Imelda Marcos, you got nothin' on us.

And these are just the shoes downstairs! I kid you, not.
Imelda Marcos must have been hiding a few daughters in her house that we didn't know about.  That would totally explain her little shoe hoarding problem.
I look around me these days, and besides wishing that I hadn't really woken up to snow this morning (which I did), I am ready to put away the winter shoes.  Why do they take up so much more space? And why are they all over my house?
As you can imagine with 5 girls in the house, we have an abundance of shoes.  I love when we pack for a trip because I typically end up with a small suitcase full of nothing but shoes.  I long for the days of yore when you only wore shoes when you wanted to gussy up.
No. Not us.
In the winter we have tennis shoes, sunday shoes (in black AND brown, or some other funky color for that added splash of indulgence one occasionally affords to their daughters), boots for school/church, snow boots, rain boots and the extra pair or two or three of tennis shoes we have from years past that are held on to for things like "sports" and "yard work".  Spoiled much? I haven't even gotten to the warm weather shoes yet.  You would think that they take up less space but then of course you have at least one or two pairs of flip flops for each child, crocs, sunday shoes both closed toed and nicer sandals, casual sandals and why not, a pair or two of ballet slippers and tap shoes.  The saddest thing about shoes is their seeming inability to be passed down.  For that, I totally and completely blame my Dad and his most favorite and weighty word growing up, "shabby".  He worked in retail for over 30 years, can you blame the man? It has been ingrained into my brain and I have maybe even used it a time or two.  Oh, don't get me wrong, we still do "shabby", but it's not the chic kind.

I spent the better part of my afternoon one day this week engaging myself in the work of the great Spring Bin Shuffle of 2011.  It happens every six months or so.  It's a time to go through all the closets and dressers, moving out the outgrown, "shabby" (if you will) and out of season clothing into properly and appropriately marked bins...thus making room for the things being brought out of the bins.  My Megan in law calls this "bin shopping" in attempts to make her daughters more excited about hand me downs.  And they are.  My girls are always pleased as punch to wear something new, even if it is old, so to speak.  It is also a chance to weed out, yet again, a bag or two for goodwill.  The trick is doing it at just the right time.  Too late and they come home from school sweating, with multiple garments tied around their waste.  Too early and you get three little girls in skorts shivering at the bus stop in 45 degree weather.  I don't blame them-if I was given the choice of the same sweater I have been wearing for four months or a frilly pink skirt I would go for the skirt, every time.  And they do.

While doing the bin shuffle today I found 2 pretzels in a dress pocket.  Kinda gross.  Almost as surprising as the ketchup packet I found in the dryer last week...which would have been less funny except that Sho found a second one in a jeans pocket coming out of the dryer a few days later.  That would be Abby's jeans pocket.  Are we surprised? No, we are not.  I wonder if her school knows that she is hoarding ketchup packets from the cafeteria.

PS I heart the Monkees.  I mean, who doesn't? And I am proud to pass this love onto my daughters.  Our current Netflix pick is a "best of" the Monkees show.  It is just as awesome as I remember it.  And the girls think it is hilarious.
This is on the inside of one of the drawers on a dresser that I took from my Mom and Dad's house.  I'm pretty sure I know who wrote it, now I just want to know Carrie, which one was your favorite? Was it the predictable heart throb Davy Jones? or maybe the nerdy Michael Nesbit? I have to admit that though Peter was unassumingly silly, Mickey was my fave though his 'fro is quite a bit larger than I remember.

On a completely unrelated note (isn't it all?) look what I saw running through my backyard last week.  We have fox all over the neighborhood and lots of deer; tons of squirrels including a tail-less one that lives in a tree in the front yard (affectionately named "Bunny" since he looks more like a rabbit and less like an actual squirrel.) And just in case you were wondering, he still can climb trees exceptionally well.  The tail-less squirrel, not the one in the fox's mouth.  I'm pretty sure he won't be climbing anything anymore.

PPS Sometimes Sho hits me with a pillow.  And I don't like it.  Spencer made her do it (as a consequence to losing in a game) which isn't surprising seeing as how Spencer knows how much I hated being hit with pillows, snowballs, etc. growing up.  Sho, I thought we were friends.

And sometimes I find pictures like these on my camera and wonder where I was when my two year old was playing with our electronics.

The End.