The many colors of kryptonite

So, 2012 is the year of babies. I've said before that I know a 4 brazillion* women who are having babies and eventually, I'm gonna put together a list so I can keep track of all this stuff.

That being said, part of our plan for 2012 is to attempt to get ready for said baby of ours before she arrives. This involves a lot long, hard talks with our stuff. We have many closets in this house (though not enough, because when can you ever have enough closets?) and most of them are full of stuff that's just taking up space. I think this is fairly common in most households around these parts. We don't need the vast majority of the stuff that's hanging out in those boxes, but it's hard to get rid of. Some of it is sentimental attachment, but most of it is a product of our upbringing.

"Don't get rid of that! We might need it later! Somebody could use that! It's still good!"

This is how we wind up with 42 tablets of paper that we never touch. 14 clip boards. 27 3-ring binders. Cardstock. Photo paper. Calligraphy pens. 9 drag-queens worth of make-up!

Cleaning out office supplies is a fairly unemotional task. Sure, there's the occasional stack of letters or cards that brings a smile as I look over them again, but unless it's love letters from my husband, they get put in the recycle stack. We managed to combine 3 closets into 1 this weekend by just getting rid of stuff. Some stuff goes to Goodwill, because it's still good and somebody could use that, but most of it went to be recycled or thrown away. It felt amazing! There is still one more closet left to tackle, and of course the garage, but we're making lots of progress! The sunshine room looks less like a place that potential hoarders go to practice piling stuff and more like a room that might someday soon be converted into a nursery! I already have 3 drawers full of tiny clothes!

Cleaning out my bathroom was much harder. I have an irrational attachment to my make-up and skin care. Free samples of things I haven't gotten around to trying in the years they've been sitting around? I don't need those! NO ONE needs those. They're long past their expiration date and any benefits they may have imparted are long gone. I was able to throw those away without issue... well, a little guilt for the amount of crap that I let get into my house that just winds up in the trash.

Then it came time to purge the actual make-up. The old foundation didn't pose a problem. Some of the old lipsticks and lipliners went into the trash without a twinge. Then things got hard. I don't really need all the different colors of lipstick that I own. I hardly ever wear the 6 shades I carry in my purse--3 lipstick, 3 gloss... plus chapstick, and maybe a free sample of some Sugar lip stuff I got at Sephora. You know what, my purse is it's own cosmetics counter these days. I can do pretty much everything from my one little make-up bag. Almost any look from natural to dramatic for a variety of skin tones... unless you need to use powder or concealer, and then it would be helpful if you were as pasty-pink as I am.

The point is, I don't wear makeup often enough to justify the obscene amounts of makeup I own. I need to get back down to the stuff I do wear and let the rest go to a home where it will be better loved! It took a lot of convincing and re-trying of different colors, but I managed to eliminate quite a bit. It's easier to convince yourself to give up YET ANOTHER purple eyeshadow when you know that you've already got 5 different shades of purple to choose from the next time you need purple eyeshadow, and knowing that "next time" could be months away.

There's a pile of things that weren't so old and icky as to be tossed as soon as they were discovered (yes, I had an equally large pile of THAT). It was VERY difficult, because I would look at every color and think "but I don't HAVE that color" and be tempted to keep it. Because I want all the colors--that's my kryptonite. I finally convinced myself that I didn't need 50 different shades of neutral eyeshadow. 5 is more than enough, since I don't go for neutral makeup much anyway. If I want to look neutral, I'll slap on some powder, some mascara and a lip-ish colored gloss and call it good. I don't have the skill or patience to apply 15 colors of eyeshadow, liner, foundation, concealer, blush and mascara only to have the overall effect look like I'm not wearing makeup. I can handle 2-3 products to make me look awake, refreshed and generally un-grump-like.

My bathroom is now much less cluttered. I put up some new stuff on magnets to reduce the amount of counter space I take up on my side of the sink. If it's not on the board, it lives in one small Caboodle. That caboodle is mostly eyeliner and lipstick. I did get rid of a lot of eyeliner, but still have about 25 different colors... but they don't take up too much space, so that's ok.

There's another clothing swap happening near the end of the month, so I have plenty of motivation to go through my closet again and get rid of things. It will be a little harder since things don't fit the same way right now as they might otherwise, and I have NO IDEA what things will fit like after I have an external baby, so... I guess I'll purge things that I always meant to wear but never did--you know, the stuff that's not really quite my style but I somehow convinced myself would get worn? That should make a dent!

*Actually 4 brazillion, not an exaggeration, since a brazillion is 5. Yep--20 women, having a total of 21 babies. I can't wait! 

I should have lots to say...

I feel like I should have lots to say, but I think it's all still floating around up in my brain at the moment, trying to figure out if it wants to come out or not. What follows may or not be a) coherent, 2) interesting, or D) have anything to do with anything that might be considered important. Be warned. You can walk away now, no hard feelings. It might be just a bunch of 2 second stories. I don't know.

