“Do you think I’m a hoarder?”

She pauses for a second and says “yeah, a little”.

Oh God, my mother just called me a hoarder, but a “little hoarder” is better than whatever it is that happens once you end up on A&E. I’m not swimming through McDonald’s toys and dead flowers over here. Wait, I am swimming through McDonald’s toys and I do have a few “keepsake” dead flowers.

Hm.

Ok, let’s start over. I don’t have hallways that are impassable, rooms dedicated entirely to the letter ‘K’, or sinks filled with maggots. As a matter of fact, my sink is currently completely empty. Just don’t open any of my drawers. There you will find the root of my “problem”. Notice those quotation marks? Yeah, see, I’m not having any issues with letting go, thus, my shrink will not be making extra monies any time soon (at least, not over this).

I’ve never had a yard sale, garage sale, rummage sale, whatever you want to call it. I’m 26, for everything’s sake. I don’t DO 6 A.M. knocks on the door, orange stickers with ridiculously low prices (can we even call it a price if it’s under a buck? Or should I just thank people for their “donation”?), or for that matter - STRANGERS SIFTING THROUGH MY JUNK AT MY HOME.

Shudder. (Note to therapist: You may get extra monies for this, however. Lucky you.)

So as I sift through drawers, closets, under beds, and on my husband’s side of the closet for items with questionable futures, my mom would ask “why do you need it?”, and I’d provide a response. Some answers fitting, saving the item, others not, dooming them to an orange stickered Saturday in my driveway.

Basically, she called me out over 2 things. One being the basic state of my home. I’ve never lived any place longer than 5 years, and most recently (read: the last 8 years), not for longer than 3 and that’s in this house. I don’t quite know how to settle in, make my space mine, or any of those other overly optimistic terms the home makeover shows use.

The second topic of discussion was over me having a large plastic box under a bed. It’s about 4 feet long, 2-3 feet wide, and 8 inches deep. The contents? It may just be every folder, binder, term or research paper, syllabus, workbook or game ticket stub from college. Oh, and it also has my degree in it.

My response was a quick and easy one. “In that box are all my achievements from school. Every paper I wrote that I did well on, every article I edited, every class I passed, and my degree. It’s tangible. I can reach in their and see that I accomplished something.”

I went on to describe to her that as a stay-at-home mom, even with my online ventures, I don’t get a yearly gala or frequent back-pats. We don’t get calls from our editors, bosses, or oversearers telling us how well we’ve been doing over the past quarter. Yes, working moms still deal without a large amount of what we deal with, but the reward system is a bit different. Oh, and they get to talk to Big People using intellectual sentences on a daily basis. This is my jealous face.

I keep that box of papers and useless items (am I counting my bachelor’s? possibly) because when I see it, it reminds me that I have completed something I worked hard for. Motherhood is not something that you just graduate from. It’s always there and always ongoing. At the end, there’s no Grand Prize, special plaque, or award ceremony - and that’s fine with me. But for now, since I am a stay-at-home mom, I’ll keep my unusually large Bucket of Accomplishments and my hugs, kisses, and “i love yous” as my payment for my life as a “working in the home” mom.

And please come buy my junk. Maybe I should put the degree out there too...

Editor’s Note: My mother says that your reward comes approximately 21 years later, when the children successfully graduate college and have not landed in jail. I’ll take that.