My Bulimic House

If you really want to get a good grasp on who you really are...rent a dumpster and take a good hard look at all the shit you have. I binge and purge...not food...material items. I buyeth and I throweth away. (and by throweth away, I mean shove it in my basement)

I decided that I needed to clear out some of the clutter around here. So, I called the dumpster rental company. A nice woman named Angie returned my call. I told her my dilemma...that I had to clean out my basement, or move. You see, I accidentally got pregnant and had this baby....but I'm married..so its ok. I only have a three bedroom house and I have 4 children, one of which is a teenage boy. My baby sleeps in a closet. But its a nice closet. It has a chandelier. Technically its not really a closet anymore...its a closery. You know, a closet slash nursery...closery...get it? She seemed annoyed and asked "what size do you need?" I replied "I don't know, what are my choices?" She stated..."a ten yard, fifteen yard, or thirty yard".

OK, you re going to have to be more specific because I have no idea how to conceptualize those sizes. My last yard was pretty small, but the yard in my new house is pretty big. I heard a dial tone. I think we were disconnected. I called back. Angie? Angie please, I watched "Hoarders-Buried Alive" last night and I think I may actually be a few pairs of curtains away from these people! She asked me what kind of things I had to throw away, and after listing a couple, she advised that I get the biggest dumpster they had.

The dumpster arrived. It was big...really big. A nice, but extremely hairy and smelly man guided it and strategically set it at the end of my driveway, in front of my garage. He glanced in and made a crack about the dumpster possibly being too small...OK, smart ass...off you go.

I could hardly wait. Dave happened to be home, so he began with the big stuff. I couldn't help at the time because I was tending to Emma...who is nearly impossible for me to escape from. I watched from the window in anticipation as pieces of crap from my past were tossed overboard like a mafia snitch. I had no problem until I had a problem. I started to have a little anxiety...I started to realize that I needed a lot of the stuff I saw going in the big red steel monster, which, right before my eyes, was eating the very objects that had been a part of my life. My first couch. My first bed. Matt's first bed. Matt's second bed. Three coffee tables, two end tables, etc. Dave! Dave! Are you sure that's no good? Wait! Wait! Take that out! I can sell that! I can sell that too!

I can see the frustration in his eyes. He coins the phrase of the day "its moldy". How can everything I question be moldy? He attempts to calm me down. Jen, you wanted the dumpster. It cost $410. We are getting rid of everything just like YOU said. "Ok, Ok...you're right"... I concede.

As he proceeded to empty the garage and basement, I figured I would hit the various junk drawers and cabinets. Its amazing what you can actually find. Apparently, I am one of those people who throws things anywhere out of sight in anticipation of company. Some of the items were just plain odd. There was at least one ziploc baggie of tampons in every drawer. There were playing cards, (incomplete). Flash cards, old maid, and uno seemed to be the most prevalent. And lastly, pizza shop menus...one in almost every drawer. I purged and purged. Noone looking in my draweres would think me a hemopheliac-agoraphobic.

My food cupboard, which also housed a ton of backpacks, broken picture frames and various other miscellaneous items also felt the wrath of my decluttering frenzy. I became a little obsessive and began organizing the food by colored labels, box sizes, food category. If it didn't fit, or look right, I threw it away. ( I know, that was extremely ungreen of me...not to mention there are starving kids in Africa...but lets face it, I wasn't going to box it up and sent it to Africa, right?)

Ahh..things were shaping up. At the end of day 1 we filled that dumpster almost 90%. It looked as if my material past which had been digested by my house was regurgitated into a giant red bedpan.

As I lay in bed, feeling well accomplished, I began to think about the two pretty blue with pink flowers duvets I saw in the dumpster. I was being haunted by them. What else was in there that shouldn't be?

I decided I would sneak in and take a peak first thing in the morning. Dave was again home, doing more work in the basement. I scaled the side of the dumpster like Spiderman would have. I leaned in and began the task of moving things around. I think the duvets were further down...as I am sure a lot of other good things were. I hurled my good leg (the one NOT damaged by my degenerate disc) over the side and shimmied into the dumpster. (This would be completely disgusting and an all time low for me if it werent on my own property...and full of my own junk).

One small thing after another, I hurled out of the dumpster, saving each little memory within an inch of its life. Uh oh, I hear someone coming. I crouched down and remained silent. I am not one of those women who is afraid of her husband...but I didn't want to seem beaten by my hoarding tendencies...and I had made this man work his ass off throwing these things away...so i had a little guilt.

Whoosh....a garbage bad came flying at me...it didn't hit me, but it startled me and I screamed just a bit. "Mommy?" I heard calling.

Ugh....these little bastards will rat me out in a minute. In the lowest and raspiest voice I could muster, I replied: "grr....I ain't your mommy...I needed some clothes and shelter cause I ain't go no place to go....I'm homeless"

I kept my head down..."mommy...we see you..what are you doing in there?". I looked up and there were my girls...looking at their mommy knee deep in her own crap...in a giant red garbage can.

"haha! Just teasing with you girls. I, umm, I thought I would take some of these things that aren't so bad, and donate them to the less fortunate then us".

The stuff I had thrown out of the dumpster was later boxed up and taped. We put a giant label on it and with black permanent marker, labeled it "AFRICA". (and yes, that box's fate was similar to that dog or cat that your dad told you he was taking to the "farm" where it could have a better life when you were a kid).

S0, as rotten as I sometimes am, I am actually not...because I taught a couple of future adult citizens of the world an important social lesson. You can thank me later.

(oh, and just so you don't think I am a total AH...I DID donate approximately 25 bags of clothing to Big Sisters)