 |
| Peej is ashamed. Also, a good cleaner. |
Yesterday, I began the process of diggin’ out the homestead. (I initially entitled it The Big Dig, but I hear that’s been taken…)
It’s not that we’re being bogged down by too much stuff (which, of course, we are- but that’s not the problem), it’s that we’re being dragged down by the wrong stuff. Or, rather, the stuff we weren’t even aware we still had.
I’ve been feeling this project coming for awhile. Mostly in recurring half-thoughts of- If The House Were On Fire , What- Besides The Babies And Cats- Would I Save?
The answer horrified me. For it was “everything.” Also, I wasn’t entirely certain what that “everything” still resided. Birth certificates, wedding albums, my leather Frye boots- sure. But what about things like my childhood Buppy blanket? I DID NOT WANT BUPPY TO BURN.
And while organizing our excessive thingitude wouldn’t necessarily make it easier to save everything, it might just make it easier to file that ol’ fire insurance report. (Boy, January makes some of us a little doomy, doesn’t it?)
We began with the hall closet. Easy enough, right? Our goal: to actually offer hangers and/or coat space to visitors. (Perhaps we didn’t need twelve coats apiece right at our fingertips. One thing about Chicago: the elements- usually- remain the elements for a goodly few months. There’s probably time to swap out a lighter coat before the next heat wave.)
 |
| Gotta admit, that’s a sweet corncob. |
Here’s what we found:
-Three separate BundleMe blankets for the strollers and car seat. Not including the one BundleMe actually in use by our single infant.
-A hat, gloves, and scarf set which P.J. fully admitted was “for company.” (Listen, if someone visits wintertime Chicago without gloves, I’m not sure I want that brain trust working my stove, locks, or toilet.)
-A really nice Bebe coat that has never fit. It was a hand-me-down back around the time of our engagement. And if Twice Weekly Abs Class/South Beach Diet Keely couldn’t shove her boobs into the jacket, Post-Baby Keely should kinda live in the now.
-A box of winter hats for Susannah- even though she keeps all of her winter gear in her room’s ginormous closet. (I hadn’t wanted her to feel under-represented in the hallway. Which looks even worse typed out than it sounded in my head.)
We got it down to a respectable number of coats per person (which I am not disclosing, lest you be judgey) and freed up room for actual people to place their actual outerwear.
Result: One bag for donation, One bag for trash.
We were so jazzed by this result that I promptly attacked the dining room. I knew that I had collected some junk alongside my treasures (and moved with them time and time again), but it was time to streamline the collections. I didn’t think it would take more than an hour. But I should never underestimate the ability of back-of-hutch space to hold an improbable amount of stacked objects.
 |
| Blow out your candles, Laura. |
Some highlights:
-Moldy cake candles. (Now, without pointing any fingers, someone’s idea of “taking care of it” means “shoving them in a tupperware and putting a vase on top of them.)
-Wicker baskets. Lots.
-A corncob candlestick- which, admittedly- we LOVE.
-A gigantic crystal bowl heavy enough to snap our dining room table.
-An army of mismatched plastic forks. Hundreds of them. Why? WHY?
-An ugly handmade mug with an inspirational handwritten message. Not even by us. Or for us.
-Candle without wicks. Because, you know, I liked how the jar still smelled.
-Receipts. (I asked Peej how long one should keep a Dominos pizza receipt- he said three years, just to be on the safe side.)
-And the big one- every dried rose from every event and boyfriend, ever. (If you are a past boyfriend reading this, then yes, I have the rose from that formal dance that one time. And if you are my mother and wondering if I still have that flower from my confirmation- yup!) They were in glass jars and positively ugly vases. And I moved with these things. For close to twenty years. And, since my flower-pressing skillz were not what they should have been at age fourteen, some of these non-dried blossoms got a little moldy. That’s right, I’VE BEEN PAYING MOVERS TO CART MY MOLD. Still, it was hard to just toss them. But it needed to be done. It was getting all Glass Menagerie up in there.
Once I removed the bio-hazard mask, I admitted that it felt good to let them all go. I told P.J. that I was fully ready to throw out ex-boyfriend flowers.
He asked if I was sure I’d given it enough time.
Final dining room tally: One large box (and smallish armload) of stuff to donate, one huge bag o’ trash and one medium-sized bag of disintegrating petals (also trash.)
I’m not gonna lie- it feels amazing in that room, now. (Also the hall closet, but I haven’t yet had the urge to stand in there.)
Can’t wait to show it off with a dinner party where I use actual- and accessible- neatly stacked dishware.
Once the room loses the slightly funereal odor, that is.
Speak Your Mind