Frumpy Mom: I’ve realized that I can’t have it all. But that’s OK

It may have occurred to you at some point that — unlike the promises made by self-help gurus — you really can’t have it all. No one can have it all, because it’s too heavy to carry around.

I was thinking about this when I was looking around at my trashed, cluttered house that I’ve been meaning to clean up since 2005, which is the year we moved in.

For some unknown reason, like possibly having been abducted by space aliens, I’ve had a real yen to clean up my house lately and enjoy its appearance. And also not cringe whenever anyone comes over and sees the way I live.

I want to stress that my house is not dirty. Dora comes every Friday and makes sure of that, thank heavens. I’d sell one of my kids before I’d give up her services. (No, I’m not giving you her number. She’s mine.)

But my foyer looks like maybe an annex of Costco, considering how many yet-to-be-used-or-opened boxes are stacked there, waiting for attention. There’s no breakfasting on my breakfast bar, because it’s covered with mail that needs to be filed or otherwise dealt with and random things that need to be put away.

As you may know, I’ve had cancer for six years now, and maybe the first five years, I just had zero energy. Not due to the cancer, but due to the treatments for the cancer. You may know what I mean. The little energy I had, I certainly wasn’t going to waste on anything like cleaning.

Nowadays, I’m still gimpy but feeling more energetic, much of which is wasted by doing that thing called working for a living. (Except writing this column for you, which is not a waste). I started decluttering in early December and enjoyed it so much, I felt motivated to continue until Martha Stewart could come over unexpectedly, and I wouldn’t be embarrassed.

But then Christmas happened. Yeah. Clouds of wrapping paper and ribbons and scissors and tape all flying in the air around me, everywhere I went. I felt like Pigpen, that character on Peanuts who always had a cloud of dust following him. I’m still behind with Christmas, actually. If you’re waiting for your Christmas card, it’s in a bag until I can get around to addressing it. My friends have snickered when they walk into my house because, yes, my petroleum-based artificial tree is still up. I read this article about how you can just wrap Saran Wrap all around the tree and store it with all its lights and ornaments intact, and I want to try that, but first I have to get some Saran wrap.

Anyway, most of the holidays is now cleaned up, and I would be starting to tackle the remaining detritus except, oops, I can’t because I’m leaving for Vienna tomorrow.

That’s what I mean when I say you can’t have it all — a phrase I just happened to coin.

Hmm. Clean up my house or go to a ball in Vienna? Gee, that’s a tough decision. But my wallet is urging me to go to Vienna, because I already bought gowns to wear to balls and the opera, along with the accessories like evening clutch, satin gloves and new skimpy undies. Plus approximately 35 pounds of winter clothing to brave the northern European chill, including a heavy parka with a hood that looks like something the scientists would wear in Antarctica. Gee, I’ll get a lot of use out of that when I get home to Southern California, I’m sure. Along with the snow boots, fuzzy gloves, hand warmers, socks, furry hat and scarf.

I haven’t worn a pair of socks for years, even if my son hadn’t stolen all of mine. I live in sandals. I don’t think almost-bare feet are going to cut it when it’s 25 degrees outside.

Considering how cheap I am, I may be tempted to move to Alaska when I get back, so I can get some use out of all these frigid winter items I’ve bought.

But what I’m going to change instead is my attitude. Doggone it, I need to go places. I’m eternally restless to see new things before I go off to the big hotel in the sky. And if that means my house is cluttered, so be it.

If you must stop by, please do so at night, so I can make sure it’s dimly lit by candles. I’ll tell you there’s a power outage.

After you leave, instead of breaking down those empty boxes and putting them in the bin, I’ll be on my computer, hunting for my next cheap trip.

Life is short. Eat the cake.