Kitchen Counter Clutter: Working Mom’s Real Homesteading Fix

Where can you reduce clutter in your life?

My kitchen counter is a disaster. You know the one—the magnet for mail, kid artwork, and random tools that multiplies like gremlins when you’re racing to set the table for supper. Here’s how I tame mine.

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As the mom of two kids, this could be an easy prompt to answer by just pointing at the toy bins and calling it a day. They get a lot of toys and clutter, and my older one brings home a staggering amount of paperwork from school. Some weeks it feels like the trees of Wisconsin are being felled one worksheet at a time. We’ve invested in a Montessori-style bookshelf (affiliate link) and toy shelves (like this one and this one, affiliate links), rotating toys so only a small number are out at any one time. The rest live in bins in the closet, ready to reappear when boredom hits.

But today, I’m talking about my clutter.

Specifically, this counter.

This counter is where all our kitchen table collectings come to die. It’s the landing pad for everything that doesn’t have a place—or that does, but we’re too rushed to walk those extra twenty steps. Art projects, mail, library books, notes from work, random tools, torn pants, a stray sock, half-finished crafts—they all land here.

The ritual is always the same: supper’s approaching, someone spots the chaos on the table, and everything gets scooped onto the counter. Table looks perfect. Counter silently absorbs the mess. Out of sight, out of mind—until we need that space again.

That next thing is often my husband’s sewing projects. He bucks the stereotype by loving to sew and fix clothing. When seams rip or buttons pop, he grabs the machine—his grandmother’s cherished heirloom, used at least twice a month. There’s poetry in mending happening where our clutter gathers: one space holding what’s broken and what’s fixable.

My approach isn’t glamorous. About once a month, I get fed up and drag a garbage can over. No big project, no speeches. Just relentless culling.

Books return to shelves. Important mail hits my office. Kids’ art gets sorted—some displayed or binned, most released. Junk, expired coupons, ripped envelopes: trash. I ask: “Do we need this? Does it have a home?”

In a Pinterest world, I’d have labeled baskets and a command center. In my world, it’s monthly irritation-fueled blitzes. And that’s enough for now.

What this teaches me about homesteading: Progress isn’t pretty systems or spotless counters. It’s clearing space for what matters—family suppers on a cleared table, a sewing machine keeping clothes alive, kids’ art earning its keep. My home stays lived-in, not staged. That counter reminds me daily: make room for real life, even if piles return tomorrow. Clutter reduction isn’t elimination—it’s choosing what earns its place.

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