Winter Purge is the New Spring Cleaning

I kind of like the big Spring Cleaning. I get to clear all the outgrown winter clothes out of my house, dig all the unused and unwanted toys out from under the beds and the back of closets, and finally open the windows and bid a big, wide, loud "Screw Off!" to winter.

That being said...

There is NO WAY ON MAUDE'S GREEN EARTH that I can wait that long. What the fruck happened to my house since Thanksgiving? There is stuff. just. everywhere. My house is starting to resemble my favorite pair of jeans -- being asked to stretch beyond what physics dictates to hold everything I put into it. It's basically begging for liposuction. Forget waiting for Spring Cleaning; I'm going for the Winter Purge.

There are levels to the Winter Purge, depending on just how bad of shape your house is in. It's based on the MommyLand Schmidt Advisory, so you just figure out what level you're at, and follow the appropriate Winter Purge instructions. 

Level Green: Hello. We love you. Like, a lot. But why are you even here? If your house is at Level Green two weeks after the Christmas Wrapping Paper Explosion, then we're not sure we could be friends with you. We can build an altar and kiss your golden slippers, but friends? We're kinda flail-y, and you are obviously a woman in a lovely pearl necklace, sensible pumps, pointy bra and, possibly, imaginary children. Wait -- can we totally be friends? Oh, and possibly borrow your vacuum cleaner? We suspect it's industrial sized. We also suspect it's where you're hiding the children. Can ours move in with them?

Level Blue: Lefty came out of his room in what at one time were probably pants, but are now more like knickers, and his "You're Messin' With Trouble" t-shirt that was now slowly losing a battle with his bellybutton and oozing its way up to his armpits. I asked him where on earth he dug those out of, and was informed they were the first things he grabbed when he opened his bureau. I had to go look, because I was pretty sure the bureau had become the portal to Tiny Narnia. These clothes fit last week. 

Level Green isn't too bad; it's just too early. And time consuming. And the kids whine about you getting rid of their favorite jammies and insist they can still wear them for a little while longer even though you're not sure how they can possibly sleep with a flannel wedgie.

Level Yellow: This level usually comes right on the heels of "THAT IS IT! I AM GETTING RID OF EVERYTHING!" and then lots of crying and rending of garments and then you realize no one is paying attention so you just yank the box of Hefty bags off the shelf and go to town. Clothes in one bag, toys in another, broken stuff in a third, shoes and orphan socks, gloves and mittens in another. One bag has nothing but papers that have been sent home from school, and clocks in at about 600 pounds.You walk out of each kids room with two or three bags full of stuff. Their rooms are pristine. You celebrate with a nice t-box. All that's left is a little sorting, a little distributing to church and the thrift store and the neighbors and the dump. Twenty-six days later, the bags are still in your living room, mocking you. You drag them back into the kids' rooms so you don't have to look at them one mur. thur. fur. kin. minute longer. The next morning, 14 bags of crap have barfed all over their rooms, because they were looking for their other mitten.   


Level Orange:  This is my house. I sent McLovin to Home Depot last weekend for washing machine boxes. Two of them. And a refrigerator box if they had it. The children were disappointed to find out that it wasn't, in fact, to make them their very own outdoor apartment so they could get away from me. [Editor's Note: We don't have zoning for that. -Kate] So now, in addition to the furniture that lives on my porte cochere, there are now 88 square feet of boxy delciousness. I started off all organized and stuff, but now I'm just hurling everything in there. They probably weigh as much as a regular washing machine, and you know what that means...that 237 pounds of crap is no longer in my house.

Now the challenge: To get it off the porte cochere. As fate would have it, Lydia and I met this awesome dude the other day when we made jackholes of ourselves in front of an Academy Award Winner. But he has this company, GoodDonor, that comes to your house and happily takes away all your stuff and then disperses it to all the awesome places like Salvation Army and thrift stores and GoodWill and they give you a receipt and when you file your taxes you get to realize that you gave. away. seventeen. thousand. dollars. worth. of. stuff. for. free. But that's OK, because your taxable income as a SAHM for 2010 was $14, and that was only because your snarky pre-teen daughter said that you could have whatever was in her wallet if you just shut your yap and put away her laundry for her. Oh? Just me? Hmmm. Never mind.

Oh yeah. One last level.

Level Red: Build a bonfire. Provide "kindling." Toast marshmallows. I was thisclose.

xoxo, Kate

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