Why Can't I Be A Hoarder

Photo courtesy of blog.shoplet.com

There are times I wished I was a Hoarder. I know it is a mental disorder, so I am not making fun of them, nor do I wish I had a fungus in my Greek noggin that would cause me to always think the way they think.  Life is difficult as it is, so my heart goes out to anyone who must also deal with additional life challenges - like the challenges a real Hoarder must go through.  What I am saying is that I just wished I could let my coconut relax or let some things be a little bit more, just like Hoarders do, but maybe not to the extreme that they do.

I am not particularly fond of cleaning refrigerators, but then again I am not the type who doesn't want to clean their refrigerator unless it is a Presidential Election year either. That would be too intense for me. But my Greek noggin does say it is Ok for me to take the antibacterial wipes and clean the space anytime I move something around in the refrigerator. I am sure that is too intense for many people. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side of the street, or in this case the refrigerator is always moldier on the other side of the street, just sayin' .

I am talking about this now because I thought it was finally time to wash, fold and pack away all of my winter clothes. But when  today's temperature failed to reach anything remotely warm, I am second guessing putting away any winter clothes this year at all because I will just have to get them back in a couple of months. After all, days will be getting shorter in a couple of weeks. But if I just left boxes and bins of clothes littering the house without putting them away, wouldn't that make me a Hoarder-in Training (HIT)?

For years I thought it was normal to make sure clothes hung in closets or tucked away in dresser drawers were folded or hung on hangers with such precision that it would look like they were just purchased from the Gap store. That is why each spring and each fall the swapping out summer clothes for winter clothes and vice versa is such muckery in the Aston house. Because all of the folds and creases have to be done exactly right, a project that should take about 20 minutes takes me several hours.

I don't want so many clothes piled on my bed that I can't even find the bed, like in the cases of many Hoarders. But do I really want to get super stressed out and give myself an aneurism of my Noggin if a pair of jeans didn't get put away properly after doing laundry? I think not...there must be a happy medium and I think it is to become a HIT.

Speaking of laundry, am I the only person who can't talk on the phone and fold clothes at the same time? How many times  do I have to tell Mr. Bricks when he calls me while I am doing laundry that I can not talk and fold at the same time.  He said it must be a blonde greek girl (BGG) thing. I said no I think it is an OCD thing!

Laundry is part of my alone time. I don't want to be all chatty with someone (especially Mr. Bricks) while I am trying to make the perfect creases and the  perfect folds in the newly washed pillow cases, sheets and other laundry. Maybe that is why I like it when I am traveling. I can send all of my laundry out and everything comes back nicely pressed and neatly folded.

Oh good gravy, I just realized I don't have OCD and I am not a HIT, I am just a spoiled Greek girl who wants everything her way and would prefer if others do it for her.

Blessings,

Ava

xox

Signs Your Kid Might Be A Hoarder

Nowadays, it seems like you can't turn on TV without seeing a show about junk hoarders, animal hoarders or kings and queens of clutter! Most of it is so riveting you can't even change the channel, despite knowing you will try eating a few hours later, but won't be able to because of the nauseous dirty feeling after watching any of these shows. But what you don't see is a show about baby hoarders and by baby hoarders I don't mean Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt who hoard babies, I mean kids who have a tendency to hoard.

Hoarding is all about acquiring stuff. Specifically, hoarding is the excessive acquisition of stuff and/or the inability to get rid of it, even if the stuff is hazardous, worthless, or unsanitary. A compulsive hoarders' life is filled with such muckery that they can not even do basic life functions like take care of them selves, cleaning, cooking, bathing and even sleeping. A child needs help taking care of themselves anyway - so its like a double whammy having a baby hoarder under your roof.

I speak frequently about Hoarders, not because I am a hoarder, or even that I know a hoarder, but I speak about them because I am fascinated by how mucked up some people's coconut can be that they think it is OK  the live with 125 alpacas inside their house or for them not to take out their trash for three years. What's up with that?

I know hoarding is a mental disorder, and I am not making fun of them, on the contrary - I have great compassion for them, I am just thankful that I do not have any hoarding tendencies! Well, my sneaker addiction excluded of course, and having four dogs hardly qualifies me as an animal hoarder.

