the house during lunch? I don't know for sure. But I'd love to be able to try.

7. Touch Up My Appearance

I recently learned there's a box on Zoom that says "touch up my appearance." When checked, it applies a skin-smoothing filter to your camera so you look better than you actually do.

I don't generally think of myself as a vain person, but I could totally use this feature in my real life. Especially during that postpartum period when you feel like a shapeless blob and have no time to sleep or shower. (FYI to new moms, this period lasts until your child is about 10 so you're in this for the long haul.)

—  —  —  —

Everything is done through videoconferencing these days, and now that my favorite Zoom features have become such a big part of my life, it's easy to see places where I'd love to incorporate them offline.

Is that realistic or even possible? I'm not sure, but after this whole Coronavirus lockdown one thing is for sure: I wouldn't be surprised by anything anymore.

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For Those About to Shop, We Salute You

These people are too happy and the Internet is a lie.

Something that truly amazes me about parenting is our capacity to forget.

As soon as you leave a particularly challenging stage, mom-nesia wipes your memory clean like it never even happened.

This is helpful when you're considering giving birth a second time, but not, for instance, a few Saturdays ago.

Now that 3 of my 6 kids are old enough to babysit, I rarely take a gaggle of tiny humans grocery shopping anymore.

But for some reason I can't quite remember (again with the mom-nesia,) I loaded up the 3 youngest kids in the minivan one fine Saturday to do just that.

By the time we were finished, I was ready to drive the cart off a cliff.

It all starts the moment the automatic double doors swoosh open. First, no one wants to sit in the shopping cart; then everyone does. After intense negotiations, I situate the 3-year-old in the seat and the 5-year-old in the basket of the cart, and we roll to the dairy aisle with my 8-year-old skipping alongside.

The 3-year-old yanks on the seat belt in the cart, becoming visibly upset. "This seat belt is too small!"

"You don't need it," I explain, beginning to wonder if it's too late to abandon the cart and just go home to live on half a stale English muffin and five ounces of milk. "That's for babies. You're a big boy and besides, you're wearing a big coat."

"I want my coat off!"

WHY DID I SAY THAT?

The 8-year-old, meanwhile, flits around me like a hummingbird. "Where's your list? I'll read the list!"

She rummages through my pockets and purse while I remove the 3-year-olds' coat and buckle the seat belt for him, which he immediately begins trying to unbuckle.

I find the shopping list and hand it to her, reminding the 5-year-old to sit down when the cart is moving or he'll fall out. He remains unconvinced.

"I can't read your handwriting!" the 8-year-old complains, turning my list this way and that like Gaston looking at Belle's book in Beauty and the Beast. "You have really bad writing, Mommy."

"I can't un-BUUUUUCKLE it!" the 3-year-old yowls like a wounded animal.

I look around in despair, realizing that we will literally never leave this grocery store, or even this aisle, without divine intervention.

The 8-year-old, having abandoned the idea of reading my chicken scratch grocery list, is sitting on the rack at the bottom of the cart, directly under the 3-year-old, who is kicking her in the head. "Hey!" she yells. "Stop kicking me!"

"There's nowhere else for his feet to go," I say, exasperated.

We stop for a pep talk in the bacon aisle. "Look, guys: we are never going to leave here if you don't help Mommy. No buckling seat belts, no kicking anyone in the head. Do you want to stay here for the rest of your lives?"

They don't, and so we move on.

For about 20 seconds.

"He's kicking me!" the 8-year-old protests, as if she wasn't part of the conference next to the processed meats thirty seconds ago.

"Hey! I want to sit down there!" the 5-year-old pipes up from the basket of the cart.

"No! No one is sitting down there. Everyone is staying right where they are."

But it's too late. Now that the idea of leaving their assigned seats has occurred to both the 3-year-old and the 5-year-old, resistance is futile.

The 5-year-old goes to join his sister who is spinning in the middle of the aisle, while the 3-year-old heads right for the closest package festooned with Disney characters and asks "Can I have this?"

