wow, so a family of five is definitely more than a family of four. add to that an ill-behaved neighbor kid and two mangy felines and you've got yerself a fucking full time job of laundry, cooking, dishes, bed making, toys picking-upping and general rearranging. d and d2 moving in actually hit me this week, in more than a transient, hey, cute new bedspread! kind of way. we weren't expecting d to be out of his lease until october 1st and i think i'd just shelved the thinking about it until it was actually going to happen. i've been so preoccupied with making sure it was what he really wanted and that he wasn't doing it because he felt pressured or doing it to save money or doing it just so he could blame me in three months (years decades) for his inborn dissatisfaction...
as it turns out, i totally have feelings about it too. thankfully, they're all positive. yeah, so, um, i hope this doesn't sound contrived, or cliche, but i sorta wanna be your family, baby. let's raise our kids together and build a home and a big old fun and fulfilling life together. and if i'm honest with myself i've had this panicky/excited feeling too. shit, we're gonna DO this.
on monday night we went up to his place to start making piles: things to keep and bring to my house, things to donate, things to throw away. we made good time (while the two big kids ran around on the property) and created a huge pile of stuff that just isn't going to fit (his mattress, his futon, his bedside tables). i tried to strike a balance between being respectful of his stuff, or rather his attachment to his stuff, and not wanting to clutter up this house too badly. (this must be scarier for d; getting rid of his bed is getting rid of the ability to immediately change his mind and go sleep on a mattress in his storage unit. our STUFF is mingling now, like for reals ya'll. *eep!*) it went well (aside from when we found the taped-shut drawer from pre the last move with a few things belonging to his ex-girlfriend. oops. i'm just tacky enough to take the big silver hoop earrings and just classy enough to leave the lingerie. *wink* my heart skipped a beat at the sight of a flirty little bra but i swallowed and thought hey, we both have a past. and that's ultimately not just okay, but really important.)
so all the making piles up there has thrust me into pile making down here. i've taken a bag (or three) to donate every day for the past week. clothes that i haven't worn in ages (itchy, but beautiful, off-white mohair sweater) or never really liked (terrible baby blue london bridge shirt), knick-knacks that are just dust collectors, mementos belonging to memories that i can no longer remember the significance of. i went through my junk drawer (90% junk, imagine that...) and my bathroom junk drawer (have i ever used a sleep mask or those stupid oral b brush ups? no, i have a mother flippin' toothbrush, 500 of them as it turns out.) i went through and smelled my 20 fancy lotions (more than half from christmases at least 5 years ago) and threw away all the ones that smelled remotely questionable. un-played-with toys, ratty towels, bk's sonicare brush that he never used. earings from 4th grade (really), a broken hand print in clay from 1988 (really), the copy of left behind that i bought at the thrift store because i thought it was so ridiculous (i almost stabbed myself in the eyes after 15 pages. was the guy from the new york times high on crack when he wrote his review? (no, really)).
this is the second time the house was made new. the first purge when bk left and i finally admitted he was 'gone' and gave him his stuff. i rearranged the house and made it mine. and now, i'm purging and rearranging to make room for someone new. it's good and mellow and blt's for dinner-y.
as it turns out, i totally have feelings about it too. thankfully, they're all positive. yeah, so, um, i hope this doesn't sound contrived, or cliche, but i sorta wanna be your family, baby. let's raise our kids together and build a home and a big old fun and fulfilling life together. and if i'm honest with myself i've had this panicky/excited feeling too. shit, we're gonna DO this.
on monday night we went up to his place to start making piles: things to keep and bring to my house, things to donate, things to throw away. we made good time (while the two big kids ran around on the property) and created a huge pile of stuff that just isn't going to fit (his mattress, his futon, his bedside tables). i tried to strike a balance between being respectful of his stuff, or rather his attachment to his stuff, and not wanting to clutter up this house too badly. (this must be scarier for d; getting rid of his bed is getting rid of the ability to immediately change his mind and go sleep on a mattress in his storage unit. our STUFF is mingling now, like for reals ya'll. *eep!*) it went well (aside from when we found the taped-shut drawer from pre the last move with a few things belonging to his ex-girlfriend. oops. i'm just tacky enough to take the big silver hoop earrings and just classy enough to leave the lingerie. *wink* my heart skipped a beat at the sight of a flirty little bra but i swallowed and thought hey, we both have a past. and that's ultimately not just okay, but really important.)
so all the making piles up there has thrust me into pile making down here. i've taken a bag (or three) to donate every day for the past week. clothes that i haven't worn in ages (itchy, but beautiful, off-white mohair sweater) or never really liked (terrible baby blue london bridge shirt), knick-knacks that are just dust collectors, mementos belonging to memories that i can no longer remember the significance of. i went through my junk drawer (90% junk, imagine that...) and my bathroom junk drawer (have i ever used a sleep mask or those stupid oral b brush ups? no, i have a mother flippin' toothbrush, 500 of them as it turns out.) i went through and smelled my 20 fancy lotions (more than half from christmases at least 5 years ago) and threw away all the ones that smelled remotely questionable. un-played-with toys, ratty towels, bk's sonicare brush that he never used. earings from 4th grade (really), a broken hand print in clay from 1988 (really), the copy of left behind that i bought at the thrift store because i thought it was so ridiculous (i almost stabbed myself in the eyes after 15 pages. was the guy from the new york times high on crack when he wrote his review? (no, really)).
this is the second time the house was made new. the first purge when bk left and i finally admitted he was 'gone' and gave him his stuff. i rearranged the house and made it mine. and now, i'm purging and rearranging to make room for someone new. it's good and mellow and blt's for dinner-y.