I admit I am a nag. It's one of my less endearing qualities. I try to phrase my nags in all manner of creative ways, but the the underlying theme is always the same.
"Clean it up!"
I am sympathetic to people and their foibles. But the one thing I don't understand is clutter. Shows like "Hoarders" leave me horrified. I simply don't understand why people would want to live in a mess. Why would you, when you can have it neat and clean and sparkling?
Having many small offspring has been good for me. It's knocked the obsessive compulsive element almost totally out of me. Thankfully there are wonderful inventions like large pretty boxes where I can store the offsprings clutter neatly and tidily. I declutter their rooms on a regular basis and I'll be starting indoctrinating "Declutter Training" for them as soon as their arms are long enough to reach the high shelves.
When I met my husband part of the instant attraction was that the man was neat and orderly. This is a man who has a tidy tool shed. He loves cleaning products and likes to clean things too.
But he had a secret he hid from me.
It nearly derailed our marriage when I discovered it.
The cave.
My man needed a cave. And like most caves?
It's messy.
I remember years ago watching the episode of "Friends" where Chandler discovers his obsessively tidy wife's Monica has a cupboard. And the cupboard is every Hoarders dream. I empathised with his shock completely.
The big problem with my husband's cave is it is where I have had to write and work the past few months. It's a dark room anyway, but add the mess and clutter and I have struggled manfully with it. It's also been hard because the offspring hated me even going into the room, mainly because, they quite rightly felt cut off from me.
In case you think I'm over-reacting,this is the cave:


But I'd like to let you know that nagging works.
Thanks to my plaintive pleas Husband and my family all rallied around. And now the toy-room has become My Castle.


I share it with the offspring. We share a set of shelves but the desk is MINE. This morning Mr Small banged on his pots and pans next to me. He interrupted regularly so I could read him a story and I happily obliged. But I got to work, he got to play. It's early days. The babysitter will still come so I can focus on working, especially when I'm on a deadline. But the crippling burden of motherguilt has been eased.
My husband can have his cave back.
And now when I walk past it.
I just close the door.