I'm stuffed...

The hubs (probably you think that is short for husband but actually it's short for hubba hubba) and I watched the first season of Hoarders on Netflix this past week.  It was riveting.  And more than a little uncomfortable.  Like, I don't want to look at him and have him give me a knowing look uncomfortable.

I'm stuffed.  I have the guts to prove it.  And the closets.  And the tops of everything or lack thereof.  Stuffing is an issue.  I stuff my face full of food that tastes good now but isn't moving me towards a goal of health and well-being.  Sure.  I have that as a goal.  We'll go with that.  I stuff my closet full of clothes that might fit me in the future and clothes that fit me in the past and clothes that I stare at, throw my arm dramatically across my face and lament that I don't have anything to wear.  Which is technically true since most of my wearable clothes are on a floor - basement or bedroom, take your pick.  I stuff my head full of noise and not altogether helpful self-talk and star gossip.  I continuously try not to be interested or invested in the inner workings of celebrities and their activities - especially after I read that Rihanna's publicist dropped an anonymous and later found to be untrue story that she had an inappropriate relationship with Jay-Z all so that she would get some press.  So, how can I trust the validity of the headlines that tell me whether or not Jen and Brad are getting back together?

I have identified my trouble spots and in no particular order other than biggest challenge to most biggest:

Part of the problem is that somehow the papers that enter my house transform into total sluts and start generating other papers and leaving their offspring all over the place.  My dude says I'm a hoarder of paper but it's not that I can't part with it.  I just don't have a firm grip on what is necessary and what is fodder for the recycling bin from the jump.  Is it appropriate to throw out all of my 9 year old's graded schoolwork that gets sent home every week?  What about my 5 year old's?  She worked all hard to color it and stuff.  This is her first official year of school.  Isn't that supposed to be monumental and I have to have mementos of all that?  And what do YOU do with all the cards from all the birthdays and Thanksgiving and Veteran's Day?  What if this is the last picture the little guy draws where he only draws one line and uses monochromatic tones, er, uh, tone?

Another problem is toys.  With 4 kids and a total sense of "that's mine"ship, we got a problem.  And every month those dang movie makers have to do tie-in toys for every cool (read - hackneyed, cliched, over-used theme with very few exceptions) new flick that comes out.  And it seems like all toy makers do is sit around thinking of hot new products to lure my kids into wanting and haranguing me about  until I fold like a cheap suit.  Or linen.  You fold that stuff and that fold will hold for life.  Anywho, we have toys.  And I've thrown out toys but we have more.  And I have to admit that I am a materialistic lover.  Gifts are one of my love languages and I'm fluent.  I use stuff to say "thanks" and "sorry" and "I dig you" and "hi" and "Happy Veteran's Day".  And since no one else speaks "give me presents to show me you love me" like I do, I have to supply my own to my own self.  I have expressed love to myself to the degree of stalking.

The second to the last problem is laziness.  I'd write more about that but doing so could be construed as productive and, well, work.

And now, to reveal my new thing today and it's tie in to what in the hell-o kitty is she rambling about all this time:

I'm purging some serious clothing around here:
I'll get a wild hair (they seem to be gray, as a matter of fact...) every now and again and will start tearing through the clothes.  I will decide that I don't like over half my wardrobe and toss it.  Have you ever heard of the 80/20 rule?  You wear 20% of your clothes 80% of the time.  And vicey-versey.  And the killer about that rule is that it absolutely applies to just about ANY facet of your life.  Check it - You have a cache of your go-to recipes.  I bet that list is 20% of the recipes you have in your house.   Your music.  Your make-up.  Your food.  Your books.  It's a rock-solid rule but I work against the very nature of it constantly.  Anywho, about the clothes.  I was just saying that pitching my clothes happens regularly.  But the kids' clothes.  Ah, now that is a horse of a different animal.  That's a saying, right?  I can't stand getting rid of their clothes.  The girls are worse than the boys.  Have you seen girl clothes?  They are DARLING.  And I think that sometimes, I don't so much buy clothing for them as I do for the little girl inside of me that would have adored that outfit.  And when left to her own devices, the kindergartner thinks that looking pretty is in fact translated to hooker chic also known as stripper fancy.  I don't know what that is but the shorter, shinier, sequinedest and most synthetic win every time.  I blame Bratz dolls.  And North Korea.  What?  The leader is evil and I figure I won't offend anyone by passing on that responsibility to a country that will never read this, ever.

