We’ve reached the point of stay-at-home seclusion where my Virgo son has gone full Kondo. He cleaned and reorganized his room last week, and then tore into the downstairs bathroom, carting out bags of things that he decided lacked joy. I’m pretty sure most of the joy-killer products and tools belonged to his sisters, and they might have wanted to hold onto some of them, but they technically have their own bathroom upstairs and I get why my son opted for a no-mercy approach to decluttering.

The rest of us are a bunch of sentimental fools with pack-rat tendencies. I’ve recently been diagnosed with ADHD, and I’m 100% sure both my son and youngest daughter also are wired similarly (as well as a bunch of other family members – hi, you guys, you know I’m probably right!) And while we all have similar quirks, we aren’t often synced up on a mission (God help everyone if we ever can get our hyper-focus skills coordinated on a single project, though.)

When I glanced over the balcony where my office is to see my son bouncing on the balls of his feet, giving my living room bookshelves the stink-eye, I had to redirect him fast. When we moved into this house, we boxed up hundreds, if not thousands, of books at our old house, and moved them all over here. I have only put a fraction of all the books we have in the shelves, and honestly, we just grabbed boxes and tossed books on the shelves – they definitely need to be curated, and there are books on the shelves that don’t need to stay. The shelves are unfunctional, not even a little lovely, and need some TLC. The problem is I need to be the one to make the call on what stays and what goes. My son is like, you know what? EVERYTHING GOES.

I quickly put him to work helping my youngest reorganize her bedroom, and they pulled out 4 giant garbage bags of things. I held myself back from digging into the bags to see what they had decided could go – neither of them are terribly sentimental, and I’m sure things disappeared into those bags that I would have insisted they save. I have a garage full of things that have been saved that haven’t been looked at or appreciated in years – not just from our lives, but also from my husband’s parents and brother.

You guys, we also have the ashes of my husband’s parents and brother in our garage, too, awaiting an inspired plan for a final resting place. That’s a story for another day. We also have furniture, decor, books, papers, photo albums and lots of other ephemera that came to our house when we closed up my husband’s childhood home after their deaths. I don’t have the same sentimentality about that stuff, but I’m keeping my son away from all of that. I don’t want to find out that he accidentally Kondo’d something precious. Or like, Grandma and Grandpa.

My youngest’s bedroom is now tidy, and my son is cleaning and reorganizing our laundry room. He took a look at the closet where I have my yarn stash (and supplies for a bunch of the other crafts that I’ve purchased but never used) and I could see him revving his engine. I am glad for his zeal, but it is stressing me out, too. So, if you find me hissing, sprawled on top of a pile of trash while waving around some sort of weapon, just know I’ll let go eventually.

Or I’ll end up on some reality show.