My husband and I each have three jobs, and December is the busiest time of year for all of them. We are exhausted. And yet it’s so different from the years when our kids were little.

Every night in December we attended a Christmas program or party. I had to bake early and often for every party, and make sure the kids had all of their school supplies for important Holiday Crafts. Also, we tried to pay special attention to anyone who was alone at this time. But our frantic activity was offset by the delight of the children.

Oh, who am I kidding? There was a lot of frustration and anger, mostly on my part, as I tried to pull off a memorable and fulfilling Christmas. I could be heard to say, “ … because it’s tradition, dammit!” the last word muttered under my breath. Fortunately, I have a husband who was able to calm me. He is amazing at space management and makes sure the house is always neat, albeit bulging. He’s my white tornado and my hero.

And now … now the boys are in their mid twenties, unmarried and sharing an apartment. I have only grandcats. Our house is minimally decorated, owing to the fact that we are older and tired, and we don’t want to take it all down again.

But lately I’ve been worried about something. Two people close to me are on the verge of becoming hoarders. It happens in very small increments like weight gain: a little at a time, more stuff in, and less stuff out. They are generous, respectable, ordinary, overwhelmed people who become convinced that they don’t have the time or energy to throw anything away.

Recent emphasis on recycling has exacerbated this tendency in people who want every item to have a use and re-use. Various disabilities contribute to being emotionally unable to tackle projects that are too big.

The key here is denial. No hoarder believes they are hoarding. They don’t ask for help because they don’t think they need or deserve it. Plus, there is usually some degree of shame or embarrassment. And it’s only going to get worse.

Some might make the argument that my dad was a hoarder, but his house was relatively neat because I tried to clean regularly so that his peripheral junk wouldn’t overtake the living space. I figured that it was better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

The problem is well beyond the scope of a simple New Year’s Resolution. I guess I figure that if the job of cleaning out someone’s home falls to me if they pass away, I am close enough to try to help them while they are alive. So pray for me: I’m going in. Hopefully, I’ll have a white tornado with me. And this time, I’ll ask permission.