I always try to put the Halloween stuff away the day after.

I might have five overflowing laundry baskets in my dining room at the moment, and be perfectly okay with it — but to me, there’s something unacceptably untidy about having holiday detritus around after the holiday in question is over.

Maybe I drove by too many sad Christmas-lit houses in February, growing up. (Phoenix is huge on holiday lights; probably because there aren’t many natural signs of the season around.)

In any case, I was unsuccessful this year. It wasn’t til this past weekend that I finally crammed the black and orange back into the Halloween Rubbermaid and shoved it into the holiday closet, swearing I’ll deal with that mess by Thanksgiving.

Then I opened the dryer the other day to find that Annabelle had put the shirt from her Halloween costume into the hamper without unpinning the felt/pom pommed poodle tail. (Of course this is my fault, as the responsible adult.) We’ll be finding those pom poms around til next Halloween, I suspect.

Oh, and I even forgot to post photos from Halloween. So here you go. Sophie was Foofa from “Yo Gabba Gabba” (not homemade). Annabelle was a black poodle (homemade, as previously mentioned and, I must add, a huge hit — and my relationship with the hot glue gun was officially kindled).

Boo. Hoo. Halloween 2009 is officially over.

The past few weeks, I’ve been doing some organizing. I know I always say that, but this time I’ve been digging a little deeper, opening Rubbermaids I’d ignored for a while. Ditto for the scary piles that migrate to corners of my house.

It hasn’t been all bad. In fact, I’ve coined a new expression — “shopping in my house.”

I have found some great stuff, and since my memory keeps getting shorter, much of it has come as a surprise. Like the never-opened package of smelly markers (you know the ones – the pink smells like strawberry, the black like licorice; I think I hid it because I was worried it wasn’t safe when the kids were super-young, despite the non-toxic label) or the bags of sequins, individual containers of finger paint, kid scissors still in the package (several of those) — I could outfit a classroom. (And have, Sophie’s Miss Y was the beneficiary of a large bag of art supplies, with more on the way.)

But I was a little bummed to discover two tee shirts, ordered from etsy.com about a year ago — now obsolete, and more than a little crumpled – with rainbow rhinestones spelling “Kindergarten Rocks!” and “Second Grade Rocks!”. I think I put them in a safe place, waiting for just the right day to send the girls to school wearing them. Whoops.

True, the latter will be good for Sophie when she matriculates. But kindergarten’s over for good in our house — a fact that still makes me sad, a month into first grade. First grade rocks, too, don’t get me wrong. Still, I’m nostalgic.

And annoyed with myself. I fear TLC is going to come knocking for an episode of “It’s True, I’m a Hoarder” or whatever they call it. So I’m doing my best to clear stuff out, or at least put it in a Rubbermaid with a label.

That won’t work for those shirts, I’m not that crazy. In fact, I have just the right kindergartener in mind for the tee shirt, but he’s a boy, and way too big for a 4T. Leo starts kindergarten this week, which you already know if you follow his mom Maya’s blog. Maya’s got all the same fears that I had a year ago, when Sophie started kindergarten — I feel for her. There’s no way to get past the fear without plowing right through it. Cute accessories can help, though. Which is why I’m sending you the sentiment in spirit, Maya. I can’t wait to follow Leo — and you — this year.

What I really wish is that they made rainbow-rhinestoned “Kindergarten Rocks!” tee shirts in adult sizes.  We’re the ones who can use the reminder.

In any case, if you know a teeny tiny kindergarten girl who would look good in never-worn rhinestones, let me know. I’m sure we could shake out the crumples.

For those of you less Jewish than I, it’s not just that you can’t eat bread on Passover. There are all sorts of rules about what qualifies as leavened and what doesn’t. It gets really complicated.

In fact, many Jews spend the days leading up to Passover finding, packaging up and getting rid of (or having a friend store) all the leavened food items in the house.

I spent the days leading up to Passover the way I spend the days leading up to any holiday: moving my piles from one Rubbermaid to the other and trying to make the uncontained piles look decorative — like they’re there on purpose.

“Wow,” Ray said this morning. “I wish Passover came every week.”

I did outdo myself by actually sweeping the porch and back patio. I even hosed some stuff off.

I think the dinner tonight will be nice, as long as some plague doesn’t befall my cleaning lady before she can get to my house this afternoon and scour the crap out of it.

But I’m not sure how much fun it will be.

Passover just isn’t that much fun. This was the subject of a spirited discussion at ballet last week. I don’t take ballet, but the girls do and now that Sophie takes a class, too (this was a long time coming; I’ve written about it before) we are at that damn studio from 9 am to 12:30 pm each Saturday. It’s a marathon.

Luckily the morning comes with coffee, shopping (there’s a great thrift store in between the coffee shop and the dance studio), and friends. I’ve known some of these moms and their girls since Annabelle was 3. We’re tight.

Over cofee last Saturday, my friend Betsy told us all about her Passover traditions. She’s a Tucson Jew. For some reason, I’ve always considered Tucson Jews to be more authentic than Phoenix Jews. There’s tightknit Jewish community down there. In Phoenix, everything’s far flung, including the Jews.

