It's Contagious

All growing up I observed the symptoms of move-it-itus in my mother. (More commonly known as if-I-don't-rearrange-all-the-furniture-right-now-I-will-go-insane-but-not-before-you-do-so-start-hauling-buster. It's a very common maternal disease.)

This disease shows most clearly (for my mother) in the living room. At one time it was so bad that her visiting teacher (who visited monthly) said that the furniture was different every time she came. I'm not sure even now if she was appalled or amazed or admiring.

For years I prided myself on escaping this one female fault. I was still perfectly sane and willing to let the furniture stay in one place for years on end. If I wanted change, I sat upside down. More fun than moving furniture and much less work.

I can't feel that way anymore. I've detected three separate occurrences of move-it-itus in the past week. First I switched the crock-pot (used twice a week) with the elephant of a juicer (used never) so that the crock-pot was in the actual cooking area. Then I cleaned out a sort of shelf/drawer/bin area and reorganized things so that I could move the cutting boards from the other end of the kitchen to be in the area I actually use them. Then, this morning, I moved the toaster oven a full four feet (to the other side of the sink). Never mind that each of these moves makes perfect sense from the point of view of the person who cooks all the meals and would like it to take less time, thank you very much.

I have move-it-itus. My only comfort (and revenge) is that if I keep going at this rate I'll be the only person who knows where anything is and when I leave home the Teacher won't be able to find anything. Ever. And it will serve her right for teaching me (oops, I mean giving me) this disease.

My husband will think I'm insane. So will my children.

On the other hand, they would have thought that anyway.