An endless supply of thingamajigs
Mark Pavilons

What do you do with one shoe, one sock or one battery?

And, just where you put a plastic, thingamajig that's obviously come loose from your child's doohickey? Ah, there's the rub, as Shakespeare once alluded to.

But I doubt Will was speaking of picking up after younglings or wondering just how we amassed such tremendous quantities of trinkets.

On my day off, I spend my time cleaning the house and running errands - basically doing all the things left over when the other six days are done. I'm confident that if modern man decides to create the eight-day week, we still won't have enough time.

Such is the life of the modern family - in our case, two working parents and three rather active and rambunctious children who haven't quite learned the finer aspects of cleaning up after themselves or reducing their ecological footprint.

Hence my day off becomes hours of fun with the vacuum and folding an endless supply of jeans, tshirts and socks that don't match. As I go through the kids' laundry, I'm often sure we have an extra child or two hidden beneath the stairs. Three small kids simply can't go through so many clothes. Just when did we get a soccer team?

I can count the number of jeans, t-shirts, dress shirts and shoes I have (some on one hand).

As I pick up Power Rangers, Batman's cape, Spider-Man's left arm and foam bullets to some fancy alien weapon, I frown, then smile. It's at moments like this that I realize why I still have a 12-year-old TV with a taped-up remote; socks with holes in them and pants that are a bit snug around the waist - all of our money has been spent on toys, DVDs, kids' clothes and plastic sippy cups! Oh, the joys of parenthood, and the cost!

Given the volume of playthings around our house, is it any wonder I come across the strangest things during my weekly cleaning ritual? Those that don't get sucked up, stepped on or embedded are picked up, examined and tossed into the everything bin to sort themselves out.

Given the possibility of domicile changes and asking my mom to join us, there's an extra spring in my step with regards to tossing and adding to the heap at the end of the driveway on garbage days. Of course, my male neurons require that I check with my wife, whose female neurons know exactly what everything is, where everything goes and whether we'd ever need such a thing in the next 10 years. It's quite a process, once you get it down pat.

Yes, the kids of boomers are definitely spoiled. They have more things than the last two generations of kids combined.

I can attest to that, having lived through part of that last generation. While I received my fair share, my toys consisted of models that I had to build and paint myself; diecast cars like Hot Wheels and the very macho G.I. Joe. When I received Joe and his popping armband for Christmas one year, I thought I had found the holy grail of toys. Joe remained my prized possession, even after his crew cut came into contact with an open flame (what can I say, I was curious).

I guess I shouldn't be hard on my children when they lose or break one of their mass-produced playthings. Some of mine left my room via the window, meeting the pavement below in a spectacular crash. Others met untimely ends again due to open flames or firecrackers (before they were outlawed).

But when I think of packing up and moving, my head spins. The boxes upon boxes of action figures, dolls, doll accessories, balls, wheels, gizmos and doodads boggles my mind. In all likelihood, I will utilize the one-armed sweeping method of packing.

While my kids are just beginning to leave an impact on the planet, mine is somewhat shrinking. They say you do get smaller with age.

I've contended that all that's left of us when we're gone are memories and piles of things - whatsits and doodads of all shapes and sizes. Some will make us laugh, others will make us cry.

We humans are the biggest packrats on the planet - we save and horde everything under the sun. And for what?

Organizational experts urge us to conduct a thorough cleaning at least twice a year - spring and fall. The general rule of thumb is if we haven't used it in a year or more, toss it, sell it or donate it. Kim and I seem to come up with a garbage bag filled with clothes at least four times a year, which we donate to Chez Thrift. I would urge everyone to do the same.

But when I think of this rule, I come across things in our rec. room that I haven't seen in three years, let alone used. In fact, things pop up that I didn't even know I owned or purchased. Again, some of this may have to do with those spousal neurons - buying things when they're on sale, to be used in the "next house." My wife is big on that, hence our rather large collection of newly wrapped bed sheets, wall sconces, picture frames, shadow boxes and my personal favorite - candle holders.

You would think this would let me off the hook when it came to buying new decorations for the new abode. Not so. You see, women's tastes change with the times and pastels have given way to earth tones; wood is the new metal, etc.

There are times I think of The Cat in the Hat and stuffing a seemingly infinite amount of stuff into a tiny dwelling, to the point it bursts! If I only had one of those multi-armed cleaning thingamajigs.