Catharsis: theirs and mine

The school year is underway, and I celebrated with a cathartic activity. I purged the kids' rooms of 3 bags full of trash and two bags of charitable donations and I feel so free! I tore through the office with 2 bags each of trash and recycling, and the free space is liberating. There is no clutter, no stray Legos to step on. I go through this physical removal of junk a few times per year when I realize that even when I pick up the house, it is still cluttered. I do it when I realize that there is physically no more space in which to put our crap. I vow a few times per year that I will not acquire any more crap, that I will not cling to stray papers, that I will sort, file and pitch everything appropriately as it comes into my hands. I make these resolutions every time. Obviously, the fact that I go through this so often reveals how well I keep my resolve.
So, I open the kids' closets: broken Transformers, half-sets of Lego kits, chewed upon bits of Mega Blocks, games with missing pieces, Ben Ten aliens even more freakish for having been eaten by Clooney. This summer, the boys and I tried to cull this junk, and all I heard was, "NOOOO. You CAN'T throw this out. This is the left arm of my favorite Jedi!" or "NOOO. I am sure I will find the 33 missing pieces to this puzzle! PLLLLLLEAAAAAAAASE don't throw it away." But yesterday, in the silence, Clooney offered no protest at all when I threw away little cut up shreds of Pokemon pictures. He didn't complain when I pitched half of a lunar module with football stickers on it. He didn't blink when I gave away four ridiculously small and completely worn out tee shirts.
Gone. Poof!
The crappy promo gifts from the school fundraiser? Outta there. The torn out pages of birthday party catalogs? Gone. The no-longer bobbling bobble head Star Wars figures from MacDonald's? Later. The cracked remains of old birthday party loot bags? Bye. Some unrecognizable candy treat that E's been storing in his drawer? First, treated with disinfectant so it won't breed in the garbage can, and then pitched.
The clothes drawers now house tidy stacks of completely stain-free, wearable clothing. The closets are neat rows of bins and cubbies, the contents of which are clearly labeled. The baby books are appropriately updated and now house last year's report cards.
If laying claim over chaos is a sign of improving emotional health, then I am a postcard of mental perfection.
Now, of course, I need to go through my own closet, which is its own special brand of hell. I pull out a really cute skirt, ask myself if I should pitch it and I reply, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I am SURE I will be wearing a size 2 by the time winter comes again!"