Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Not Everything Can Spark Joy

So we've been decrapifying and cleaning around our house, and this little miss has been downright bossy.

Do you see that look on Stinky's face? That's the face she makes when she's trying to set me on fire. You see, she was disgusted with me because I wanted to keep one of these.

I know. It's a potato masher. In fact, she had the nerve to say to me, "Mom! Does it spark joy?"

I was all "What did you just say to me?! You did not just ask me if my potato masher sparks joy."

She did. 

And basically, it was my own fault on account of I made the mistake of leaving this book on the coffee table for far too long. Never in a million years did I think that Stinky would pick it up and read it from cover to cover. But she did.

I should have known something was up when she started emptying entire rooms to decrapify, organize, and clean, replacing items one at a time and leaving a discarded pile of detritus in the hall.

But I didn't catch on. I've always been a little slow on the uptake.

I just thought it was cute. I used to do the same thing as a kid. To me it was just normal. In my mind I was saying "Score! I have my own little mini me."

Freak, whatever.

This book has become insanely popular, and to give credit where credit is due, Marie Kondo makes some good points. I completely changed the way I think about stuff and I have been able to let go of things that I've been holding onto for years. And I credit this book and that blasted question, does it spark joy?

My complaint, however, lies in the fact that Marie Kondo is slightly whackadoo because she talks to her stuff. Before you discard, donate, or give anything away you must first touch it, answer the question about sparking joy, and then, here's the kicker, you have to thank it for its service. No lie.

I just can't.

I mean, I am all kinds of crazy, but not that kind of crazy.

So anyway, I sort of forgot my point for a minute. I had to give you the back story on the spark joy thing that has become one of my most loathed phrases.

I frequently post screenshots on Facebook of the text messages that Stinkerbell sends me because the kid cracks me up. She comes up with the most bizarre things. It's like I don't even know where she came from.

Except that I gave birth to her, so there's that.

Often she just sends me pictures which convey her feelings.

I get this one from her a lot. I think it must be one of her short cuts, she puts it up so fast.

Are you getting the message?

I exasperate her. Doesn't that beat all? I. Exasperate her. Whatever.

So in this same thread on Facebook where I posted one of her texts, she comments as follows:

I know, I know. Such a pretty name for such a Stinker. You should know that the only time we ever call her Annika is when we're yelling at her.

Most of the time it's just Stinky.

Anyway, she posts the above comment and then just lets it sit for a bit.

Meanwhile I'm freaking out about the dresses in her closet that I know she must have discarded.

And then finally she follows it up with this picture.

The horror.

The dresses are all gone.

Never mind that it's been seven years since she's worn a dress. Let's reminisce, shall we?

I would pay to see her wear this outfit again. Big money.

And this is one of my favorite pictures. I dedicated a post to this picture titled Juxtaposition, in which Peanut Head instructs the girls on how to put their troops in formation and spot and pick off the officers in battle.

So the dresses really are gone, and as I look around my house I'm seeing less clutter and more of what sparks joy.

Except this. This does not spark joy. I really just need it to mash potatoes, so I kept it. Against her wishes.

A lot of other things that did not spark joy were kicked to the curb though.

And my kitchen cupboards are looking more tidy than they've ever been before.

I'm not ashamed to say that we threw out food that expired in 2010.

Apparently it did not spark joy.

I am most happy about our baking cupboard. It was a hideous mess. I might of threatened my family somewhere along the lines of "I will cut you if you mess up this cupboard."

That ought to spark fear in their hearts.

The bad news is that Marie Kondo went and wrote a sequel.

Damn her.

This is how I feel about her sequel.

Monday, February 29, 2016

Biscuit Butt

Well hello there, My Friends. I'm just popping in so I can stick to my rigorous monthly posting schedule. I'll just barely make February today with Gunny Man's help.

Here Gunny Bun Bun is laying atop his dog house, basking in the 30 degree temps of an Idaho Pre-Spring day.

I hope you will forgive him the indelicate pose. Thankfully we have Modesty Butterflies to make up for his lack of class.

The snow has mostly melted here in Idaho, and the sun makes occasional appearances. Not that Biscuit Butt here would know, because he has spent his entire winter indoors.

You read that right. The Bunnery Sergeant has successfully Sad Faced his way through a winter spent sleeping cozily on his dog bed, while his masters toiled away at school and work.

Each morning he would retire to his bed, sometimes with the cat, after a breakfast at his girls' feet, eating discarded toast crusts and lunch packing detritus.

Each day we asked him if he would like to spend the day outside, and each day he would answer with his silent, stealthy, no eye contact walk to his bed. The eyes don't lie.

Mr. Man here is what we call an Opportunist.

And he's such a Naughty Pants that we had to push the coffee table up against the couch every morning and litter the surface with pointy, uncomfortable objects so as to dissuade him from climbing atop for a long winter's nap.

And as a result of the long winter of lounging around, Mr. Bun Bun is greeting the promise of Spring with a super-sized Biscuit Butt. Never mind that I have no room to talk, let's just focus on Mr. Leisure Time here.

We've been warning him that this day would come.

We've scolded his Sad-Eyes-Watching-Us-Eat with admonishments that he is now a Gluten Free Vegan, so therefore he cannot possibly partake in our supper.

And he looks on longingly, as if to say "I have no idea what you are saying, but I think you want to give me that taco."

Today was the Day of Reckoning.

Today was the day that Peanut Head pulled the bikes out of the shed and the girls hooked up their Gunny Bar Leash Thingie to start his Spring Training.

He can scarcely believe it himself. He is looking toward a spring and summer of dragging his gnarly round carcass countless times around the block.

And to that we simply reply "Mwah-ha-ha-ha."