I Kicked the Bitch OUT!

Last night I packed up every single Barbie item I could find in my house.



I'm so sick of that little plastic bitch's ass.

When I first read the Wanted: Barbies post on Freecycle, I was hesitant to get rid of Beeb's Barbie stuff. I knew she hadn't played Barbies for years, and yet part of me wanted to hold onto it in case she changed her mind or something. Or in case someday I'd have a granddaughter and she came over she could have something to play with. Someday. Oh, by the way, I'm only 36. Yeah, it's right around the corner.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a huge pack rat. I form sentimental attachments to objects. I'm sure there's some psychological implication there, but I've always been this way. I remember being in 1st grade and being in some Parents' Night event in which I, along with the other girls in my class, danced on the stage to "Sunny Side of the Street". We wore little bows in our hair, and our teacher mentioned that the bows would be a little keepsake from our show.

It was the first time I'd heard the word Keepsake. I asked her what it meant, and she said that it meant something that reminds you of something special. And after that, every little thing - every rock or feather I picked up on my walks with my dad, every note from my old boyfriend, everything that reminded me of something I wanted to remember, I saved. It drove my parents crazy. Pie does this now, and it drives ME crazy.

I've gotten better about it over the years. I've pared it down to just a few things that I refuse to part with. I don't even know why I keep these things, I just can't bring myself to throw them away. It's not like I even look at them every day, and I'll probably never look at them again, they're just there. My old diary, for example, I have no desire to read. I just think it would really depress me. Like how different my life is from the life I'd imagined for myself back then. Not that it's bad now, it's not, but how many of us are living the lives we dreamed of when we were little?

Having kids turned me into an even bigger pack rat because now I wasn't just saving my own stuff, I was saving the kids' stuff too. Oh, I remember how much Beebie used to love that little red stuffed dinosaur... stuff like that. I want to remember her toddling around lugging Diney by his neck. Or Pie's arsenal of binkies that we used to clip to his shirt, three at a time (for some reason, he always wanted to have three of them available). Or Tito's first drawing.

I know keeping their stuff won't keep them little. Kids get big. Here's the obligatory First Day of Kindergarten picture.




Yes, my Pie went to Kindergarten on Wednesday, and my Beeb went to 5th grade. Beeb has a man teacher, and I have to tell you, he's kinda HOT. I need to come up with a clever pseudonym for him. I pride myself on my pseudonyms. I keep hearing The Police's song... "Young teacher... the subject... of schoolgirl fantasy...". Maybe I'll call him Mr. Sumner.

Pie's teacher is Ms. Cheesy. She's totally Romperbomperstomperboo. "We are gonna have SOOOOOOOOO much fuuuuuuuun!!!!" I know kindergarten teacher are supposed to be kinda over-the-top enthusiastic, but girlfriend takes it to the H-N-L.

Hole Nuthah Level.

I also need to come up with a better name for Camille's mom. I called her Margie before because I think she's marginally OCD, but I've been thinking about it a lot and she's almost the embodiment of what I imagine Christopher Walken's voice would sound like if he was a woman. And I've caught myself, every time I mention her name, following it with "I love her to death, she's sweet as can be, she's just really INTENSE."

Let me give you an example.

Once I was over at her house and we were making lunch for the kids. In addition to Camille, she also has twin 3-year-old sons who both call me Pie. I was spreading peanut butter on bread for the sandwiches and she gasped all horrified and said, "What are you doing??"

Making sammiches. What?

You gotta spread the peanut butter all the way to the edge of the bread!

Um, okay. Sorry...

And I thought I was unpredicatably anal about stupid shit. That's what I'm dealing with. And again, love her to death, but man, she gives me a friggin headache.

So I forsee some potentially interesting drama this year. I seriously hope she doesn't become the person I can't stand the sight of at this new school.

And why didn't you guys try to stop me from organizing my day into completely impractical, unworkable little 3-hour segments? Drop off Beeb, hang out with the boys until it's time to take Pie to school, pick Beeb and Pie up at 4. Why didn't anyone try to talk some fuckin sense into me? Why did that seem like such a great idea when I thought of and committed to it? I am an IDIOT. Today, I'm so tired from all the running around I feel like crying.

Which brings me to my next announcement - I'm going to be adding another medication to my daily routine. Xanax, for my anxiety. Therapenny doesn't think I'm bipolar, she thinks I have issues with Anxiety. Hmmmm.... YA THINK???

I wanted to get on it as the house stresses are going to get worse before they get better. I knew it would be stressful, but MAN, what's wearing me out the most is rounding up all the stupid documents I have to fork over for the lender. It'll be worth it, I know, but I'm exhausted and we haven't even started the hard part. Packing our stuff up to move is going to be extremely difficult for me. I'm going to feel like I'm throwing away memories.

And yet, for some reason, getting rid of Barbie and her entourage's Pepto-pink shit was totally cathartic.

Perhaps there is hope for me after all.