My funk has been replaced with a desire drive to declutter/organize everything in my house. What is it about being pregnant and getting ready for a baby that makes us want to clean/organize  everything? I can see getting baby clothes washed. The nursery painted and freshened up. But lets face it I’m pretty sure the organization of all our winter clothes does not in any way impact the quality of life for any newborn. Since I have been off for 7 months now ( good grief no wonder I’m going batty!) my house is in pretty good order. This, however, is in no way stopping the urge to get organized before the baby comes. I’m even going through Craig’s’ clothes. It’s a good thing too. If someone could please explain one of the great mysteries of the world to me I would forever be in your debt. For the life of me I can’t understand why men feel the perverse need to hang on to every article of clothing they have ever owned from jr. high until the present day. Yet they will complain about how they have no room to store anything and yes they did go through their stuff when I was making the last trip to goodwill. This is a definite genetic trait. When my son was 13 I was folding laundry and found a couple of pair of boys underwear that looked to small to fit anyone in the house. My first thought was that maybe one of the kids had brought home a stray child or two and I just hadn’t noticed. (With four kids and all their collective friends anything is possible) I brought them in to ask Jacob about them. He looked at me like I was nuts, of course they were his, and they still fit for heavens sakes! Fitting is apparently a matter of opinion. These particular pair of undies were so stretched out the waistband looked like a ruffle had been applied and the… umm… business area, well lets just say that a lot of growth takes place between 4 years of age and adolescents.

That’s a long story to say that I know this is not just Craig who feels the need to keep everything from puberty onward. So I went through and filed (read trashed) unworn, tattered, or outdated items . Until I came to the shorts I thought had hoped and prayed and mercifully blocked from my mind the existence of these things. These shorts are only shorts in the barest sense of the word. He made them himself, he’s ever so proud of letting you know that fact. So basically he took a pair of jeans and cut hacked off the legs. Not even with scissors, mind you, but with a box cutter. These shorts are sooooooo short that not only do the front pockets hang out, so does everything else God has graced him with.

And he doesn’t get it. Shorts are supposed to be short he says. When I first met him these were what he was wearing. It’s a sight I have never forgotten. Luckily his sister shoed him back into the house to change, and he returned in a full length pair of jeans. I’m not sure I would have been able to get through dinner. Obviously he has many, many other fine qualities that I was at some point, able to put the shorts out of my mind. It took a little while.

When I found them yesterday, my first thought was to just throw them out, but I have learned the hard way that  things reappear. My next was to bury them somewhere, but with the dogs, well its just not a sure bet. So I settled on the obvious, take a picture, then I’ll burn them. To extreme you may think, well I see it as my only hope. There is the social and mental well-being of five lovely young women/girls at stake. Should they at some point witness their father/stepfather in these, (again I’m searching for the word) thong/short, (shong, thort??) the out come would be devastating. So burn them I have and the safety/ well-being of our progeny is ensured.


2 responses to this post.

  1. Thanks for the laugh – I really needed it today. It’s been a rough day!


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