Let go and lighten up my new motto

I will keep the details on this short and to the point.
He is handsome, romantic, kind, and the epitome of a gentleman. He pays attention to and hears me. He loves my dogs and all creatures great and small, and he can cook.
But I stand firm on the age-old saying, “Once upon a time, I had this place so neat and tidy. And then came Man.”
A brand new flood plain has arrived in my neck of the woods—and it’s called “Jon’s Stuff.” Yes, folks, the dating phase is passé and we now are living together under one roof here on the banks of Frog Creek.
I will admit right now that opening my heart to this guy was “no problemo,” but giving up control of what comes with him to this neck of the woods—and where he can put it—is a whole other can of worms and beans.
And quite frankly as I see it, also will result in at least a dozen personal trips to my mental health counsellor.
I’ve been the “President-Elect” in my neck of the woods for some time now and I like it that way. But on the same hand, I love having Jon around more than one or two days a month.
After all, he fixes what’s broken, takes out the garbage, buys groceries—and did I mention he could cook?
But he now has “stuff”—and that stuff is the stuff of an organized and somewhat bossy woman’s nightmares.
Have you ever seen the television series “Storage Wars?”
On that fateful day, when love and commitment meant welcoming his stuff into my life, Jon opened the first of two storage units to grab “a few things.” My jaw dropped below my knees and wobbled there for a moment.
I was the modern poster child for the famous painting “The Scream” by Edvard Munch. Come to think of it, maybe the poor, emotionally-distraught soul in that 1893 capture also was standing in front of a partner’s storage locker.
As read in an article I could relate to on the Internet, I suddenly wanted to start changing all the rules. After all, the female always makes the rules, right? And if she suspects the male knows any of the rules, she may immediately change one or all of the rules.
She can change her mind at any given moment.
I was going to have to make an executive decision—and it wasn’t going to be pretty. “Do we really need that?” replicated from my lips.
We were the stars of next year’s new television reality show, “What’s Mine is Fine,” and we would walk all over “Jersey Shore” in the ratings.
“I already have one of those,” followed by, “I don’t think I have room for that.” (Except for the cool stuff in Box #6, which included his new Kitchen Aid mixer, a rice cooker, and two mixing bowls that would round out my collection).
But Jon is the best thing that ever happened to me in a moment like that and will be for the ones to come. He understands my wacky womanhood status and he makes it okay.
That’s the love that lies beneath all moods.
It’s been about two weeks since that first lesson in learning to share again, and I’m happy to report that my control freakiness gradually is graduating to something more suited to a life with someone else in it.
Jon’s stuff continues to make its way here in trailer loads, and each time I take a deep breath and chant to myself, “Letting go is not loss, it’s lightening up.”
Then I open a box, take out what I want, and put the rest back on the trailer.
You are a good sport, Jon. I am lucky to have you (and your Kitchen Aid mixer) in my life.

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