Being the mother of a toddler in a too-small house without enough storage means military discipline when it comes to STUFF. There is just so much of it. I used to think other moms were so thoughtful when they would pass along things for Darling Bebe. Now, I’ve come to understand that there’s a strong dose of self-interest involved. And all it does is spell M-O-R-E W-O-R-K for me.
Like the “good friends” who were “so generous” that they gave us a Big Wheel, tricycle, bicycle and dump trucks. The Darling Girl is far too young for these. They’re very nice, but I have NOWHERE to put them. I know the real ulterior motive was to get them out of their garage. So now they have been in mine for 4 months. That’s right, they gave them to us in the dead of winter. Perhaps so they could put their cars in their garage?
I’ve my own strategies for coping, or trying to. I always have boxes going: one for consignment, one for charity, one for things daycare can use after DB moves up to the next level (so she won’t see them and think of them as hers). Things that come in the house either get put away or into one of those boxes, and subsequently leave the house as soon as possible.
We attended a kids’ party on Saturday at a household with 2 children older than DB. We came home with a giant trash bag full of toys that the overworked mom had set aside for DB. Going through it all after DB was safely asleep, 3/4 of the toys were far too young for her. So after I cleaned them all, they went into a bag for daycare. Those went out Monday.
Tuesday morning, I took some toys and clothing to the kids’ consignment shop. They don’t pay well, but they take toys. There, I had to go through the clothing sizes because now – in JUNE – they would only take summer clothes in sizes over 24 months. OOOOOKay. Then off to my preferred consignment shop with the other clothes to get THOSE out of the house. Mission accomplished. Stuff gone.
Tuesday night, I returned home from the supermarket with DB to find two poster-sized books and a box of Shirley Temple videotapes on the back step. Two unwieldy books that DB will tear to shreds, and videos she can’t/won’t watch for YEARS. From my MIL, apparently.
I could just cry.