Yesterday Sean and I began a top to bottom decluttering that lasted 4 hours and involved me bursting into body-wracking tears once, maybe twice. The girls were uncharacteristically compliant, alternating between quietly organizing corners of their rooms and working with heads touching to craft new LEGO structures. The kittens gleefully scampered through closets and under beds as we tossed things into donate, discuss, and delay piles.   It happens every December, I find myself pretzeled in frustration over our collective clutter, and I don’t just mean the things, I mean the ways. The breakneck, just-get-through-today approach we adopt out of necessity. Mornings of packing lunches, followed by afternoons of racing to Karate or sewing, and evenings of “You want to watch a show or do Seandry?” We frequently…

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