The Great Keeling-Keller Clean Out

I guess some people call this "nesting." I call it "I-can't-fit-another-pair-of-underwear-in-my-drawer-or-another-shirt-in-my-closet-how-will-we-fit-a-baby-in-our-house?" clean out. I imagine it's some sort of uncontrollable urge to clean out a space to sort of prepare a nest for the new baby--or to tie up loose ends of old projects and organize my life before chaos ensues. I would imagine that it sort of puts me in control of something since there's a TON I cannot control right now. (Like, the six hour nap I took yesterday.)
Seems like a primal instinct, I guess.
I also equate it to happening later on in the pregnancy...like two weeks before the baby is due demanding that we clean out the entire garage or eliminate our belongings down to 100 like this guy, Dave. You know, something slightly or totally irrational. Apparently some women have reported throwing away their sheets and towels because they felt the need to have brand new, clean linens at home. I even read that women have taken apart the knobs on kitchen cupboards, so they could disinfect the screws attached to the knobs. What?? All I want to do is have space to put the little tiny things that are about to be folded in with our regular items.
And so, the Great Keeling-Keller Clean Out began.
We were diligent and persistent like Sylvester Stalone in his famous blockbuster film series.

I mean, look at that giant pile of shoes/clothes/books/what-have-you on the floor behind Dan. We discovered we were willing to part with a carload of items by the time we loaded Dan's Honda and drove it to the good ol' Goodwill.
Some items were informational and could not be parted with--actually, the "Book Reduction Phase" was the most difficult, but Dan donated a bunch of his childhood books to the middle school library and I gifted poetry, educational theory and favorite novels to friends. This was a book that will continue to collect dust on our shelf, for now. It was just too good to pass up or pass along.

Then there were the sentimental items in storage. I was ready to ditch the pile of plaques, trophies, certificates, and what-have-yous. However, I made one fatal mistake: I posted a picture and a question to my fb friends. I asked what the shelf life for accolades was. I found out a girl can never part with memorabilia from 1993. Not even if that is an MVP for the JV volleyball team.  Or 1995's award for French Composition. (Seriously? Who does that?)

They live to see the light of another day. I guess these will reside in my home when the little one arrives--unless I get some irrational urge to wipe my history from memory. All I can say is that I hope that little babe never watches the home videos of those junior high band nights, because I am certain that those would not confirm that I ever deserved the Jared Eslinger Music Award.


After the first round of the Great Keeling-Keller Clean out, I am happy to show you the biggest accomplishment: