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If only I lived in a treehouse down a sunny dirt road.

So I just finished reading Kate her bedtime story, The Berenstain Bears and Too Much Stuff (not to be confused with The Messy Room), and it occurred to me that we are having the very same problem as Mama, Papa, Brother and Sister Bear. We have too much crap.

Wayyyy too much.

We have too much in our closets, too much in our garage, too much in our basement and too much in our storage areas. There is stuff everywhere! (ok no need to call Dr. Phil, I am not a freaky hoarder or anything – this is just a run-of-the-mill too much crap problem.)

And unlike the ever-resourceful Mama Bear, I can’t seem to take care of it in 12 pages one afternoon. In fact, I spent all last week trying to clean out the garage, and except for about 45 minutes when Sam napped on Monday, I couldn’t find the time to do it. And if I can’t find the time to do things like that while I’m on maternity leave, when will it ever get done?

I need to figure out a way to make this happen. I need to get rid of a bunch of stuff! But I don’t know how. So once again I turn to both all of you readers for help.

How do you deal with having too much stuff? How do you make time to go through and sort everything? What do you do to get rid of what you don’t want? Goodwill, garage sales, Ebay, or something different? And, once you’ve dealt with the problem, how do you keep from accumulating stuff all over again?

I eagerly await your ideas, because I am striking out!

And yes, Jenny, I know what can be done with all of our girl clothes… you’re not going to need to shop for Sophie for a long, long time. You can pay me in toothpaste and pizza rolls.

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Does anyone know how to freeze time?

Today, Sammy is six weeks old. Six weeks!! How did that happen? We just weighed him, and he’s up to 13 pounds. Where did my little baby go? Last night our pastor commented that he’s not a little newborn anymore and I about cried.

My sadness over his growth doesn’t make any sense to Andy. He looks at it as proof that Sam is healthy and is thriving, and that is great. And it is, I know, but it’s just going by so fast. So fast.

As I wrote that last paragraph, it reminded me of when Sophie turned one – Jenny was feeling the way I am, and Bobby told her that he wasn’t sad at all… turning one meant she was that much closer to turning three. Men.

They have a point, really, I suppose, and day by day things are already getting easier with Sam. Last night he slept the best yet, and hopefully that will continue. He’s so aware of what’s going on around him now, and he’s starting to think about smiling at us (I don’t blame him for taking a while on that front – we’re not very funny.) So while there is and will continue to be a bright side to his growing up, it still breaks my heart.

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There’s no crying in t-ball (or at least there shouldn’t be).

Kate is in the midst of her first season of t-ball. It’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. They are all doing their best to remember which way to run and what to do when the ball is hit to them… and of course most of them are doing the requisite playing in the dirt. There are no outs, no keeping score – it’s all about learning the rules of the game and having fun.

Having fun. Yes, that is the idea. Most of them are doing just that… but there’s always an exception to the rule.

So what to do if your kid isn’t having fun? How do you know when it’s time to chalk the registration fee up to a loss and try again next year? How are you to determine if your kid’s just not ready for t-ball? It’s a tough decision to make, I’m sure (or at least it seems to be for one family on our team), so let me clear it up for you.

(I swear I am not making this up.)

— If he bursts into tears at the sight of the ball diamond, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you have to hit the ball for him, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you have to carry him from base to base, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you are the tallest person doing the team cheer, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If you will forever be immortalized in the team picture because you’re forcibly holding your son in place, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If, on the way to first base, he takes off his batting helmet and kicks it, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If he spits in the coach’s face and, when asked to apologize, throws dirt at her, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.
— If he then hits the same coach as he walks off the field, your kid might not be ready for t-ball.

Yeah, call me crazy, but I think It’s time to give up the ghost. I feel really sorry for the poor kid – he is obviously miserable. I just don’t understand his parents’ insisting he continue to play. His future MLB career is not resting upon this season. I felt bad for the mom, too, until I saw her struggling to spank the little hellion without dropping her cigarette. Ugh.

Oh, and one more thing… if you tell the coaches your kid doesn’t respond to his given name and they should call him by the name of his favorite WWE wrestler, you might be a redneck.

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