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really, most of these items can be sorted into one of five categories: hair product, body lotion, perfume, travel size, and makeup.”
    Libby thumps her tail in appreciation, while Maisy gives me the stink eye. She cares not for my mad emcee skills.
    “You’ll notice that I have a bottle of Living Proof hair spray, so I should place it in the hair-care bin, right? Wrong! If you look closely at the label, you’ll see that it meets the airlines’ requirement for carry-on liquid sizes, so we’ll sort this into the travel bin.”
    Even though this is a Martha-based happiness project, I can’t resist giving Gretchen Rubin her props by taking a task I hate and have actively avoided and trying to make it more fun; hence the narration.
    “And what’s this? A sample-size bottle of Jo Malone Wild Bluebell. My favorite! Maisy, where do you think this should be sorted?”
    She cocks one skeptical eyebrow at me. I’m disturbing her nap, so I’m pretty sure exactly where she’d like to me to place this bottle.
    “That’s right, sweetie. Even though this is perfume, it also goes in the travel bin! Why? Because I’m never going to be the asshat in the security line arguing policy with the TSA. Mummy doesn’t want to get strip-searched!”
    I continue sorting and hosting my show. Libby and Maisy eventually fall asleep, lulled by how soothing my voice is as I give them the blow-by-blow on why Smashbox makes the best eye shadow. Of course, I curse myself when I find six nearly identical pots of said shadow, yet I’m beyond pleased with the end result.
    I can’t believe I spent so long dreading and avoiding what ended up being kind of—dare I say it?—enjoyable. I’m going to save time by quickly locating what I need in this cabinet, and cash when I’m not alwaysshelling out for duplicates.

    I feel a sense of pride in having gotten over this small, yet incredibly frustrating hurdle, like I wrestled a tiny bit of control away from the chaos that seems to follow me.
    As I’m going to be pretty busy with my book for the next two months, I won’t be tackling any huge organizing projects, but I am happy knowing that I can chip away at various drawers and closets when I’m taking a break from my manuscript. So, unlike with every other book deadline, when I become so hyperfocused that the house falls apart, this time I’ll be actively taking steps to keep it together.
    Organization is going to lower my own stress level, which will impact all of us—me, the pets, Fletch…and the beard.
    It’s a good thing.

T HE T AO OF S TEAK K NIVES
    “Y ou’re trying to be Martha Stewart?” Wendy asks, with more than a little skepticism in her voice. “You realize she doesn’t hem her curtains with a steak knife, right?”
    “Hey! I only did that once in college,” I reply, doing my best not to sound defensive.
    Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have shared that particular story while Wendy was unveiling her seamstress-grade sewing room in her newly remodeled basement. But when I gazed upon the majesty of all those identically labeled jars of sorted buttons and rows of color-coordinated ribbons and crisp patterns hanging neatly on their individual clips, I felt the gravity of my transgressions against sewing, and my words squirted out of me. Wendy’s workshop felt like the kind of holy place where I needed to confess my tailor-related sins.
    (At least I didn’t mention all the times I used a stapler to fix errant pant cuffs. So there’s that.)
    Also, Wendy’s known me since my idea of entertaining revolved around opening jars of Ragú and shoveling piles of laundry, magazines, hair clips, shoes, Diet Coke bottles, and cat toys into a closet, so her misgivings have some basis in reality.
    Even when I started to improve on all things home-related, I’d make the occasional misstep, like when I threw my first dinner party for the girls a few years ago and I didn’t quite master the food-to-cocktails ratio. But come on! I’m sure other