Some call it trash…

Bitty E and I are locked in a battle of wills.

{But really…who do I kid? What’s new?}

I’m being betrayed by our trash can. Constantly. Let me explain: Bitty E thinks that we need to keep every piece of paper she has ever laid her finger on ever. Ever. No, I don’t think you understand: ever. I am a purge-kinda-person. This has only created marital strife approximately elevendy-eight times. Back to bitty E…I really do press down the letter practice pages and coloring pages and birthday party invitation envelopes deeeeeeeeeeep into the trash…but the can, it hates me. It’s really an instrument of deceit. As soon as I turn my back it scoots whatever piece of bitty E trash I just put in there right up to the top, and then calls for her in its deep rumble of a trash can voice.

Yes, this is a thing.

So of course she comes running, opens the lid, I get busted, she erupts into immediate tears and I into immediate apologies, which, let’s face it…half-hearted…because if you just give it til the next Sunday I’m bound to empty the contents of the Sunday School take home bag and initiate Defcon 5 over here.

{I dare you to try and diagram that last sentence. If you’re trying to be accurate–I think it’s technically DEFCON, all caps.}

Is bitty E going to be one of those hoarder people? Between her and our Christmas puzzle habit they’re going to give us our own spinoff: Hoarders, Super Weirdos.

Oh yeah: the peas are up. That’s what I got on here to tell you.