Category Archives: Home & Kids

Purging: 112 things in 01/2012!

This year, possibly spurred on by the overwhelming vision of my grandmother’s closet with its hundreds of hats and shoes and evening gowns (which we encountered head-on during our Christmas vacation, in the Wisconsin leg of our trip), my husband decided that we needed to repeat last year’s purging exercise.

And did I say “closet” up there? Because I meant closets.

Plural.

(there’s Heidi’s foot–see it?–disappearing into what appeared to be a wall of scarves; more clothes lie behind)

In fact, in Mama Kitty’s case it may be closetssssss (double squared plural). You’ll only know what I’m talking about if you’ve been there in person and experienced the fashion explosions happening all over the house.

Like the hats in the front hall, which represent not even a fraction of the headgear you will encounter as you wander through the house.

Just to give you a little insight into the Mad Hatter Wonderland of my grandparents’ eccentric and treasure-filled house, there’s even a mannequin in a bathtub in the livingroom.

And a mannequin by the mantel.

And that’s just the livingroom, folks. You don’t want to see the basement. I repeat–you don’t want to see the basement.

Or maybe you do.

Okay, fine.

Here’s the basement.

My husband is exclaiming in bewilderment–possibly something like “What kind of family did I marry into??”

Of course, he’s over 6 years late asking that question.

There comes a point where it’s futile to even ask.

But because I’m all about getting to the bottom of things, I’ll spill the beans. The answer is: you married into a family whose pater familias (Big Jake) has stocked the basement with enough food to feed the entire family for 1 year.

I know where I’ll be if the zombocalypse I’ve been hearing about ever breaks loose: feeding on cans of evaporated milk, popcorn, beans, and dented cans of clam chowder in the basement.

Of course, if the zombies learn how to access the internet, they may be able to track me down based on that disclosure. But then again, I’ve always liked living on the edge.

But I digress! (big time) Remember–exactly one year ago–the 111 things in 1/11 project that my friend Jenny initiated? It all started here . . .

. . . continued here with the emotional roller coaster of clearing out old college papers . . .

. . . and here with the trashing of my beloved but holey lamb socks (among others) . . .

. . . and finally here, with a clean-out of old make-up and defunct cassette tapes.

All in all, I ended up getting rid of about 120 things that I totally didn’t need. Whoopee!

So this year we will purge again! And we’re both looking forward to it. After experiencing a certain degree of materialism in the air during the holidays (if you know what I mean), we felt the need to rid ourselves immediately of as much stuff as possible. Old VHS tapes (those are so last-century), unused kitchen paraphenalia, paper files that are just taking up space, etc. I may even attack my jewelry drawer again, which is once more a tangled, mangled mess.

If any of you would like to engage in this exercise along with me this month, please send me the links to your posts, and I’ll link to your blogs as I write about our whirlwind of de-stuffifying!

It’s going to be satisfying, cleansing, and probably full of silliness.

Love,

Purging Petronilla

Where Santa’s letters actually go

In the village of North Pole, Alaska, lives a man named Santa Claus.

Or so the story goes.

Fun fact–the town of North Pole is actually South of Fairbanks, where Heidi lives. So she can claim with utmost authority “I live North of North Pole.” Of course, North of the North Pole is a different matter.

As I’ve mentioned before, the town hosts a very large Christmas store, where you can purchase Alaska paraphenalia, crêches, ornaments, Christmas trees . . .

. . . and even visit with the fenced-in reindeer out back. Hello Prancer. Or is it Dancer? Sorry. . . you all look the same to me.

While we were there in September, we decided to get an ornament. There were so many choices that it was a difficult task.

The felt sweater or the little wooden sled? The snowflake or the moose?

Thankfully, little James had a clear opinion.

Posted on some of the walls and columns of the store . . . letters to Santa!

I guess they come somewhere after all. I heard that parents can pay “Santa” to actually answer these letters. I wonder what Santa’s going rate is these days. Anyway, I wanted to put up a couple of these letters as we enter the Christmas season for your enjoyment and amusement.

Can I please

have three Junie B. Jones. And some Junie B. books. One stupid smelly bus, the christmas one, and a monster under her bed plus some beads. Thanks. Love,

Abagaile.

Pleas
Pleas
Pleas
Pleas
Pleas
Get Me
a Castle
Pleas
Dan
Marinoe
Jersy

Dear Santa, am I beaing good for Christmas? I hope I am. Do you have little Elves? How are you doing? How old are you? Here’s a Chistmas list

E-Kare
Fisher Price sweet streets
play CD
Lizzemicd
a pitcher of you and Mrs. Clas and elves
from Erin kinney

Dear, Santa

I have been a little naghty This year I am sorry. If I end up getting any thing this year I would love to have a puppy, I would help out more at the house. Santa I would not ask for anything els for the rest of the year.

Love,

Mackenzie

It will be a while before this little guy writes his first letter to the Big Fat Bearded Man.

Lookin’ good in that hat there, James.

Do I have to keep wearing this?

So–did you guys ever write letters to Santa? And did you believe in him? And do your kids write letters to Santa? And how much is Santa charging these days for a response?