I had a very full weekend. I attended the Women of Faith conference with my mother-in-law, sister-in-law, sister-in-law's mother-in-law and some other various and assorted family-type people. All women of course, because... that's the name of the whatsit. My in-laws go every year, and have been since 2004. I went last year, and while it's not really my thing, I go and enjoy the time with family. I usually get something out of some of the speakers, and I like the chance for singing worship songs with other people, so that's nice too. 20,000 other people is a bit much, but it's still neat to see. Just like at a concert at big arenas, it's cool to see so many people all together who might not have anything else in common but this one thing.

So that was my Friday & Saturday. Sunday was... I don't know. There was a lot of cranky in the house, which I'm totally blaming on the weather. Atmospheric pressure from the thunderstorm that hit last night. Yeah. That's it. But stuff got done and Fraggles got watched, so that's a pretty good deal. Red is perhaps my favorite Fraggle, but just because of the hair. I was once Red Fraggle for Halloween, which was pretty fun. Making the pigtails remains one of my favorite craft projects to date. But once the Fraggles start talking & doing stuff, then I'm firmly a Mokey/Boober kind of girl, although Wembley will always have a place in my heart that has little or nothing to do with the fact that Hoban Washburn is the spitting image of Wembley.

Photo from Comic Alliance

Speaking of crafts, and I was, somewhere up there, I recently read about and then actually completed a craft project for a friend who is going to have a baby next year. It's a simple thing: just a jar of somethings (I chose M&Ms) that you count out to be the number of days left in the pregnancy, and then they get to eat one each day and watch the jar empty out as their belly expands. Kinda neat I thought, so I did it. I have pictures. I might make it a separate post, call it a "tutorial" and feel crafty & neat. Yeah, I think I'll do that! Keep your eyes peeled for crafting with the Bean! The no-sew, no-knit, no-skill required craft niche!

Somehow my closet has gotten crowded again, and I don't remember buying just a whole lot of clothes. My current theory is that in a fit of organizational irrationality I decided to hang all the clothes because I had so much space to use up. And then I used it all up.

I was thinking the other day about online names vs. real names, and how some of the blogs I read use their real names and their husbands/kids real names, and some have nicknames for everybody, and while I would love to be totally awesome and creative and come up with a good identifier for my husband, I don't know that I've really got it in me. I type "J" because that's what I usually type when talking about him, because I'm too lazy to type out the other 5 letters of his name. Plus, the only thing that I could think of that went well with beans was rice, and I don't think that calling him "Rice" would really do anyone any good. I mean, he's white and all, but... no. I mean, green beans are good with bacon, but I'm not really green, and while he loves bacon, I don't think I could call him that either. So, my beautiful, talented, creative, caring, daring, cat-box cleaning husband shall remain J, because that's what I call him. In text. Not so much out loud.

So, I joined this book club thing. I've never done one of those before, but I've always thought I might like to, and then I got invited to one, so I did it. I met strangers in a public place to talk about a book we'd read. It really helped that the public place was Blue Mesa for Sunday brunch, which is a very nice treat. Good food makes meeting strangers easier. But it went well. I didn't feel totally bizarre and out of place. I think I almost remember half of all the names (which, seeing as how there were only 7 people isn't as impressive as I'd like it to be). But I'm gong to do it again. As soon as I find and read "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."

So there it is. That's what I've got to say today.

This was harder than I anticipated

So, sticking to my own rules for closet purging turned out the be quite a challenge. I did pretty well with the sock drawer. After pulling all the socks out and putting them in pairs, I did a really good job at getting rid of pairs that I don't like, don't wear or didn't have mates. I still wound up with enough purple socks to completely cover the bottom of a 3' wide dresser drawer:

I started with the best intentions, but when confronted with actual clothing, my resolve began to waver. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to be firm. I wound up having a lot of conversations (with myself) that went like this:

Self: Oh! I love this shirt! I'm totally keeping it!

Me: When was the last time you wore it?

Self: Um... I think in 2003. But the memories! Man, do you remember that one time at the Bricktop? The guy? The "on a plate with biscuits" guy? That's this shirt!!

Me: Yes, but when did you wear it last? Has it even seen Texas at all?

Self: I've put it on a couple of times.

Me: Have you worn it out of the house?
Self: No... I always seem to change my mind at the last minute.

Me: Give it up.

Self: Are you crazy?!?

Me: Follow your own rules! If you haven't worn it in a year, get rid of it!

Self: But I will wear it! I know I will. I love this shirt. It's amazing, and I don't own anything like it. It's not like it's just another t-shirt or anything.

Me: I let it slide for the past 2 clothing swaps, I am putting my foot down. You've got to get rid of it.

Self: but...but...but...

Me: No "but"s! Just do it. Put it in the "donate" pile.

Self: *sigh* fine. But I don't like it.

Me: You don't have to like it. Someone else will give it a good home, I promise!

Self: Ok. What's next?

Me: An entire drawer full of tank tops.

Self: No problem! I can cut that in half, easy!

Me: Great! How about this one?

