Good Day Sunshine

When I was a child, my mother always warned me about being a "fair-weather friend". I didn't really understand that until about middle school when I was sitting alone at the lunch table because I wasn't considered cool anymore. My "friends" smiled at me from the popular table and I understood perfectly what it meant.

I like Moscow.

Some people call me crazy. It's true that it's dirty, overcast, and the traffic is terrible, but the eternal optimist in me can't help but see the good side. I always liked the story about Pollyanna because she saw good in everybody and everything. But lately, the crummy weather has me moaning and sighing about this place.

But I've begun to see myself through this lens of fair weather. The snow melted, the sun is shining, and my mood is lifted. The summer last year was so beautiful that I felt it had forgiven the hard winter. Why should the winter have to be forgiven? Moscow seems so near the North Pole, it would be considered uncouth to be overly warm.

A friend of mine in the neighborhood is always pointing out to newcomers how courteous Russian drivers can be. Courteous? After really paying attention, I see it too. There has never been a time when I couldn't merge from a shoulder into an actual lane without somebody letting me it. I have never been run off the road by somebody honking their horn and giving me the bird.

The good weather has also warmed the hinges on my front door as the kids come in and out...in and out. Yesterday we did school in the yard and Numbers 1 and 2 burned ants using a magnifying glass. The sun has so many benefits. I will stop paying for tanning (which, by the way, I do medicinally to ward off severe psoriasis symptoms). I will skim off the winter pounds by walking to my friends' houses, jumping on my bike for a ride, and strolling longer than expected in downtown Moscow.

Call me a fair weather friend. I can take it.

How many underwear?

If you don't already know it, I have three daughters. They all share a room. I grew up with two sisters and we all shared a room. I don't ever remember it being inhabitable. Then again, I don't ever remember specific toys we played with other than blocks and crayons. On a weekly basis, I have to cajole, threaten, and encourage my girls to clean up their room (which is, by the way, the master suite). My husband, Mr. Fix it, says to me, "It's simple. They have too much stuff."

After defending my right to overindulge my kids with worldly goods, I though I might give his suggestion a try. yesterday was our first official day of Spring Break. In less than an hour, I managed to sort out all four dressers (my son's included) and found that each child had a garbage bag....maybe you didn't hear me...A GARBAGE BAG of unnecessary, superfluous clothing. I'm pretty sure Number 3, a fashionista, will never need three, green, long-sleeved shirts or 14 pairs of pants. I think she can exist with just seven.

I have never been like this before. It's moving across the world that's changed me. Somehow inside I panic. What if I need that for another child? What if I find I can't replace something of equal value or quality for a decent price? But the true fact of the matter is that my wardrobe, though limited, gets me through life just fine and I manage with 5 pairs of pants.

My son's room cracks me up. He is the only one in the house who lives alone. In some ways I envy him. Free to keep things tidy. Free to sort and organize any way he wants. Until I went into his dresser.

Here's a math problem for you.

If a boy wears a clean pair of boxers each day and does his own laundry every Thursday, in what situation would he ever need 25 PAIRS OF BOXERS?

And what's more, many of them on the bottom of the drawer had never been worn or washed since outside Walmart. That being said, somehow the hand-me-downs didn't quite add up this round because Number 3 has no socks at all! Go figure.

Anyway, today is day two of Operation

"Why are we storing crap we don't need, use, wear, etc?"

Can you have etc. in a title?

Here's the other truth that occurred to me. Imagine your kitchen. Imagine that each type of utensil is in a plastic container the size of a shoebox. Then imagine that the shoeboxes are stacked up in a corner that's somewhat hard to get to. When you get one out, you have to unstack the pile, open the container, stack them back up, then put it back later. Would you bother or would you leave everything in a pile in the middle of the room. Exactly.

They need better storage. Thankfully, IKEA is close-by. I rewarded myself for all the hard work by going there today and purchasing much needed storage for the girls and a meatball or two for myself. Call it retail therapy or what you will. If it makes it possible for fireman to get to my girls in a fire, then it's worth it.