The Junk Drawer Has a Retirement Plan (And Apparently a Branch Office)

Every house has a junk drawer. You know the one.

It's where rubber bands, spare batteries, random screws, pens that may or may not work, and keys to absolutely nothing identifiable go to live out their remaining days.

Well, apparently my junk drawer got ambitious.

It opened a branch office.

On my kitchen counter.

I don't remember authorizing this expansion. There was no planning committee, no building permit, and certainly no ribbon-cutting ceremony.

Yet here we are.

And judging by the current state of affairs, business is booming.

Welcome to the Family Headquarters

Now, before anybody gets the wrong idea, I actually have a system.

Sort of.

My kitchen counter has become an independently operated household administrative department, complete with a pharmacy, post office, filing department, office supply store, lost-and-found, and apparently a small hardware store.

All without a single employee on the payroll.

There's a basket for everyday medications and supplements. Another basket for pens, scissors, tape, rubber bands, and approximately seventeen other categories of miscellaneous belongings.

There's a tray intended for my husband's keys and wallet. Unfortunately, it's apparently been rezoned for industrial use.

It's more likely to contain a nut, a bolt, a washer, a pair of pliers, a couple of pennies, and an earring whose partner has been missing for an undisclosed amount of time.

Then there's the mail.

Oh, the mail.

Bills, advertisements, magazines, school papers, receipts, and envelopes that have apparently been waiting for someone to acknowledge their existence since who knows when.

At this point, I'm considering naming the pile Mount Mailmore. 🏔️

And behind all of that are the important documents. They're tucked between a basket and the wall because, apparently, that's an acceptable filing system in this establishment.

The funny thing is, everybody in the house knows where things go.

Find a random screw? Put it in the tray.

Need somewhere to leave a school paper? Add it to the mountain.

Found a rubber band? Toss it in the basket.

The actual junk drawer is approximately five steps away, but apparently that's an unreasonable commute for office supplies.

Our family has an entire organizational system. It just doesn't have occupancy limits.

The Junk Drawer: Where Things Go to Retire

Now, let's discuss the original headquarters.

I save rubber bands from produce because I genuinely use them. Need to close a bag of something? There's a rubber band for that.

Need a nail to hang a picture? Check the junk drawer.

Need a lighter? Check the junk drawer.

Unless, of course, we've forgotten we have lighters and already bought more.

Which has happened.

More than once.

Apparently, we've been operating an unofficial lighter distribution center out of our kitchen.

And then there are the keys.

Oh, those ridiculous, mysterious, absolutely-going-nowhere keys. 🗝️

We have keys that nobody can identify. Some may belong to houses we lived in while we were in Colorado. We’ve lived in our current home for fourteen and a half years!

For all I know, one of those keys might belong to an office building my husband used to work in.

Do I throw them away?

Absolutely not.

Because you KNOW the very minute I toss one, somebody will suddenly need to unlock something.

And there I'll be, explaining that I threw away the only key to a door nobody has opened since 2008.

So the keys stay.

Apparently, I'm maintaining a historical collection of locks I no longer have access to.

And tucked among all these treasures is a grout brush.

A GROUT BRUSH.

Why is there a grout brush in my kitchen junk drawer?

I have absolutely no idea.

I couldn't even tell you the last time I scrubbed the grout. It's probably been a couple of years.

At this point, the grout brush has a better retirement plan than I do.

Zero projects completed. Perfect attendance. 😂

When Clutter Becomes Part of the Landscape

Here's the thing about my junk counter.

It doesn't become a disaster overnight.

I'll clean it off, organize everything, and admire my beautiful countertop.

For a few days, everything is wonderful.

Day one: Spotless.

Day two: Still looking good. I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.

Day three: A paper clip appears.

Day four: A mysterious key joins it.

Day five: Somebody drops off a receipt, a rubber band, and a screwdriver.

Day seven: The junk counter has officially reopened for business.

Nobody knows who reopened it. Nobody admits responsibility. And management has once again lost control of the premises.

But the strangest part?

After a while, I stop noticing it.

I walk past it every day. I think about cleaning it. I tell myself I'll get to it when I have time.

And somehow, that magical block of free time never arrives.

The clutter just becomes part of the kitchen landscape.

Until one day I really LOOK at it.

And suddenly I can't stand it another minute.

Martha Stewart Had a Staff. I Had Five Kids.

When I was a young wife and mother, I absolutely loved Martha Stewart.

