Jay named the unmanageable pile of stuffed animals in WCK's room "Mt. Stuffmore." He said that we should charge admission and let people get their pictures taken in front of Mt. Stuffmore. I said it would be a huge liability issue, because Mt. Stuffmore could come crumbling down and fatally crush the visitors at any moment.
The problem wasn't just the pile of animals. The entire room could have been called "Mt. Stuffmore", because it was, well, stuffed. It was bad. Really, really bad. And I don't know where all of these toys are coming from. I do not remember actually buying very many stuffed animals. Are roving bands of stuffed animals breaking into our house in the middle of the night? Are the stuffed animals getting pregnant and giving birth to additional stuffed animals?
Although I can't rule out either of these theories, I think the problem stems from the fact that WCK and I are both borderline hoarders who can't bear to give things up. When WCK says she can't possibly part with the plastic shopping cart I bought her when she was 15 months old, I completely understand where she's coming from.
So the mess kept growing. There was simply too much of it to organize and clean, so I gave up. Then, the other day when it was too hot to do anything else, WCK and I ended up watching a marathon of "The Call of the Wildman" on Animal Planet. This is a show about a crazy guy named Turtleman who goes around capturing wild animals who have managed to get themselves stuck inside houses, barns, chicken coops, etc. As Turtleman was wrestling a family of possums out of a dilapidated old house, I realized it was only a matter of time before possums started making nests in the clutter in WCK's room. Then we saw a commercial for "Hoarders: Buried Alive." As a woman's newspaper-filled kitchen caught on fire, I saw our future.
The next day, I announced that we were cleaning out the room. WCK was surprisingly agreeable and even suggested numerous items to go to Goodwill. This was not an easy job for two borderline hoarders. I would find myself about to say, "Really? You want to give away the stuffed dinosaur that Very Good Friend gave you for your birthday when you were three?" And then my brain would say, "Shut up, you idiot! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
Finally, after about five hours of cleaning and a trip to the thrift store, I looked around me and saw something I hadn't seen in a long time: WCK's floor. They said it couldn't be done, but I am here to tell you that I did it. I conquered Mt. Stuffmore.
If you've already ordered tickets for the Mt. Stuffmore sightseeing tour, I will refund your money.