We were watching CSI the other night just before bed despite my resolution that forbids me from watching anything with an unsolved mystery, blood, needles, shark attacks or bat facts prior to trying to fall asleep.

This particular episode featured a hoarder and discussed a branch of the disease called clutter blindness.

I don’t know exactly what it is, nor have I taken the time to analyze or do an ounce of research on the subject, I just know I have it and can prove it in the following cupboards in my home;

The Tupperware cupboard. Thankfully, due to their light weight and fantastical, stackable genius, I don’t have to close the cupboard doors using my legs as back-up. I rely instead on the quick slam approach and am the Olympic medalist at perfectly timing the tossing of a lid into the almost closed, unbelievably overstocked cupboard.

The pantry cupboard. It might seem odd one would have a three-tiered pyramid constructed of cans of coconut milk even though I use approximately half a can for homemade pina coladas every other summer but remember, it’s a disease, I can’t see them.

The Kid’s Craft Cupboard. Twenty-nine thousand pencil sharpeners might disturb the average non-sufferer but through my self-diagnosis, I no longer feel shameful of the questionably large zip-loc baggies filled with my vice, princess shaped erasers.

Okay so maybe it’s not clutter blindness but rather its close relative, cupboard blindness.

My kids have bathroom floor blindness. They have taken to dragging bags of collectibles, dolls whose braided hair unwound years after manufacturing and no right-minded person can find their eyes through the nest of what might be dyed goat fur on their BPA free heads. I’ve tripped on a series of marbles now tucked neatly in a grout line row, shredded Kleenex that may have been used to wipe a spill but more likely as confetti for an impromptu Barbie bathroom wedding, books, stickers, junior fire chief paraphernalia and yet the kids, blinded by illness simply run along and play.

Poor things.