Another blow to my organization is my son, who likes nothing more than to take anything that’s contained (toys in a bin, clothes in a drawer) and liberate it onto the floor.
In a way, it’s liberating to me, too, because it gives me permission to hold off on organizing the nonessential stuff. I love sorting books, for instance (according to a haphazard blend of author, genre, region, and spirituo-conceptual orientation), but it really doesn’t make sense when they end up all over the living room every other morning. And the time could be better spent elsewhere. Still, it’s strange to acknowledge it will be years before you accomplish a particular domestic chore, rather than always intending to and never getting around to it.