I’ll admit it—I’ve saved every letter written to me at sleepaway camp circa 1984. And all of my concert t-shirts. And my sixth grade sticker collection. And the satin unicorn with rainbow streamers that hung over my childhood bed.

My husband, on the other hand, recently threw out a working humidifier because it looked “grungy.”

I’ve filled three closets with my in-season clothes, yet they’re still spilling out the doors.

My husband purges his wardrobe annually and there is enough leftover room in his drawers for a baby to sleep.

You see where I’m going with this?

They say opposites attract. That must be true, since depending on whom you ask, one of us is a compulsive neat freak and the other one is a hoarder. In my defense, I’m not the kind of hoarder who would get cast on a reality show, hiding cat corpses beneath the rubble. Everything around here smells good. I just have a lot of stuff.

Our different styles didn’t used to be a big deal. If anything, we rubbed off on each other in positive ways. He helped me get organized, and we had some oddly romantic evenings drinking wine while cleaning out the kitchen cabinets. I helped him relax a little and see the beauty in an unmade bed (it’s always nap ready.)

Then we had a kid and all hell broke loose.

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