I watched her shows, bought her books, read her magazines, and tried all sorts of her wonderful ideas.

I've made beautiful crafts using her instructions. And I've been making her Thanksgiving turkey recipe for almost thirty years.

That turkey comes out picture-perfect every single time.

Unfortunately, I can't say the same for my kitchen counter.

For years, I tried so hard to keep everything beautifully decorated, perfectly organized, and spotlessly clean.

I'd clean something, turn around, and somebody would already have messed it up.

It was exhausting.

Then one day, something occurred to me.

Martha had a staff.

An entire team of people helping create those beautiful finished results.

I had five children, a husband, a busy household, time working away from home, and apparently a growing collection of unidentified keys.

Now, don't misunderstand me. There's nothing wrong with admiring a beautiful home or learning from someone else's creativity.

But sometimes we forget that what we're seeing in magazines, on television, and online is the finished product.

We don't see all the planning, routines, work, or help behind it.

And somewhere along the way, we start expecting ourselves to achieve that same level of perfection while simultaneously cooking supper, washing laundry, working outside the home, running errands, raising children, and wondering who left a pair of pliers in the kitchen.

I've learned something over the years.

I don't want a home that looks like nobody lives here.

I love my colorful country house. My yellow walls, red gingham curtains, family treasures, and all the little things that make it ours.

I'm not a minimalist. I don't particularly want to be one.

I just don't want to move a stack of papers and a pair of pliers every time I need to use my countertop.

I don't need less personality in my home. I need a little less clutter getting in the way of enjoying it.

And there's a difference.

Maybe the System Isn't Broken

Here's something that surprised me when I really started thinking about this mess.

I don't actually want to change where everything goes.

Our house has an unusual layout. What used to be the living room is now our dining room, and our front door opens right into the dining room and kitchen.

We don't have a traditional entryway or mudroom where everybody can drop their things.

Our kitchen counter is the natural landing place.

And honestly? That's fine.

The medications we use daily need a convenient, safe place. The scissors and tape need to be somewhere we can find them. The mail needs somewhere to land until it's sorted.

Moving everything to another room would probably last about two days before it all migrated right back.

The problem isn't necessarily the system.

The problem is that nobody has been maintaining the system.

Including me!

So rather than buying a whole new collection of organizers or trying to reinvent the way our family lives, I decided to reclaim my countertop and junk drawer.

Fifteen minutes at a time.

Because if there's one thing I've learned about cleaning out my junk drawer, it's that I need a timer.

Actually, setting a timer works well for me with all sorts of household tasks.

Without one, I can start sorting rubber bands, find something that belongs in another room, wander off to put it away, and suddenly find myself cleaning something completely unrelated.

Like the bathroom grout.

Which, now that I think about it, might explain why there's a grout brush in the junk drawer.

But I digress.

My little trick is to set a timer for fifteen minutes and stay focused on the task at hand. ⏱️

Ten minutes might work better for you. Or twenty. There's no magic number here.

And as I discovered, sometimes even a good timer needs a change of strategy.

Operation: Reclaim the Countertop

I started this morning with the best of intentions.

I set my fifteen-minute timer and moved Mount Mailmore over to the kitchen island.

There.

Progress.

Technically.

Unfortunately, after a couple of fifteen-minute sessions, I realized that sorting one little section at a time wasn't giving me the satisfaction I needed.

I wanted to SEE some progress.

And at the rate I was going, I was beginning to suspect the junk counter would qualify for historical preservation before I finished.

So I changed my plan.

I took EVERYTHING off the counter.

Every basket. Every paper. Every miscellaneous object that had apparently signed a long-term lease.

All of it went to the island.

And suddenly...

THERE WAS MY COUNTERTOP! 🙌🏻

 (Ummm… I’ll wait a few days to flip the calendar to November! 🤣)

Well, would you look at that!

I'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

Was the island now a complete disaster?

Absolutely.

But the counter was clear, and I cannot explain how good that felt.

It was like somebody had taken a little weight off my shoulders.

Never mind that the weight was currently sitting approximately three feet away on the kitchen island.

Details.

That immediate little victory gave me the motivation to keep going.

Sorting the Employees by Department

Once everything was on the island, I started working through it in sections.

The mail got sorted.

The medicine basket got some much-needed attention.

The white basket of office supplies and miscellaneous treasures was emptied and organized.

And my husband's tray?

Let's just say it had become less of a place for his wallet and more of a satellite location for his workshop.

