Catharsis by force

I am a horrible thrower-outer. I keep random crap and lots of it. In fact, when we moved from Missouri, we had an ENTIRE moving van all to ourselves. Over 450 boxes. Of crap! Crap! CRAP!
I am in a cathartic mood, and have been going through cupboards and closets in a vast purging of stuff. I'm not very good at it, though. A stuffed animal somebody bought for E when he was born, but that he never grew attached to? Out! But it's so cute. And it was only our third gift. From people who vaguely knew our parents. Awww. Let's keep it.
Shoes two inches too short? Look how cute they are! So itty bitty! We can't give away shoes that cute!
A 100 piece puzzle with only 99 pieces? But the challenge lies in figuring out which piece is missing! Can you guess before you assemble?

Despite my shortcomings, I try, which is what's important. I got the kids' closets to the point where I can see actual floor. I have two bags of clothing to give away. Two bags of stuffed animals for the fire department. A whole heap of trash. When I go in the bedroom to kiss the kids goodnight, I turn on the closet light so they won't be in the dark. Now that the closets are all clean, I stick my head in there and bask in the order. It feels good.

One thing I am not good at, and as a result, am not in charge of, is paper. The amount of paper that comes in to run a household is remarkable....bills, statements, insurance paperwork, health care paperwork, animal care, home improvement, warranties, guarantees, receipts, tax returns...the list goes on and on.

M has undertaken the paperwork heap. He processes it, sorts it, and organizes it in three ring binders. All very efficient. All so NOT my thing. Very diligently. And I'm not complaining, because I couldn't do it myself. BUT. We have three ring binders from 1999. We have animal care receipts from the dog who is NO LONGER ALIVE. We have utility receipts from houses we no longer own.

Now, don't get me wrong. In a pinch, M has come up with some obscure warranty, receipt or paperwork which has bailed us out of a jam. On the other hand, we have enough paper to provide a high fiber diet to an army of cockroaches up in the attic. It's a fine line. With clothes, or stuffed animals, or toys, it's really hard to mess up when throwing out stuff. In a WORST case scenario, I throw out a pair of pants that seems hopelessly out of fashion, only to to see it reemerge on the scene a half decade later. So, I buy the updated version. But, when I go on a paper shredding binge, I invariably shred something of national security and we're lost. The validity of a purchase agreement is nullified, and we have to pay $10 million to get the floors repaired. Or whatever.

So I don't get involved in the paperwork. I don't try to pitch it or save it or anything. I just leave it. But I want anyone to know that if the attic collapses under the weight of three ring binders full of utility bills from Toronto, that I wasn't in charge of that. Moving boxes 375 to 400 were NOT my doing.

In the end, I am recruiting good thrower outers. I need help getting rid of crap. I don't want to end up like the hoarders on TV, navigating my house through towering heaps of junk. If you want to come help me, the big jobs left are my closet, (Ms and my halves) and the kitchen. I need a ruthless cutter. I need a harsh eye to say that indeed, those skinny jeans are never going to fit.

Bring trash bags, bring boxes. Come armed. I will fight you for those comfy sweats I've had since college. But, come soon. I wanna get this done. Mostly. Sorta.