I look at the Frozen II string cheese he's clutching to his heart and wonder  How can string cheese be character-themed? That doesn't even make sense.

"If you can tell me what that is," I bluff, looking him straight in the eye, "then yes, I will get it for you."

Of course, he has no idea.

Things calm down for a little while. My kids are generally well-behaved, but I quickly realize that even when they're being good, three kids take up a lot of space.

No matter where they go they're in someone's way, so while I'm trying to comparison shop for pickles (Sandwich Cut! Chips! Whole Baby! Sweet Gherkin!) I'm also reaching behind me grabbing kids who I hope are mine and pulling them out of the path of speeding shopping carts.

No one — and I repeat: no one — is more oblivious than a kid in a grocery store.

Absolutely zero awareness that people are trying to get around them. No concept that darting in front of an old lady could end in a coronary episode.

And as luck would have it, today happens to be the Saturday before the Superbowl so the store is packed. When I turn around I see an actual line of shoppers rage-waiting behind my 5-year-old for their chips and dip while he stands smack in the middle of the aisle going like this:

Another thing I notice: if I take the 3-year-old shopping while his siblings are in school, he asks for frosted animal crackers, I say no, and that's that. But now he has cohorts to pick up the whine train when he leaves off, and frankly it's too early in the morning for that.

Now they're fighting over who gets to "help" drive the cart (spoiler alert: they're all terrible drivers.) They're clotheslining pyramid-like displays of Roma tomatoes. They're chucking apples in the produce bag like baseballs. I think I see one of them lick a green pepper.

The produce department is kind of a blur.

Finally, we arrive at the checkout with a mountain of food spilling out of the cart and three children hanging off the sides like a merry band of pirates.

While I'm settling an argument about who gets to put the cheese on the conveyor belt, the 8-year-old waves around a carton of eggs like she's going for the gold in Olympic ribbon dancing.

I make a token attempt to tell the kids to stop manhandling all the candy bars, but my 5-year-old could start playing with live explosives right now and I'd probably let it slide. I can see the exit from here.

So close, and yet so far. 

As we cross the parking lot, I'm in the middle of warning the 3-year-old not to stand on the front of the cart or he could get run over when (drumroll, please) I drive over his foot.

Bump bump! like running over a badger on the side of the highway. There are literal wheel tracks on his shoe.

He's fine, although it takes a while for him to calm down and we're blocking traffic. I scoop him up in my arms and push the cart to the van with my pinky finger as the 8-year-old announces "Make way! World's Best Mom coming through!"

At least I think that's what she's saying. I can't hear because the 3-year-old is crying in my ear.

Somehow we get everyone in their car seats. Somehow we make it home. Another week's shopping completed.

And that, dear children, is why five or ten years from now, when you're strong enough to carry a gallon of milk into the house, you'll help unload the groceries. When you whine, "Do I haaaaaave to?" the answer will always be yes. 

Yes, you do. You owe me.

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13 Hilariously Appropriate Sympathy Cards for Parents

Dear Hallmark:

The last time I was browsing in the card aisle, I noticed a startling lack of sympathy cards appropriate for parents. You're missing out on a very large market of exhausted and overwhelmed consumers.

I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty to draw up a few new designs for parent sympathy cards you may want to consider in the future.

Please see the attached list of suggestions.

Sincerely,
Jenny from Unremarkable Files


1. A trying season for any elementary school parent.

2. Check on your friends with toddlers. They are not okay.

3. For the parent trying to put kids to sleep after a sugar high... or wake them up in the morning.

4. Words are inadequate to express the amount of work this is going to be.

5. For those wandering the aisles of Staples looking for tri-fold boards at 9 P.M.

6. It's even less fun when you're the one cleaning it up.

7. We just want to go home.

8. He'll never stay in bed again.

9. Better buy some toothpicks to prop your eyes open.

10. For parents questioning whether vacations are worth it.

11. For the inevitable self-haircut you know is coming.

12. When you aren't watching it, you're listening to them talk about it.

13. It's okay. It had to happen sometime.

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