Perhaps, by definition, when you choose to have 5 children you can no longer qualify as a minimalist. Think about that for a minute. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’ve had difficulty finding a blog that reflects my unique minimalist brand.
I certainly try.
I mean, our last house in San Francisco was 816 square feet. We shoehorned our little family of 6 into that house. That’s a whopping 136 square feet per person. That’s legit. We even had a social worker come check out the house when we were thinking about adopting again, and she disqualified us because we didn’t meet the minimum “space-per-family-member” requirement. I think she made that up. In any case, it was a glorious little space. I could vacuum the entire house from one plug.
A new job brought us south to Santa Ana. We almost doubled our space. I felt serious compunction on adding so much square footage, like I was turning my back on my minimalist aspirations. So last year we added child #5. Gotta keep the average square footage down.
My family members will also attest to my tendency to get rid of stuff. We refer to it in our house as “purging.” I’m constantly patrolling for anything around the house that has overstayed its welcome. I’m on a first-name basis with the guys working the back of the Goodwill store over on Grand Avenue.
This enthusiastic clearing out of unnecessary consumer products does have its drawbacks. For example, whenever someone in our family loses something, their first assumption is that I have secretly donated it. This is a hurtful assumption that is definitely true in less than 50% of cases. It’s also not always good for relationships with extended family members. You would think that when someone gives you a gift, it is meant for you to determine how best to put it into (charitable) service.
Also, I have a garage – another potential minimalist disqualifier. I mean, how can you be a minimalist and have an entire giant space just dedicated to stuff? We don’t even use it for cars. I want to love my garage, but mostly it causes minimalist depression. When the garage door opener kicks into gear, the bikes and scooters and soccer balls just start rolling out, like a plastic tidal wave all the way from China. Of course the sight produces squeals of delight from our twin 2-year-olds, who charge and yell like viking marauders, grabbing toys from the pile like they’re being re-acquianted with long lost best friends.
So I just keep fighting the fight. Kids constantly bringing stuff home from school. Family members insisting that kids need birthday presents. Unsolicited mail. It’s practically a full time job keeping the intruders at bay.
But my heart is definitely in it.
notsominimalist.com