Self: No, that's a good staple to have around, a basic and essential wardrobe item.

Me: When was the last time you wore it?

Self: ...I... put it on a few times last year...

Me: And how did you feel when you put it on?

Self: ...fat and ugly...

Me: So why is it still here?

Self: Because it's so pretty!

Me: Do you feel pretty when you wear it?

Self: ...um...well...I think I will feel pretty when I see it. Does that count?

Me: No! Get rid of it!

So yeah, there was a lot of... deliberation. In the end I did a pretty good job of removing most of the clothes that made me feel fat or frumpy. It was hard. Lots of things look great on the hanger and just... don't make me feel good when I'm wearing them. Those were the hardest to get rid of. The good news is I did manage to clear out basically 2 entire drawers, 1 shelf and 3' of closet space. What's scary (to me) is I'm pretty sure I did the same thing last year, only I don't remember buying that much clothing between now and then. And some of these things I've had for years, so I know I didn't follow all my rules last year. I think this is progress!

Gondor may not need pants, but I do

Last week I had two pairs of black pants.  This week I have none. 

If this doesn't seem like a tragedy, please remember that finding pants that fit is nothing short of a miracle given my particular hip-to-waist ratio plus the fact that I have 6' of leg to cover.

Now, this story has it's roots all the way back in my days of working retail.  I don't know the average lifespan of a pair of pants in the normal woman's wardrobe, but my husband seems to go through pants with alarming speed.  Thankfully, he's a little easier to clothe than I am.  Most of the pants* that I currently own are older than my marriage.  Having only been married 4.5 years, that's not really that big a deal. 

Last week, I had 1 pair of pants at least 10 years old (black), three approximately 6 yr pants (2 the same brand & style, one black, one brown, and a charcoal pair from the same store), one 18 month old pair (tan), and one 6 mo old pair (grey).  That was plenty of pants for working.  I had more than 5 days worth of work-appropriate pants for the 4 days of the week that I needed such things.  All was well with the world.  Yes, some of my pants seemed aged, perhaps even approaching "venerable" as far as pants go, but I was content.  They all fit reasonably well.  Some were getting a little shorter than I like, but not embarrassingly short yet.  Some didn't quite fit in the waist or thighs, but it was all pretty good.  Decent.  Acceptable.  I was content in my pantedness.

A few weeks earlier though, it was a whole different story.  There was the Great Pantsless Scare of 2011.

Stripes, colors, and mathmatical craziness

So, we all know that I love socks, right? Good.

Because this is a tale of how socks one again nearly ruined my day. See, I did a strange thing this morning. Usually, I decide what I want to wear, then pick socks. This seems the normal, rational, acceptable thing to do. Yesterday, I was weird, irrational and unacceptable.

I opened my sock drawer, and pulled out socks. I put them on--before having even the vaguest clue what I wanted to wear. I thought I was doing myself a favor by narrowing down my choices a little bit. I chose a tri-colored stipped knee-high sock, giving me 3 colors, and the associated complimentary colors to choose from, and that pallette includes about 84% of my closet. That's just an estimated number. I haven't actually measured the volume of my closet and the amount of space each color takes up inside my closet... but now I really want to!

Back to the socks. So, wearing my socks of choice, I step into the closet to pick out an outfit. This should be easy. Blue, grey, purple stripped socks give me lots of options. I start with the shirts, because bottoms are basic and will be determined by the top. I bypass the turtlenecks, because even though I find them to be the best thing about this time of year next to sweet potatoes, holiday parties, and twinkling lights, I wore one yesterday, and the one to best match my socks was in the dirty clothes. So I looked over t-shirts, but decided against them in favor of longer sleeves. I looked through the hanging shirts, and briefly lost my mind when I fell in love all over again with one of my 3 orange shirts. This one is a deep rust color with lovely 3/4 length sleeves and a cowl neck. It drapes beautifully, and looks smashing with my hair... I pull it off the hangar, reach for my chocolate brown trousers and...

HALT! I'm wearing blue, purple and grey socks! No yummy orange shirt of lovely rustiness for me. No drapey cowl neck. No chocolate pants with brown glittery flats. No! Let’s overlook the fact that I could, conceivably just change my socks, go pick out something from the sock drawer that was brown, because I don’t own any orange, rust, or other tonally appropriate socks. (I also don’t own any yellow socks, for those of you who are wondering what to get me for the next gift-giving holiday.) We’re going to overlook that option, because it honestly didn’t even occur to me.

These are great socks. They’re fun. They’re warm. They declare my whimsy and willingness to look ridiculous in public.

Because I went back to the rejected t-shirts (why don’t we call them Q-shirts, or J-shirts, or other more fun letters?) and grabbed a blue polo, a purple crew neck, and a long black cardigan-type-entity that I (possibly erroneously) call a duster, a charcoal grey mid-calf length wool skirt, and my comfiest slip-on Mary Jane type shoes.

There! An outfit! For these socks!

That was yesterday. Today, I am bedecked in rust and chocolate and all is well.