Cleaning the clutter

“If my husband would just put away his stacks of mail and bills,” I groused as I gathered up my magazines, Bible lesson plans and study Bibles to return to the shelf.
“Things would be much neater around here if he didn’t leave his sneakers in the middle of the floor,” I grumped, collecting two pair of feminine loafers and a pair of girly sneakers to return to the closet.
“If he would just put away his tools and find storage space for his tools in his shop, he would not have to work in the house,” I muttered as I scooped up cross stitch floss to return to the sewing room, where 10 pieces of black and white fabrics still lay where I had dropped them when I considered them for a quilt. I swept up golden brown and fallcolored scraps strewn across the cutting board and discovered the lost pair of shears.
I returned the shears to the drawer of sharps along with a couple of pairs of pinking shears, tiny snippers and a package of machine needles.
I carefully tucked in the fabrics I had chosen for the mystery quilt and found a corner for its project basket. If I could find the instructions for the mystery quilt, I might even start cutting and sewing it.
I still have not figured out where to store the stack of gingham prints that someone said she might want, but folding up the iron and ironing board would at least give me thinking space.
Feeling quite self-righteous, I walked into our bedroom and looked with scorn at the blood pressure machine sitting beside the chair where he uses it. I gathered up the books left stacked on my side of the bed to read and stuffed a stray pair of socks under my pillow where it would be handy to grab them when my feet chilled that night.
He simply does not know how to put away a thing, I pontificated to myself as I studied his pile of important papers. I picked through the pile for my bills, the flyer from the quilt guild and a magazine I had started to read. I trashed my old receipts, the newspaper article I never got around to reading and gathered up a glass and plate from my late night snack.
With me working 40 hours a week, it is obvious who clutters this house, I thought. Believe me, when he gets home, I am going to tell him, it is high time he took care of his clutter and gave us back the table, the desk and the computer area. I doubt he will hear a word I say about it, but I will try, I thought.
Crossing over the the coffee table with the assortment of patterns I had been considering before I gave up on the idea entirely, I consolidated them with women’s magazines spilling off the edge of the desk.
It’s a good thing I know how to put away things, I thought, surveying the room for any other dishes that he says I leave in odd places around the house. I didn’t find any.
Feeling quite the Suzy Homemaker, I toasted a piece of whole wheat bread, buttered it and twirled honey over it. Balancing the hot toast on a glass of ice water, I grabbed my current book and headed to the bedroom to read until my husband returned. I was ready to tell him how much he needed to take care of the clutter he had left absolutely everywhere.her at