Who knew a container and a label maker could be so theraputic?

In a recent issue of Oprah magazine (did I mention I love her?) there was a big feature on decluttering and organizing. I loved it! After I returned from spending a month in a new and empty house, coming back to our house was a bit menacing. My husband and I used to debate about what the problem was and I would say that we have too much stuff and he would say that our stuff is not organized. Now, I think we do have too much stuff, but he was more right and the organization is the bigger problem. So one junk drawer by one, one "just throw it in there" closet to the next, I have been organizing like a certifiable wack-o. And I love it! I want to believe that there is a place for everything, not only thinking: it goes there if it doesn't fall out, or if the drawer still shuts.
The Oprah article mentions that women organize and shop when they are stressed - that until about 10 years ago, research had only been done on the stress response in men- When women were finally studied, they found that women release testoserone and adrenaline, like men do, but additionally, we release higher levels of other hormones like oxytocin- that maternal hormone is what leads us to behaviors like nesting, eating and shopping. Quoting from this O Magazine article,
"Men's stress response says "Fight or flee!" Ours says "Fight or flee—and make sure everyone has a nice warm sweater!"
So we shop, eat and clean, and is often the case in pre-motherhood, these hormones make us nest. So I have been nesting and organizing and I am not pregnant, but I acknowledge that it could be related to this hormone mix symptomatic of my stress. (Cool, isn't it?) And pat me on the back for picking up such a destructive habit as organizing when I'm overwhelmed :)
It is not only the act that is fulfilling, it is the result and the feeling the result gives me. It is a well-roundedly rewarding experience to clean out and organize, I recommend it before drinking a few one evening, or taking a warm bath, or eating a carb loaded meal, followed by mouth-smacking chocolate. Like cleaning, these types of robotic, mundane tasks allow the mind to wander while maintaining the small amount of brain power that is needed to complete the task.
We, like everyone else, had a junk drawer, we actually had four of them. Now, when I open up my formerly-known-as-junk-drawers I smile and watch things slide around, like a toddler in the bath tub, so much joyous wiggle room for these proud objects who made the cut and are left in my drawer. Now, after several trips to Target and Walmart for more containers, and several hits of the print button on my label maker, this house smiles at me when I open up the doors and drawers of scary places. So, Oprah, like she always does, gave me inspiration and since February, I have conquered a gorgeous chunk of space in this house and satisfied my hormonal cravings. Amidst stress and a life I cannot control, I can fix something, I can do something, and I can give myself peace.

My Parts at 30

So life did not end today. I am 30 years old, and my boobs sag only moderately as they did at 29. And my ass can be squeezed just as questionably into my jeans as they did yesterday. So, of course, when you differentiate around the cusp of your personal decade change, there appears to be no difference. But there is a whole decade of the thirties to get through, a decade of metabolism to drop. I guess I am living my role as a 30 year old - married, family started, its about time I gave up that "I'm in my 20s" label. Maybe this psychological wrinkling is related to the angry owl in our biological clocks. Afterall, today marks the day that I have supposedly lost 90% of my fresh eggs. The chicken's are hitting the road, ditching me for a younger model. Even still, a huge part of the population does just fine with those 10% of eggs, it seems to be near normal to start rockin' the hen house with only 10%. Hey, its better than messing around with the 300,000 you have at the beginning of puberty. (Yes, I just looked that number up)
So me and my ass, boobs, and eggs will drink up this day. I am thirty, I am the same as I was yesterday, and miles different from when I was twenty. And I don't mind at all!

I have been Crowned!

I have a dentist who speaks as if she is reading a night time story to a pre-schooler - it is a calm, soothing, voice full of complete, seemingly scripted explanations of her work, laced with mild facial expressions and full eye contact. After a gentle, motherly explanation of the how to make a crown and what to expect, she asked me to put my head back and began by calmly saying, "I am going to prepare your crown now", and I felt as if I should have been in a jewelry store getting my tiara altered rather than in a dentist office. Undoubtedly she has crowned many a women but she actually made it seem like she was doing me a privilege and a socially envious procedure.
I hate going to the dentist and I hate Novocain but her voice seemed convinced that this was both well practiced, a bit exclusive, and freakishly nurturing. I was perplexed and taken back at how I was effected by her voice, words and demeanor, especially comparing her to many other dentists I have had digging and drilling in my mouth. Maybe in another life she'll be a social worker...
I know no one here reading this cares, but I am going to continue on in my fascination slash praise of this dental calming artist. She stayed in the room the whole time,and was very polite to her hygienist (who, I will add does not do your cleaning when you go once or twice a year - this dentist does that preventative, insurance covered service from start to finish!) She spent her free time filing down the temporary crown, smoothing it, and probably inaudibly comforting it and preparing it for its journey in my mouth for the next couple weeks.
This dentist is such a wonderful example of a way to be a health care professional especially in a time where they are few and far between. Kudos to her!!