Hoarding

My son is a hoarder. I worry when he’s older that he’ll be renown as one of those people with a tip for a backyard that all the neighbours complain about.

If his room is anything to go by, he’s well on track.

He’s sneaky about it, mind you. His room looks tidy to the untrained eye. But lurking in all the cupboards, drawers and under the bed, threatening to spill out, is everything and anything he has obtained in his six short years.

Some of these items are ill-gotten gains intended for his brother and sister that he’s cunningly swiped with a bit of wheeling and dealing which only comes to light if overheard or pressed from his siblings.

“Jai, where’s your balloon gone?”

“I gave it to Cade.”

A quick check under the bed confirms this.

“But why did you give your balloon to Cade? The lady in the shop today gave it to you.”

“Because he gave me this,” he produces something unidentifiable, that’s obviously seen better days.

It’s like this whenever the twins come home with anything new – Master Six is quick to pounce.

But the strange thing is, once he’s acquired the new item, it gets stored away never to be seen again, let alone played with.

On an eternal mission to declutter the house, this drives me mad.

Despite having a yard sale, taking a truck load to Hospice and filling a skip pre-move, we still managed to bring a whole lot of shite with us to the new house. But luckily the local kindergarten has their timely jumbo garage sale in November and, so far, I’ve taken up a boot-load each day and I’m still unearthing more.

Not that I would dare take anything from Master Sixes room; Strangely, he keeps track of everything.

Slightly puzzled as to the psychological reasons behind this hoarding, I made a half-hearted attempt at Googling it. Apart from the perfectionism ‘symptom’ ringing true, the results did not make for pleasant reading so I promptly shut it down.

Despite my best interventions, I’ve decided to let it lie for now. If it’s genetic, then it’s obviously skipped a generation so I’m not taking any blame. But, one day, when the next generation begins complaining to council about a local hoarder with everything, including the kitchen sink, in his backyard, don’t say I didn’t warn you.