I spent the entirety of New Year's weekend living my very best life, by which I mean I watched all seven episodes of The Queen's Gambit while Marie Kondo-ing every inch of this house. You guys, my Tupperware is organized. WHAT. (Related: How is it that I have reached the age of nearly forty years old, and have only just realized that the tops of Tupperwares click together for easier storage?)

One of my favorite things about being single (and there are many, starting with shared custody that permits the aforementioned living of one's best life) is that I have total and complete control over what comes into this house, and what goes out of it. In non-toy-related categories, at least. K is a lot more sentimental about possessions than I am, so there was a constant push-pull over what could and couldn't be tossed. As an example, I do not keep my children's artwork. I keep *some* of it, sure - the really special pieces, to the tune of, say, ten per year per kid - but anyone who has ever had a preschooler knows that they regularly get sent home with foot-high stacks of "artwork" that mostly consists of paint splotches in varying shades of purplish-brown, which is the result you get when you're thinking less about color theory and more about mushing your brush into the paper as hard as possible.