Yeah, it's a tough life. I know it.

Today's storytime group was a younger bunch of kids than yesterday. When we did our usual opening routine,

Here's Grandma's spectacles, here's Grandma's hat,
This is the way she folds her hands and puts them in her lap.
Here's Grandpa's spectacles, here's Grandpa's hat,
This is the way he folds his arms, just like that.

Sorry if I'm disgusting anybody with storytime stuff. It carries me back to my own youthful experiences in the library. Well, mostly all I remember is big stuffed animals and comfy sofas, and the occasional "dance with scarves" activity time. Still, good memories.

One of Eric's friends is coming up to visit this weekend. I told Eric that we'd have to do some major housecleaning before the visit, so he's prepared. I shuddered as I said it though, because while it's certainly true, I sounded momentarily so much like my mother that it terrified me.

Mom had this thing about a clean house. That is to say, she wanted one desparately, but it was an impossibility while sharing the house with three packrats and while fighting off your own packrat tendencies. Every room in our home was packed to the brim with "treasured memories," old papers, and broken appliances. It wasn't a large house, either, so we ran out of floor space quickly. When I returned home for my first break away from college, I was shocked to see how quickly my room had been taken over as housing for more junk - and the rest of the house had not improved substantially.

I'd like to say that my father and brother are the worst, but perhaps they're just the most obvious targets because their stuff isn't as "aesthetically pleasing" as Mom's and mine. Dad's junk is mostly old business cards and brochures, some old newspapers, and the odd piece of dirty clothing. Cory doesn't throw anything away, so he's still got papers from elementary school lying on his desk and covering the drum set which he hasn't played since junior high. Mom had her craft supplies, and I had my books. Not that they took up less space, but they formed neater piles.

I remember one evening in high school when I brought over a boyfriend without calling ahead. My mom literally screamed, "Don't come in!" then raced about the house throwing things into closets and shrieking like a harpy. Frankly, I'm surprised that I ever had another date with that guy; not that I benefited much from it, but that's another story entirely.

From what I understand, Mom was usually the one in charge of keeping the house neat and her siblings in order when Grandma went to college, so I guess I understand her deep-seated need to keep the house in better shape. At this point, I think she'd love nothing more than to burn down what's there and start over afresh. Perhaps her new house would have a porch swing; that's something she's wanted all her adult life, but has never had. At the same time, though, there's so much she'd hat to lose - that we'd hate to lose. She's got a huge collection of photo albums that take up the entire space under her bed. She's got a large collection of snow globes covering one wall of my brother's room.

She says she'd like to move, but could never, ever pack everything. I think she's right. Maybe she could just buy the house next door, and live in them both!