Now We Can Buy MORE Stuff!

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.

Slow It Down, Friend.

Soon I'm gonna be 15.

Time is skipping by.

Actually, no, that's not quite true. Time is racing, speeding, and zipping by- faster than a two year-old can unravel an entire roll of Charmin toilet paper.

Susannah is already three months old. And Nora is edging ever closer to actual big kid-dom.

Zuzu is making sport out of outgrowing newborn clothing...and three months clothing...and certain three to six months clothing of the fancy dress persuasion...

With Little Nora Thumbelina, we had her wearing outfits well past whatever the tag would suggest. 6 month pants on a one year-old. 12 month onesies on a two year-old. Even a pair of [mislabeled?] strawberry bloomers that said 3-6 months but were worn just the other day. Outfits stuck around for so long that they became members of the family. Inside jokes. Part of the furniture.

With Zuzu, I'm lucky to have her wear something once so I can say she did so. Before it gets thrown on the Little Baby Girl pile. It's done a number on my sentimentality and Susannah's patience. (She doesn't care for sleeves.)

Things that were the epitome of cute on Nora sometimes look a little forced on Suzy. And stuff that didn't quite work on Nora are just right on her younger sister. As I shove her little arms and legs into Nora's favored critter oufits, Susannah will give me a look that seems to say- I'm a different person, Mom. Stop trying to shove me into some sorta box. Or panda overalls.

And I promise her- fervently- that I will always [try to] remember that she's her own gal. But she still has to wear socks.

Zuzu appears to be popping at least one tooth. Which is crazy. But she's apparently gotten the memo that she's doing everything on fast forward. And while- sure- it's absolutely zero fun to soothe her through the drooly, achy, gnawy pain, it's even less fun to realize that she's careening through her babyhood.

Soon she's going to be bolting down the hallways, shrieking alongside her sister. And then they'll both be going to school and leaving this [cluttered, noisy, messy] living room startlingly quiet. I imagine they'll go off to college, allowing me to have the pristine and organized home that I so loudly feel I deserve on a daily basis.

And I'll remember back to earlier this week when I refused to let Nora do the glitter all by herself (because of The Floors! Think of THE FLOORS!) and instead held on tightly to each part of the paper and glue, rushing that activity along to get to lunch, to nap, to bath, and on and on and on.

And I'll think of how I looked over impatiently at Susannah's whines while I was attempting (again) to mop the kitchen- only to lock eyes with her in her bouncy seat and elicit the world's happiest coo and smile of recognition. Because- whereas she couldn't give a fig for how full the washing machine was- having me stand still long enough to reassure her that I was still there was the bee's knees.

As I put Nora down for her afternoon nap yesterday, she patted me on the back and told me that I was a good friend. I kissed the top of her wild curls (smelling like a perfectly natural combination of sunshine and maple syrup) and almost decided to forgo the nap.

"Come on, kid," I almost told her. "Let's go throw glitter all over the couch. You can even hold the container."

But I didn't. Because there was writing and cooking and sanitizing and diapering (and more sanitizing) to do. Besides, a Nora without a naptime is not anyone's "good friend."

I wanted to, though. That should count for something.

Today Nora has her first ever honest-to-goodness class. It's a gymnastics class, which speaks volumes as to how I'm letting my kids do their thing without placing my fears directly atop their miniature heads. For I am terrified of heights, being upside down, and having my face broken. And gymnastics embodies the threat of all of those things for me. But seriously- the girl is a wild animal with little to no actual fear of danger (unless she actually has to converse with the danger first). She needs to learn a good tuck n' roll. Monkey bar skills that her Mama could never teach her.

And how to stick a dismount that would make even the Russians proud.

Zuzu will be there, too. In the sling since, after all, she is still a baby. My baby. Watching her big sister- my other baby- learn to do stuff without her Mom's help.

And I'm already proud of her. And incredulous that I have one beastie this grown already. And another hellbent on racing her.

And covered in glitter. For we are all covered in glitter. (Even when it's me holding the container.)

Tidiness is overrated, anyhow.

Not In The Least Bit "Wordless."

But decently cute, nonetheless.

I Wonder Where She Gets It.

I'm sorry, did someone say "decorations?"

We finally took down our tree and Christmas decorations this past weekend. I agree, it is on the later end of the whole Removal Of Holiday Stuff spectrum, but- as Peej pointed out- it was the Epiphany this weekend, the actual end of the Christmas season.

Which is totally why we kept them up this long.

Totally.

Also, last week, a pillar of the community helped him/herself to a few of our gate lights and at least one red bow. Fa la la la la.

So we wrapped and bundled and dragged...and will be living with pine needle remnants until next August. (They should build homes outta the stuff- there is no more stubborn material in the universe.)

And there's nothing like taking down festive decorations to remind you just how inept and unaware you truly are. Like when you believe you're finished with the packing up and then happen to spy a giant red, glittery reindeer right at eye level. (Does that count as Christmas stuff? Yes, Keely decided, I think it does.)

Even though Nora had said goodbye to the tree right before her nap, she still burst into the living room like the Family Guy monkey and pointed accusingly at where the tree had previously resided. And Was. Not. Happy. I finally convinced her that Santa needed our old tree at the North Pole. She grudgingly admitted that this was probably the case.

So what does one do with a newly (kinda) cleaned living room, devoid of all the hulking holiday accouterments? Why, we put up the royal play tent in all of its primary-colored goodness. And, at the time of this posting, it is chock full of items that normally reside in every single other room, excepting this one. (Books, baby cups, stuffed animals, copies of The Economist, and at least one cat. We've got a miniature Hoarders situation going on.)

It's a nice thing to see right by the front door.

Sure, Nora and Zuzu each have their own rooms and a playroom large enough to house Camelot itself...but nope. This proves that a) one can never be too classy, and b) P.J. and I are both eight year-olds if we see nothing amiss in keeping a nylon tent in the front living room.

Come play sometime- you can't miss us. We've got giant snowman gel clings on the front window...

...and a trail of pine needles down the block.