So, I had a "Sleeping with the Enemy" moment yesterday when I discovered something very distressing about my husband. Something he has managed to keep hidden from me these past 4 years. Before I explain, a bit of background is in order...
My mom (no surprise to those of you who know her) comes from a long line of packrats. This heritage made for an interesting upbringing where I was encouraged to collect and keep everything. My mom's all time, hands down, favorite place on EARTH is the good ol' Deseret Industries. Her mantra: "one man's trash is another man's treasure!" I remember one especially bizarre day when I was in high school, watching my mom coming up the drive, lugging a medium sized, sky blue, old fashioned suitcase behind her. She was ecstatic as she prepped the room for the unveiling of her newest treasure. A suitcase full of old, valuable baseball cards? Nope. A rare collection of WWII memorabilia, perhaps? Not a chance. This particular suitcase was filled with hundreds and hundreds of POGS. You know, those little plastic coin-shaped things that you hit with the bigger plastic coin shaped whatevers and it's some sort of game or something? Yeah, that's right. Bare in mind that I was in high school at the time and am the youngest in my family and never even liked pogs when they were popular when I was in elementary school. Her reasoning for the purchase? "It was only $3!" That medium sized, sky blue, old fashioned suitcase full of pogs was never opened again and never budged an inch from its resting place behind our living room recliner the entire rest of my high school career. I remember some years later asking my mom whatever happened to her pog collection. Her response: "What are pogs?" Precisely. Needless to say, this little "tendency" of my mother's turned me into a near compulsive thrower-away-er. That's right. I said thrower-away-er.
So, last night I was sorting through our closet in preparation for our move and started feeling ultra claustrophobic at the ridiculous amount of t-shirts Sam has acquired over the years. No less than 47 to be exact. He presently wears three of them. I called Sam into our bedroom to help me sort and as I held them up one by one, he proceeded to tell me the sentimental story that went along with each shirt and why he was justified in keeping it.
Seriously? This is the shirt you wore to your first job like 12 years ago so you want it?? This is the shirt you spilled soup on at your favorite family's house on your mission and the stain still smells like the soup so it means a lot to you??
This charade continued with his collection of ties, shoes, and dress shirts. "No! I really do like that one, I just forgot about it!" I was only able to get rid of about 5 articles with his permission. Anyway, the sobering truth of it all is that Sam is indeed a packrat and now I have to go through the painful process of de-packratting him. A process that requires emotionally attaching him to many inanimate objects and then ripping them from him life. Just kidding. BUT, I will be sorting through his collection again tomorrow while he's at work. Anything he hasn't worn in the last 6 months...TOAST.
In other breaking news.....
So thrilled Leah has learned to give an intentional stink eye. It's become quite alarming to strangers who try to get her to smile. She loves doing it, so she bursts into laughter or smiling each time. These pics were taken in sequence out to dinner the other night:
Stink eye...
Smile...
Stink eye...
Smile....
Stink eye...
Smile...
And a couple of pics of her luscious locks as of late. It's getting so curly and floofy! My mom always took pics of the back of my hair when I was a babe because it was equally curly and floofy... so it had to be done...
P.S. I got into a full on scuffle with my one year old today. She kept coming up to me and snagging things out of my hands or off of my lap in a nasty way... giving me stink eye... taunting me. I had to take a time out when I realized I was in a tug-o-war with her over my phone and was shouting, "Give it! Give it! It's mine!!" Yes. Proud to be me.
6 comments:
Kent totally does that too...the hoarding of the shirts and other dumpy wear. I can't say I'm surprised. But I love that you are a compulsive thrower-away-er because I am too. I love throwing stuff away because there is just too much CRAP in my house!!
Ohhh Vanessa...I don't know if you even remember me, but I finally give in and have to admit to you that I've been a blog stalker. You have me in hysterics quite often...to the point I find myself giggling out loud. Anyway...thanks for the many laughs. I relate to the case of hoarding husbands, especially t-shirts?? What up with that?? I think mine may even have a few more than yours! :) I enjoy your blog immensely and your little Leah is an absolute doll.
Oh my gosh I totally remember your mom's and pog's so I seriously am still laughing!!! Your mom is seriously the sweetest lady and her love for the simple things makes me love her even more!
Ness, I believe I was with you when we asked mom about the pogs, and then ambushed her after she asked what they were....true heff!
Oh my gosh. I am laughing so hard. Nancy the packrat! I love it and only people who have seen her in action can appreciate... remember how decked out she got us for our Ceasar scene in murphy's class? Going over to the storage unit was an amazing experience to say the least.
And... if you want to appease Sam but not deal with t-shirts? Make him a t-shirt quilt... he can still cherish the memories without hauling the dagnab things forever.
Also, if only I had a record of those PROUD mommy moments... haha, they are grand.
There is a clear and present difference between being a packrat and just being sentimental with your clothes. Of course, Melanie would disagree with this.
One thing to keep in mind is that eventually you will have a house and a yard and Sam will be doing the dirty work outside and in and will need a large collection of old shirts for this work. Also, these shirts are good for rags.
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