'I tried to organise my house like on "The Home Edit" and it was... a disaster.'

I have a problem. There is a strong possibility you have the same one. Let's face it 2020 has been a pretty cruisy year so far, so I'm sure you can handle it.

I’m sorry to tell you but, YOU NEED TO EDIT YOUR HOME. Don't be embarrassed, I didn't realise I had to do this either.

Scrolling through Netflix, I stumbled across two women who will change your life, Clea and Joanna. They are the hosts of a television show/revolution/cult called The Home Edit. I figured watching this show kind of counted as cleaning, so I tuned in.

Here's a taste if you're yet to watch.

Guys. Seriously. This show is a shining light. A holy path. A religion. Clea and Joanna are here to cleanse me of my sins. From not wearing matching socks, to not owning a complete set of glassware.

I mean here I was, wandering worrying about this global pandemic, the possibility of Trump for another four years, climate change, QAnon conspiracy theories...

I'd reached crisis point with all the things I had to freak out about. Enter Clea and Johanna. Or as I began to call them 'CleJo.'

I let CleJo take me to another world. All that background noise faded away. I was in a strange meditative state, a higher realm, a privileged utopia of containers.

It was so pacifying. I watched these two women highlight a problem I didn’t even know I had and then give me a solution to it. In order to achieve true enlightenment I had to travel along the rainbow coloured coordinating system, separate and contain everything in my life, and stick a pretty label on it.

Armed with a label maker I was completely ready to be indoctrinated and contained.

Looking around it was clear I was in dire need of a home edit. My house was some truly first draft shiz. I thought it was reasonable to make sure everyone had clean clothes and food. To wipe any wee drips off the toilet seat and scrape any rogue boogers I found plastered on the walls behind beds.

Well, that was not good enough according to CleJo. But that was about to change. S**t, was about to get real. I even put on a bra, so you know, it was serious.

My nine-year-old daughter came into the room, and seeing that my boobs were no longer around my knees and that I was holding a packet of garbage bags, she said: "Oh no, have you been watching one of those shows again? Are you going to make us stare at our toys and if they don't make us happy throw them away?"

"No, don't be silly," I replied. "This is all about the rainbow! We are going to make the house so pretty, get excited!"

Cue eye roll and then she was gone. It’s incredible how busy kids can get when they see a vacuum or a bottle of Windex.

I started with the fridge. This was a challenge. Nothing was the same height. Nothing would line up. No wonder I had no bloody balance in my life. Maybe I needed a special milk container? Are they a thing? Maybe I should start buying different shaped cheese? 

After standing there for five minutes eating cheese I decided I wasn't ready for the fridge. I moved on to toys. My four-year-old decided to 'help'.

"We are going to sort all your LEGO into colours! Won't that be fun!" I said cheerfully.

"Why?" he asked, picking his nose.

"Because it will look pretty!"

He removed the finger and cocked his head to the side, like a confused poodle.

After the colour sorting, I realised I had nowhere to put it all. As I stood to find a solution, my foot landed on a piece of LEGO, which is a special kind of torture.

I know they say hot coals, but seriously people, the saying should be 'I’d walk across a pile of LEGO for you.' That's real love.

On the way to find LEGO storage I spotted our family book shelf. Complete disorder. Books of all sizes and colours. It was swimming in diversity. As the casting directors of any Bachelor season would know, this simply would not do. Apparently books do need to be judged by their covers.

So I began to sort them by colour. But should genre come into play at all? I mean, should my copy of Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility really be next to Where is the Green Sheep? They were both white... am I supposed to have two separate rainbows for kids and adults?

"What are you doing?" he asked. 

"Organising the board games by colour," I told him.

He looked at me like perhaps I'd finally lost it and asked: "Why?"

"Because IT'S PRETTY. AND IMPORTANT. By the way, you need to build another bookshelf."

Seeing the crazed look, my one eye twitching he backed away slowly. 

Then there were the art supplies. Do you realise your kids are probably colouring right now, with their pencils and Textas just thrown in a case all together with no system in place at all? 

So the craft segregation began. Everything into colours. But we have like five red pencils and only one blue. WHERE DOES THE BLUE ONE GO? Half of the Textas don't have matching lids. Do I sort by lid or base? LID OR BASE?

So yeah, forget game nights. Now we were going to spend our evenings matching tupperware containers with their correct lids.

Just a side note, if you’re ever looking for a sign that you are no longer a young person: You care about tupperware. That’s the sign.

I began to panic about the long-term maintenance of this belief system. Why could I not find the path to pure organisation? Perhaps it was time to hand in my label maker and shove myself into the messy draw with all the other lost items.

I mean we all know that cleaning isn't really the hard part... how exactly do I maintain this? Should I have display toys, never to be played with, just to stare at? Like my mum's guest towel that no one ever dared touch?

I wonder if I could hire CleJo for this? Like a permanent structured security system to stand over my children and ensure the pencils are returned to their rightful homes. To dress me in the morning and make sure my socks match. To teach me why people iron their underwear.

Here’s a tip: If someone notices that your underwear is ironed, they probably aren’t the type of person who will be able to focus on the most important crease.

After an entire day of attempting to reach the pot of gold at the end of my orderly rainbows, I decided I was done. I'm out CleJo. I'm starting my own cult. I’m choosing fun over function. Mess over mania. Chaos over containers.

Feel free to join me.

Feature image: Supplied.