Can't Take It With Us: The Husband Edition.


I swear that this isn't a post about divorcing my husband. Although, every single time someone we know is getting a divorce (and whoa statistical certainty, there have been a lot lately), we'll (jokingly) ask if this is the other's sneaky way of breaking the news of our own impending marriage implosion.

"Hey, did you hear that Debbie and Kyle are getting a divorce?"

"Oh yeah? What happened?"

"She was secretly moonlighting as a mermaid and you know he's allergic to shellfish."

"Is this your way of telling me that you want to leave me for your real mistress...the sea?"

*breaks into songs from The Little Mermaid*

So, yeah. Obviously we're too weird for anyone else to love, so don't worry.

Moving on.

A question I frequently get asked is, "how do I get my husband/wife/significant other/dude who sleeps on my couch to minimize all of their useless crap they insist on keeping?"

Personally, I found buying a bus accidentally on purpose to be quite motivating, but really, you've got to appeal to what will work for your loved one.

On this particular day, it's was our never-ending master bathroom remodel that prompted and motivated the very real need for Jake to conquer his closet, which incidentally, is about double the size of mine. He'll tell you it's because he has uniforms and all of his hunting gear to manage, but here's the actual truth:

The man has a shit ton of t-shirts. (Spoiler alert: had)

Everywhere he goes, he comes back with more. Competitions. Schools. Deployments. Tourist towns. Bass Pro. Gander Mountain. Some river that I've never heard of, and I'm not sure he's actually really visited before.

And not just one new t-shirt. Oh no, these t-shirts must have been fed after midnight because there will be 6 - 8 (sometimes more!) of the exact same shirt in the closet. There are so many that they have leaked into my closet and I often have to check to make sure that he and I aren't wearing the same thing. (Because while we might be weird, the line of spousal matching is not one I'm about to cross.)


So he got to work dismantling his closet with a little help from the boys, and they all did a bang up job of it. Everyone had their own tasking and duty to fulfill. They think this sort of thing is fun when there is a Daddy involved, but it's torturous cruelty when Mama asks if they wouldn't mind putting their socks *in* the laundry basket rather than stuffing them into random toy bins.


They took a bit of stroll down memory lane looking at some of the shirts, hunting gear, old uniforms, and patches.

"I haven't seen this in years, this is wonderful!"

"What is it?"


A banded, bulbous snarfblatt.



Or whatever.



a good opportunity for the boys to see that their dad does big things when he has to be away from us and there is always time for those stories and space for those particular t-shirts.

Anything too small, too ragged, or too unloved was let go. I popped in and out of the operation, but mainly stayed out of the way, not wanting to interrupt that magic PURGE ALL THE THINGS! vibe that starts flowing after a person crests the first rough hill of minimizing. From there, it becomes easier.



We did have to pause for a moment of silence for Jake's Woobie (seriously, click on that link for a fascinating look at this piece of military history and nostalgia) was his very first one and it served him well through all of his deployments. But, it was time to say goodbye.


And by the end of the morning, there was a whole lot that ended up going. Way more than I was expecting. Normally, I'd photograph all the things and then sort it all into bins in anticipation of our blowout yard sale, but this time, it all went directly to the closest donation center. Do not pass go. Do not collect any more t-shirts. No need to wait around for someone to get cold fins about getting rid of any of this, either.


He did such a great job clearing things out, that once this bathroom remodel from hell is completed, Jake and I will be exploring new marital waters...sharing a closet for the first time as practice for bus life and our eventual family closet space.

I'll keep you posted on which of us is the poor, unfortunate soul and which is the sea witch.


I don't even know if I should tell Jake ahead of time that I turned the post about him purging his closet into a dazzling display of my Little Mermaid knowledge or just let that be a surprise. 😬😅

(And it would be the fact that I turned this particular post into a showcase of my useless knowledge, not that I had said useless knowledge in the first place. He is WELL AWARE of the depths of this ability and hasn't divorced me yet. Soooo....score.)

And try as I might, I desperately wanted to work this in because it makes me laugh every time the Internet Gods deem me worthy of it reappearing in my news feed, but alas, it'll have to go here.


#bitchyoudontevenknowhim 😂😂😂