The basket method

and stuff

I FaceTimed with my little sister, Laura, on Saturday morning.

I hadn’t talked to her for a while. We had just gotten back from a five-day vacation to North Carolina, and between the mini spring break and Clayton and me juggling three days of spotty childcare and rotating work schedules, we were in that familiar frantic mode.

Laura asked how the trip was and why I was alone for a change.

“The girls are at soccer, and Tommy’s sleeping,” I said. “I have 45 minutes to get this place together.”

I leaned my phone against the wall on top of my dresser and started moving through the house with a large white basket in my arms, scooping up toys, sweatshirts, hair bows, chapsticks—tossing in anything that was out of place. I’d put it all away later. Or more likely, not.

“I’m cleaning up with the basket method,” I said. “Have you heard of it?”

She told me it was pretty self-explanatory.

As I moved from my room to the hallway, then to the girls’ room, I left Laura perched on my dresser and, instead of bringing her along, just spoke louder to make sure she could hear me.

“That’s it. I’m officially getting rid of everything.”

I was always saying this, but this time I meant it.

The girls had spent all week at home playing “Travel to Hawaii” and “Flight Attendant”—using two fingers to point out the exit row, which may be behind you, they’d announce—with suitcases and backpacks and water bottles.

And then right before bed on Friday night, they had taken every item from their closet and dumped it onto the floor.

Shirts. Leggings. Pajamas. Socks. Underwear. Dresses I had forgotten they owned. Hangers tangled together. UNO cards loose on the ground. There was a mountain of stuff.

With the clock ticking until they returned, I pulled anything remaining out of the closet and began to organize.

I don’t remember hanging up with Laura, but at some point we said goodbye as I continued tossing activity books with only one non-written-on page into the trash.

Part of my urgency was probably inspired by our friends, who had recently sold their house to travel the world. They got rid of their cars, their extra water bottles, and made the kids pare down their stuffies. They wouldn’t need much. The world was their playground.

I kept going, making one pile for putting away and one pile for getting rid of. I wondered if they’d miss any of it.

The next day, we spent the afternoon hiding the silver tape measure Caroline found in the garage all around the backyard. As I moved closer to wherever she had hidden it, she’d laugh and yell, “HOTTER, MOM! SO HOT! ! BUT ALSO, MOM, SO COLD!”

I’m not sure they’ll miss much.