I found enough nails, screws, bolts, and other hardware throughout this adventure to fill a large empty coffee can.

A LARGE coffee can.

Apparently, the hardware department had been operating out of my kitchen without a permit for quite some time.

That can is headed to the shop, where those things actually belong.

I also made separate piles for things belonging to different family members.

Because I know myself.

If I start walking all over the house putting away every little thing as I find it, there's a very good chance I'll disappear into another project and forget what I was doing in the first place.

And nobody needs to find me three hours later reorganizing a bathroom cabinet while the kitchen island is still covered in seventeen years of unidentified office supplies.

So I sorted. I made piles. I threw things away. And I put back only what belonged on the counter.

I even gave the countertop and the surrounding walls a good washing.

Because once you finally uncover a surface that's been hiding behind clutter, you might as well give it a proper welcome home.

All of this happened in little pockets of time throughout the day.

I was caring for the baby, so I worked when I could—between feeding him, tending to him, and taking advantage of quieter moments.

I didn't have one glorious, uninterrupted afternoon to devote to the project.

I had fifteen minutes here, a little time there, and the determination to keep making progress.

I didn't time every session perfectly, but I figure the actual cleaning and sorting added up to somewhere around two to two and a half hours.

Spread across most of the day.

And you know what?

It worked.

Meanwhile, Back at the Original Headquarters

Once the counter and island were under control, it was finally time to tackle the junk drawer itself.

And for that job, I went with my usual method.

Dump it all out.

Sometimes you've just got to see what you're dealing with.

And there they were.

The mystery keys.

An entire little collection of unidentified metal objects that may or may not unlock something somewhere in America.

 

Did I figure out what they belonged to?

Nope.

Did I throw them away?

Also nope.

I put them in a sandwich baggie and returned them to the junk drawer.

Because WHAT IF?! 🤷🏼‍♀️ 

Listen, I'm all for getting rid of unnecessary clutter, but I'm not prepared to be responsible for the great missing-key emergency of 2037.

Some risks are simply not worth taking.

The grout brush, however, was not so fortunate.

After years of loyal service doing absolutely nothing, it was transferred to the cleaning supplies.

No retirement party. No gold watch.

Just a reassignment to a department where it might actually be expected to work.

The other odds and ends were sorted, discarded, or returned to their proper places.

And when I was finished, the junk drawer was actually organized.

Not magazine-perfect.

Not color-coordinated.

Just functional.

Imagine that.

The Family Notices

Now here's the part I really loved.

After all that work, I stood back and looked at my clean counter.

It felt wonderful.

Even though I'd only tackled one little area of the house, the whole kitchen seemed calmer.

And apparently, I wasn't the only one who thought so.

As my husband, Shelby, her boyfriend Levi, and Ethan came into the house, they noticed it right away.

Levi looked around and said something along the lines of, "Wow, what did you do different? Feels cleaner in here!"

Shelby explained that I'd cleaned off the junk counter.

And my husband and Ethan both commented on how great it looked and felt.

Well, would you look at that.

I didn't paint the walls.

I didn't rearrange the furniture.

I didn't buy matching storage containers or hire a professional organizer.

I just evicted a small mountain of mail and relocated a hardware store.

And apparently, the whole kitchen got a makeover.

I was proud. I was happy. And I was especially glad that the people who live here noticed the difference, too.

It reminded me that the little things really do matter.

Sometimes one cleared surface can make an entire room feel better. ❤️

And sometimes seeing that one little improvement is exactly what you need to keep going.

 

One Little Section at a Time

I still have plenty of other places in this house that could use some attention.

I'm not pretending that cleaning off one counter magically transformed my entire home.

And I'm certainly not promising that a rogue paper clip won't attempt to reopen the branch office next week.

But I'm going to try to keep up with it.

Sort the mail before it develops its own postal code.

Put things back where they belong.

Give the counter a quick reset before the baskets start overflowing again.

And when another area starts feeling overwhelming, I'll set my timer, pick a place to start, and work on it a little at a time.

Maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty.

And if the first approach isn't working?

I'll change it.

Because the goal isn't to create a home that looks like nobody lives here.

It's to make a home that feels good for the people who do.

For now, I'm going to enjoy my clean countertop, my organized junk drawer, and that wonderful feeling of having one less thing weighing on me.

The mail department has been downsized.

The hardware department has relocated.

The grout brush has been transferred.

And the countertop is officially back in business.

But the mystery keys?

They're still on the payroll.

Because what if? 🤣