My purging tirade is still at its peak, and I can't blame pregnancy or PMS on this obsession. I have been cleaning out overflowing drawers and closets during the past few months, and I must say, I find it quite enjoyable, yet clearly understand that this translates into having no life whatsoever. I have accepted and embraced its connotations.
This time I targeted a collection of seemingly cute and cuddly stuffed animals, taking over Patty's bed. This child has been sleeping in the fetal position in order to accommodate her army of soft, synthetic, useless friends. Does she play with them during daylight hours? No. Does she cuddle with any of them while she slumbers? No. She does sleep with one mini-teddy bear, which fits snugly in the palm of her five year old hand, which she has named Hannah. I wonder what over-sensationalized tween pop-star she got that name from? Hannah can stay because she is teeny and won't cause Patty to have sciatica in her future.
I took a gander at the heaps of dust collectors just festering their airborne filth into my sweet daughter's pure lungs and knew I had to eliminate a majority of the little bastards. How did they trickle into our home? When did they accumulate to such a large number, a fleet numerous enough to defend a small country if given weapons? Baby gifts, birthday presents, souvenirs from business trips, winnings from the grimy, sleazy state fair.
When Patty was playing elsewhere, I quickly gathered up about half of the evil animals, and shoved them heartlessly into a suffocating garbage bag to donate them another home, where another overwhelmed mother will one day get sick of looking at their phony smiles, and quasi-puppy-dog eyes and stuff them into yet another garbage bag to pass them along once again. Break the cycle. Limit these useless stuffed animals. There. That's my Green message for the week.
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