Wanna See Something Obscene? Go Ahead. It's OK.

Good. You're taking the leap and reading on.

Since my children (ages 22, 19, 12, and 9) were young, I have asked my mother and other relatives (you know I mean you, GodCarol) NOT to give them so much at Christmastime. Hubby and I barely get them anything for the holiday because we know that so much is going to pour in from near and far.

Well, Grandma has tried, but she still can't bring herself to give them nothing but her presence on Christmas. GodCarol (our eldest's godmother, hence the name) has not been able to refrain either. I imagine they might have thought that I was being falsely humble.

No.

I was tired of seeing so much nice clothing go to waste.

Which brings us to the obscene part:

This is a receipt from the Goodwill where I recently dropped off 28, count 'em, 28 bags* of items for donation. And mind you, this is not the first time, and, probably not the last, that I've gathered up unused and slightly used clothing and stuffed animals for the Goodwill, but it is by far the largest number.

I admit that I may have had more since my youngest has used all the hand-me-downs that she could and has no one to hand them down to anymore (Deo gratia). And, I admit that I have been in a "get-rid-of-it" mood lately. But still, 28 bags seems obscene to me.

There are two consoling facts about this milestone, however.

One, these things will go to people who can use them. I'm glad of that.

Two, my sis-in-law, who spent the better part of a day helping me go through all of the clothing, was so overwhelmed by it all that she cried out, "I will never give your daughters any kind of clothing ever again!"

Yes! Someone understands!!!

Grandma and GodCarol, you watch out! I may have to subject you to cleaning out the girls' room when you're here!

*These bags were 30-gallon, kitchen garbage-sized bags, not the puny plastic bags one gets at the grocery store.

Smashing Pumpkins

In our neck of the woods, there's a quaint, little custom which has been passed down through the ages by the adolescent residents of the shallower end of the gene pool. They steal pumpkins off porches and throw them into the streets, smashing them and making a mess. Oh, what fun!

At first glance, it looked like the ne'er-do-wells were at work on our porch:

But here's what I glimpsed from inside the house one morning:

So, we're helping to fatten up the squirrels for winter. It gives recycling a whole new meaning. Rather than cleaning up the pumpkins, I decided to leave them for the animals. (I've seen birds going for them, too.)

Well, it's going on a couple of weeks now and even the animals may be getting tired of pumpkin. But, wanting to see this project to the end, i.e., completely eaten pumpkins, I am reluctant to clean up the now moldy pieces of orange adorning our porch:

As we passed by them on our way into the house yesterday, Hubby had a good idea for not only humoring his darling in her misguided attempts at this new form of composting but also for speeding up the process.

"Why don't you make them a pumpkin pie?"

Hmm...not a bad idea.