I woke up yesterday morning with the intention of hosting a Molnar Family Day of Cleaning. The kids immediately went into hiding as I began futzing around my room grunting and grumbling about all the "shit" that has accumulated that has no apparent use or home. Then I began to attack the closet. Oh the closet. It was horrifying and it took ALL DAY. If I tell you that there were six GIANT trash bags of things to take to Good Will would believe me? Would you believe that there was an almost equal amount of trash, boxes, broken crap, and things that no longer have a use? How is this possible? It isn't even like the room now looks empty. It just looks less cluttered (sort of). I also vacuumed places inside the closet that have clearly never met Mr. Kirby before. I might have PTSD. I might be so traumatized that I need a maid from here on out. Hold me.