Long time readers know that I am not the greatest housekeeper. Part of my problem, I'll admit it here, is the rest of my family's inability to throw anything away. Chief among them, my husband. I love him beyond all compare. But the boy is useless when it comes to parting with stuff.
"What are you doing in there? You better not be touching my stuff!" He yells from the livingroom while sitting next to the thigh-deep pile of junk mail we've received in the last month, most of which is addressed to him, because he subscribed to National Review in 1998.
Once a year I make an effort to purge my life of stuff I no longer use... Doug will see me leaving the house with a plastic bag marked "Donation" and he gets all upset. "What is that, what are you giving away?"
In the bag: Washed and bleached underpants that don't fit our kids anymore, pairs of socks that are too small for both our kids, t-shirts the Geoffinator has outgrown.
"This T-shirt from the Pittsburgh Zoo is one of my favorites! Don't we have a friend we can pass this down to."
"No. This is too small for every single one of our friends' kids (not true) so give it!" I grab it back, shove it in the bag and RUN.
"My dad bought Jessica that shirt! You can't just give it away!"
Oh yes I can.
So the new bedroom set is scheduled to arrive today between 1pm and 4pm. I just thought I'd take this moment to do exactly what Doug said I would do. "You're going to blog this, aren't you?"
He went through the bureau and all the allergy-inducing, sneeze-causing, dustbunny-releasing madness that went with. And he finished. I need to vacuum and then the bed can come.
Pictures forthcoming. I really just wanted to share the picture of the T-shirt that Doug received from the college we attended. It was given to him as thanks for working at Homecoming that year, a task he was required to do... he didn't do it as a favor and all he got was a shirt.
I'm using it to dust the baseboards.