Purge

Along with the sugar thang I am purging clothing. Holy moly people! You would not believe the way the clothing mates in my boys' bedroom. It's quite obscene! The scene in there this morning was X-rated. I even took photos, although I'm fairly certain CPS would take my children away if they saw them, so I shall keep them to myself, for the sole purpose of inflicting guilt upon my offspring when the job is finally done." Look children! Look! Once AGAIN I took your room from THIS *flash photo of lavishly cluttered extravagantly wrecked room,* to THIS" *throw open arms to reveal magnificently organized and beautifully serene room* [cue angelic choirs]

ANDNOWFORTHELOVEOFEVERYTHINGGOOD
ANDHOLY
ANDYOUROWNSAFETY
KEEPITTHATWAY!!

Here's the thing peeps. We have too much stuff. We do, we do. Particularly when the average gerbil cage exceeds the space we have to put stuff. You think I kid? I do not.

I'm not fond of buying things, spending money causes me anxiety, I do not relate to retail therapy. I feel the need for therapy after I visit a retail establishment. I don't buy my kids toys unless it is their birthday or Christmas. They are not inappropriately spoiled by relatives. I only buy clothing for them when I feel that there is a glaring need. Or when I see a glaring knee. Through a hole in their pants. (Such holes occur more and more frequently as my boys grow and with them their penchant for throwing themselves around on their knees, it's really frustrating, all these impeccable new jeans trashed only at the knee, and no, I do not mend these holes, even if I was domestically inclined, that would be considered incredibly nerdy and not OK by my too-cool for school boyz in the hood. )

But still, all these things considered...STILL! We have way, way WaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAYYYYY too much. Mostly thanks to generous benefactors of hand me downs. This is the problem with the spending anxiety/limited discretionary income. When someone gives you something for free, you clutch it to your bosom and weep copious grateful tears of joy and gladness, even if that something is a slightly stained t-shirt from Puerto Vallarto. And before you know it, you are literally drowning in someone else's vacation t-shirts and team issued t-shirts, and huge numbers of jeans which will never in this lifetime fit your skinny child in his waist before they become too short. I thought I had mostly overcome my hoarding complex but it would appear not.

Let me tell you something else. No matter how brilliant and diligent you are at organizing stuff. (Which I'm not), but even if you are if you want your kids to keep something organized you simply cannot have too much stuff. Kids can only keep a very limited amount of stuff organized. Apparently that would be in the range of 10 things or less.

About a year ago I stripped that boys' bedroom of all toys save select stuffed animals. (Which then grew to a full menagerie of Webkinz -talk about a mating problem, but that is another rant for another day). I was certain at this time that I would have no trouble walking into an immaculate room every single day. I mean how much mess can three boys make with just clothing. Oh my dear gentle reader, you just don't even want to know. Because that would be A Lot.

I have been threatening to pare down their wardrobe to just 7 outfits per season and some church clothing for a long time now. Today I came so much closer to that goal. We tossed everything that was a bit stained, a bit nerdy, a bit big, a bit small, or a bit what IS that anyway? We had another pile of knee-less pants. That pile was enormous. Lest you think it has been years since I last did this, let me assure you, it has been months. And not very many of them. I'm telling you true, the clothing mates like my frustrated bunny wishes she could.

And then there was the tres delightful pile of dirty clothing that was shoved back into the drawers. (Apparently the only time they can manage to gt their laundry into the drawers is when it is filthy). That batch filled my amazingly empty hamper (just as I thought I was caught up with the laundry).

So all day I sorted and tossed (and sniffed and gagged). We tried on clothes, marveled that Finny's legs have apparently grown 3 inches in three weeks, folded, stacked, re-folded, re-stacked, purged some more...

And now they are in bed. And still their room is not tidy. There is yet work more to do there. I feel deeply unfulfilled.

I'm thinking about the naked tribes-people again and feeling a pang of yearning and envy. And not just for the cellulite-free fat. Imagine not doing any laundry related task ever again.

Why is it that we think we are such an evolved society? We are absolutely enslaved by fabric.

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