You're not only getting rid of an object; you're getting rid of all the plans you had when you got that object

There's a British version of those "Throw it all out" shows where the person who's helping people get rid of things actually acknowledges the importance of sentimental/emotional value. I can't watch "Clean Sweep" anymore because those hosts always give the impression that only worthless people keep stuff for sentimental reasons. And don't get me started on their opinions on books.

You're making it sound like he should stay dead...

You could read it that way, but I really meant he should stay alive, and stop with the pretending to die in the first place.

Time to clean! First, to throw out all this trash.

I was going to say, it's healthier than the alternative.

Death is not always a bad thing. Stop the pain, move on to the next incarnation or whatever. Others disagree.

You just think you're getting rid of the plans, though. Getting rid, for example, of the giant treadmill that has been serving as a clothesrack and takes up half your bedroom doesn't mean you'll never be in shape, it just means you won't be using that particular object to get where you're going. The future is still as full of possibilities...and the present has less junk in it.

Signed, Dragged a 300-pound Treadmill to Three Apartments and All the Way to LA

And don't get me started on their opinions on books.

Me either. When someone says that if you've read a book once, you should get rid of it, it sounds like they're talking in a foreign language. An equally foreign concept is having bookshelves that you don't have anything on, which seems to happen with alarming frequency on decorating shows.

t says the woman with 9 large bookshelves

There is the strategy of giving it to some one who can use it and needs it - ie charitable thrift shops. You send it out into the world to bless some other person, while it gives you the blessing of not being clutter.

My "this is so not about me" christmas presents from my mother buy me actual pleasure in that way. It's the only way I can enjoy them, thinking that there is some woman or girl out there who will be thrilled with a spun-glass unicorn figurine. And? Knowing I don't have to give house room to it.

having bookshelves that you don't have anything on

t shudder Or filled with knick knacks.

Jessica, that's awesome. And isn't Trashy Diva bloody amazing? Sorry to hear the corset prices have gone up -- though, FWIW, I do think the one I have is the comfiest I've ever worn.

Now, thanks to WindSparrow, I want butterscotch pie. I've never even had it, but I just know I want it.

Long, long weekend, but anyhow productive.

Saturday: Hit Bed, Bath & Beyond and picked up some household semi-necessaries (comforter clips to keep the down comforter from sliding around and bunching up at the bottom of the comforter cover, which so far are actually working beautifully, and an alarm clock that is both digital and easily readable in the dead of night and NOT FUGLY, unlike our former alarm clock, which made the baby Thom cry). Also bought 2.7 metric assloads of groceries.

Sunday: Babysat two gorgeous little boys while their parents prepped for an anniversary date, their first night out in four months (she's six months pregnant with the third and last [the bulletin board at their computer contains a calendar, some baby pictures, and a huge informational pamphlet entitled "VASECTOMY AND YOU"]). The older talks, the younger shrieks and warbles. There was much kissing and hugging and tummy-patting, and a long earnest discussion about Batman. Talky-boy, Malcolm, has no interest in canon external to his own brain. His canon is: Batman is a superhero. Batman can fly and is invulnerable. Superman is stupid. Also, Superman is a crackpot and Batman is NOT a crackpot.

(At which point I had to stifle my inner Plei from saying, "Oh, honey, Bats is the Grand High Crackpot of Crackpottistan.")

Also, Bats has a twin brother (there are two Batman action figures, as there are in fact two of most of the really desirable action figures, in an attempt to forestall fights and meltdowns).

Yesterday: More babysitting while their father went to work (he's a chef, no holiday for him) and mom went to a doctor's appointment. Which sucked; dietary changes aren't controlling her gestational diabetes and she's now started on insulin shots, which means it's less certain that the diabetes will go away when the baby comes. So now she's all anxious and I'm all anxious for her and I wanted to stay but couldn't because Hec was at home all feverish and aching.

But there was kissing and hugging before I left, and Malcolm told me he loved me. Which he started doing about three weeks ago, and which kills me dead every time. He also told me he liked me:

Malcolm: Jacqueline, Jacqueline, Jacqueline I have to tell you something I need to tell you something Jacqueline I have to talk to you Jacqueline I have to tell you something.

Me: Okay, what do you need to tell me?

Malcolm: ... ... ... I like you.

Me: t falls down dead

I'm all smitten. And also glad of the opportunity to practice toddler management techniques, which is oh so good, because the toddler equation of huge brain+tiny vocabulary=tightropes and egshells for the caregiver.

Hey, knick knacks need homes too. Hello Kitty, Minas Tirith, Death and her brother(s), drinking horn, human sternum, nun finger puppet, Scottie Pippen tree ornament -- they deserve as good a home as Gray's Anatomy.

human sternum

I want one! It can go next to my three human skulls (plastic, darn it. Real ones are too damned expensive).