If you're unfamiliar with OCD, it comes in various forms. There are washers, doubters, checkers, counters, hoarders, and as is my case, arrangers. I don't like the word "arranger" though - it lacks that smooth-roll-off-ones-tongue ability. I prefer "organizer."
As you might imagine, in a house with six people, maintaining organization isn't an easy feat. There are moments when my obsessive need for order finds me fighting the compulsion to clean up everything.... the right way! (Which, FYI, is always my way!) I have to remind myself that it's okay for the cereal boxes to be out of order, for the dishwasher to be loaded chaotically, for the bath towels to be folded in halves (instead of thirds) and randomly sorted instead of color coded. These, I'm trying to convince myself, are normal habits of non-OCDer's and there's not harm in being NORMAL...
Or, is there?
Needless to say, I'm always grateful for any semblance of order I can find... and keep. Today that order exists in my closet. (Not the kids closets, mind you. Those you'd be good to sport a face mask before opening.) Their color-coded, equally spaced, neatly arranged order - while it may seem ridiculous to you - brings peace to my chaos and puts a smile on my face.