But today is the day.  It's the perfect opportunity too.  I have made a decision that the weather is going to hold steady at this point and not go all schizo and get hot for just long enough for me to pull all the summer apparel out so that we don't sweat a river only to turn to 50 degree weather the very next day.  That means it's time to get out the bins.  The bins are my way of keeping copious amounts of clothing circulating under the guise of "you can't wear shorts in the snow so why do they need to be handy and taking up valuable sweater space?".  The bins are also my way of avoiding the reality that there is a crap load of clothing.  I have settled on some numbers that I will be working with as I try to get as much laundry done as possible so that I can look at as much as possible and not find any surprises that screw with my formula.   I'm posting what I'm done with on facebook and if they don't come a runnin', it's off to the Goodwill I go.  The clothes are ridiculous and something must be done!!

 I'll start with the boys.  15 shirts - 5 of each of the following variety - sweater, heavier long sleeve, lighter long sleeve.  5 pairs of pants including sweat pants.  4 sets of pajamas to be worn 2 days in a row unless some biological situation dictates otherwise (don't be entirely grossed out - eating is a biological function as well!).  Unrestricted amounts of underwear.

The girls are, as you might imagine, a bit more complicated.  My eldest is a princess.  She loves beautiful things.  Pretty much all beautiful things are pink.  And also, all beautiful girls wear dresses.  Exclusively.  Like, skirts don't even make the grade.  I have tried to buy pink pants.  I save that fight for gym days.  I have tried to cover the spectrum of interesting with a plaid skirt that had some shiny threads AND some pink polka-dots.  Isn't that the holy grail??  I have to force her to wear it.  And since she has a little sister who, despite the hissing, hair-raising cat fighting they constantly do, truly loves and admires her, said little sister would like to wear... dresses.  Exclusively.  So.  As of right now, I'm calling it 15 dresses.  I know.  That's a crazy amount of dresses.  I might be able to cut it down because I think I might not even have 15 dresses for each of them.  So, that would be like natural selection in action!  3 pairs of pants - because really, why bother?  5 skirts.  10 shirts.  I know.  That's a lot of clothes.  Don't think that I don't think about people who are only able to wear clothing out of necessity (and sometimes not even then) when I look at all this.  I do find small consolation in the fact that I got most of those dresses at the 99 cent sale at my local Goodwill.  And I try to pass on as much as possible rather than taking it somewhere people have to buy it.

But I started this process today and I will do everything I can to finish it tomorrow because I really do love my husband and I don't want him to see an unusable kitchen table, yet again.  He is pretty patient with me - sometimes.  And also, because I really want this for myself and for my kids.  At what point do they understand enough?  At what point do I hold myself accountable to teach them enough and lead by example?  So the other thing that I am doing is I'm taking the clothes that are summer fare and combining those with the clothes that I could wear 59 pints of ice cream ago and putting a note in that says, "If you are unpacking this and you can't put it on this summer either, it's got to go".  I'll read that and either think that it's referring to my derriere or to the clothes.  Either way, I hope to come out a winner.

I'm giving this process 5 out of 10 Jenny's jewels.  I'm maybe not even half done so I can't rate it higher. But the potential is there and the payoff will be huge.  Here's hoping I can add another star or 5 when I check in tomorrow.

Oh, and speaking of tomorrow.  I already know what my something new is.  Usually I sit around waiting for something new to present itself to me (did you not read the lazy paragraph 7 paragraphs up??) but tomorrow, it's actually planned out.  And, I'm excited about it because it is something special for someone else whom I love very much but also because I will be SO out of my element that the report back should be very interesting.

Now, if you will excuse me, it's been a long day and I gotta go find some ice cream.  A pint should do it.