Basement Cleaning Bonus

This weekend we tackled the basement. You know, the basement where we hastily shoved the accumulated minutae of eight years when we got to the Oh holy crap, we need to pack up our stuff NOW so the workmen can knock our walls down phase of our renovation. Like we didn't know that part was coming.

One example of my super-organized packing method was the box I discovered that contained: cat toys, dollhouse furniture, letter stencils, Tupperware, the refrigerator magnets, two puzzles, and a lone roll of masking tape. Master packer in the house, y'all. It was a baffling, frustrating three days of unpacking, reorganizing, and sorting things into piles labelled "Keep", "Store", and "Yard Sale." I'm pretty sure I've committed myself to having a yard sale now, too, because I might have mentioned to the girls that they can split the profits on any toys they sell. No way are they letting me back out of that one.

I hate having yard sales. They make me itchy and tense.

One bright moment in the weekend was when Tom discovered this Father's Day card that Bear made him when she was seven. She came up with the idea on her own and spent an afternoon slaving away over it on the craft table. It's cute, clever, and possibly the most unintentionally cruel Father's Day card in existence.

The front:

The inside (and I like her note to the side, because let's just be clear here and not get any delusions of youth, Daddy):
Flip the bread down, and you see this:

Remove the tomato (hey, at least the middle is reassuringly long, right? Lettuce AND tomato!):
Remove the lettuce (ouch):The inside bottom:

Hey, put on a happy face, Daddy! Just keep in mind that your life's half over and someday YOU'RE GONNA DIE. Happy Father's Day.

Finding the card this weekend was quite timely, too, since Tom turns 40 on Thursday. He's not too keen about it, which I'm taking as invitation to really drive home the point that I, in fact, am still in the blushing youth of my thirties. And he's ooooooold.