From my Greek Blonde perspective I think there might be some early warning signs that someone is pre-disposed to hoarding. So in my best attempt to provide a public service announcement to prevent future hoarders, here is Ava's 10 ten signs that your kid might be a hoarder:

• When they were little they didn't just bring home their own art work - they brought home all of their classmates' art work and insist that you put it all up on the refrigerator.
• You found their secret collection of used q-tips stashed away under their bed.
• They don't complain when you stop at garage sales, in fact they encourage it.
• They have so many toys and clothes thrown around that when you tell them to clean up their room they ask you, "where is it?"
• At Christmas time they throw a temper tantrum when you start to throw away the gift wrap. The wrapping paper is just as important to them as the toy inside.
• They have more stuffed animals than a carnival midway.
• In their bedroom you can find real green eggs and ham.
• The scratching noise you have heard for days were the two racoons they let inside the basement and have been feeding

I am sure that not all children who have collections of have eaten marshmallow peeps stuffed into their sock drawer or collect dead flies will become hoarders, however, my Dad had an old Greek saying that was, "better safe than sorry." Well Ok, I'm not sure if that was a Greek saying or not, but with my Dad's accent everything he said sounded very Greek - just sayin'

Blessings,

Ava

xox

I Killed The beast

From my vantage point in the other room, I can see it sitting there. Quiet and unassuming as it occupies a seat on my Grandma Pauliene's newly upholstered red velvet chair.

As I sneak up upon it, I can hear the theme song to Jaws playing in my mind.  With reckless disregard I reach out with my bare hands and I grab it.  To my surprise, it grabs back.  A small fight ensues. The Jaws' music gets louder and faster. With my lead, the altercation moves from the front hallway to the kitchen. I head to the kitchen because I know they are plenty of sharp objects in there to help me destroy the Beast.

My breathing is getting deeper. I am unsure if I can do what I need to do. Thank goodness for those months of Jillian Michaels' kick-my-butt workouts as I can feel my core strength being tested to the max. With my right hand still holding onto the Beast, I free my left hand just long enough to grab a pair of kitchen scissors from the wooden butcher block of knives.

In what I can only best describe as part Karate Kid and part Kung Fu with a little Edward Scissorhand move thrown in; I kick one leg into the air while swinging my body around with the scissors in my hand as I begin shredding the Beast.  I think grasshopper has learned well from the Master. I have beat the Beast and I have destroyed it.

Snip-cut-snip-cut-snip cut. The Beast is mortally wounded and now lying on the kitchen floor. I've made a mess. The Beast has taken its last breath and died an unceremonious death at my hands.

I did it. I killed the Beast for now. But I know like a bad B-Movie, a new Beast will emerge. I happens every day I go to the mailbox and find the unwanted beasts sitting in the bottom of the box, just waiting to be taken inside the house and left unattended.

But I will not let it have its way in my house. Not me. No way, No how. I will not let the Beast get the best of me because I've seen way too many episodes of Hoarders. I know that it all starts out simple enough. First the Beast comes in and sits around. Then it is joined by days and days of other Beasts. And then whammo, just like a New York City cock roach, the Beasts multiply and suddenly you a hoarding problem. Then you forget to take out your garbage for a few years, then you never clean your stove or refrigerator... And then to make you a full blown hoarder, you must get 26 cats and let them use the house as a litter box. Gross I know.

Remember, all hoarding problems starts with letting the Beasts inside your home. No, I'm not talking about roaches, bed bugs or mother-in-laws...I am talking about junk mail. Junk Mail = The Beasts.

Have you ever noticed whenever you move the very first piece of junk mail you get is from the local Dominos Pizza. I am convinced they shake down the mailman and get the names and address of anyone who has put in a change of address card the minute it happens. A few years ago I got an apartment in Brooklyn. The very first day I was moving in, before my name was put on the mailbox, I received a 11x 6 postcard from Dominos welcoming me to the neighborhood, and it was addressed to Ava Aston. My Mom didn't even have my new address, but Dominos Pizza did. That's messed up.

So then the pizza coupons were followed by offers to get my carpet cleaned. If I just moved in why would I want my carpets cleaned? Then the junk mail gets really stupid. Flyers and junk to fix everything from plumbing to cracked windshields.  I can not also stress enough how annoying those blue envelopes are that are filled with 200 coupons from every business that you will never use in a 1,000 mile radius.  STOP! I don't want your stupid coupons. And although it was a very clever marketing ploy by making the envelope the exact same shade of blue as Tiffany & Co, I didn't fall for it. I knew I wasn't getting a coupon for $1.75 off my next trip to Tiffany's.

I have learned that one way of stopping many of the unwanted junk mail is to opt-out. You can contact  the Direct Marketing Association at their website dmachoice.org and opt-out. I think it costs a $1.00, but well worth it.

I hope you can also control the Beast.

Blessings,

Ava

xox