There is stuff all over my house. All of the time.
Some of it is my stuff, stuff I've left behind me. Most of the stuff belongs to my family. The people I love most in the world, and I'm not ashamed to say their stuff makes me feel at home, makes me feel comforted.
Clutter does not upset me. It does not encroach upon my happiness. Occasionally I become frustrated when I can't find something. Often I have to embark upon a putting stuff back in it's place mission when the stuff is getting out of control. And once in a blue moon I wish I could suck up every bit of loose stuff and start again with clear surfaces.
But more often than not, as I potter about after the kids have gone to bed, a duplo creation or a picture on the chalk wall or a hairbrush or a pair of impossibly small shoes swells my heart. Seeing stacks of Greig's books and Brodie's vehicles and Grier's hairclips are evidence of my exponential good fortune. I'm a lucky human being to have these people and their stuff around.