Betsy had us tittering with stories of her living room decorated with blue streamers and red Crayoned fish to symbolize the Red Sea. My mother, always one to try to make a holiday happier, chimed in with an idea she read somewhere. You’re supposed to take tiny marshmallows and put them on the blades of a ceiling fan, then turn it on.

“Locusts!” she announced. (My mom always wants to re-enact the plagues in creative ways.)

OK, if you tried to do that in my house, Ray would shit a brick and given my ability to clean up after such messes, I wouldn’t blame him.

I’ll have to frisk my mother for marshmallows tonight. I looked at the web site Betsy forwarded with the fun Passover ideas, and I just couldn’t get in the mood. And really, it’s okay with me if the whole thing isn’t outright raucous fun, but could it at least be a little festive?

Betsy mentioned that Sprinkles cupcakes (yes, designer cupcakes and we got the first outpost after the flagship in Beverly Hills — and they’re really good!) is having a special holiday promotion. They have Easter cupcakes that look like little bunnies, and Passover cupcakes with Jewish stars on them.

Now, Betsy was concerned that the cupcakes aren’t kosher for Passover (turns out they are) but that didn’t occur to me. I was too busy wondering why the Christians get bunny ears instead of crosses, if we Jews have to have big Stars of David atop our allegedly fun desserts.

It’s not fair. My friend Deborah maintains that the Christians steal all the Jews’ best magic and make it more fun. She’s right! Consider Passover. Partway through the seder, you are supposed to open the door for Elijah the Prophet, a mythical figure who sips from the wine you leave him. Is it just the wind? Who knows.

Who cares? Boooooooring. To Deborah’s way of thinking, the Christians took Elijah, put ears on him and gave him some chocolate. Instead of coming in your house and sipping your wine, this version brings you candy and hides eggs.

Much better magic. And with a better color palette.

All this is sacrilege, I know, but I just can’t help myself. Last night I made a list of all the things I thought about doing to make Passover more fun but didn’t have time to do, like making sangria (don’t call AA, it’s just that Passover wine is bad) or  making macaroons from scratch or making a mixed CD of mood music with copies for everyone to take home.

Then I thought maybe I’d make make those centerpieces where you fill a large glass container with candy (like candy corn for Halloween or candy hearts for Valentine’s Day) and then put a smaller container in it with flowers, but I couldn’t come up with a good idea for Passover candy.

Screw it, I thought, I’ll use Easter candy. But I ran out of time.  Instead, last night I dug around in the bottom of the Easter/Passover Rubbermaid and found some dessert plates and napkins with Peeps on them, and some vintage cupcake picks with bunnies, flowers and chicks that will be perfect for the gefilte fish.

In another pile, I did find something really special, something I forgot we had: a matzoh cover that Annabelle made in pre-school. Thank God for the East Valley Jewish Community Center! So we’ll have that on the seder table along with the bunny picks, and I’ll be happy.

I also found some Haggadahs (the seder prayer book) my mom made a few years ago. She managed to pare the service down to about a 10 minute job, and that’s if you drag it out.

So really, I’m set. Sort of. I just need to figure out the cocktail thing. (“Hava tequila?” Deborah asked. “Then we can dance the let my people go go.”)

And tomorrow I can go back to decoupaging eggs.

I kept all the photos out on the mantle, but the cards and other random Grandma-ish stuff (a page from Annabelle’s journal, a bracelet she’d given Annabelle, the empty hair cream container she also gave her and a bunch of condolence cards) are headed for the Grandma Rubbermaid.

I mean that in the nicest possible way. Having a personal Rubbermaid, in my world, is about as good as it gets. My MIL is the first person I can think of to get her own; it seemed like a good, safe way to store the stuff that keeps landing on the kitchen table, via my father in law — costume jewelry, books, clothes. I don’t want anything to get ruined or lost. I did have to give Grandma’s sewing machine its own separate Rubbermaid, til we can find a place for it.

Speaking of plastic storage, the Easter/Passover Rubbermaid came out last night, now that the winter-to-summer clothing exchange has been completed. And with the Grandma shrine gone, we needed some cheer. Easter is less than two weeks away, after all. Passover, too.

Passover’s a tough holiday. A little too down-to-business to be much fun, afikomen aside. So we focused on Easter last night. Technically, Easter’s about as tough as a holiday gets, but the trimmings are the best.

As usual, I’d completely forgotten what was in the Easter/Passover Rubbermaid, so it was like Christmas: a collection of vintage (allegedly) bunny, birdie and flower cupcake toppers; cute napkins and paper plates from Target; lots of bunny ears; pink paper “grass” still in the bag; and several baskets, along with the requisite holiday DVDs and videos.

I’ve never seen this before, but the “Peter Cottontail” DVD actually broke IN HALF, while in the Rubbermaid.  (This could be because, um, I didn’t actually put it back inside the case when I tossed it in. Lesson learned.) Annabelle was very interested in this (as she was in the Rubbermaid, asking, “Mama, what is a Rubber Maid?”) and announced on the spot that she’s now collecting broken DVDs and CDs.

So hey, if you have any, send them our way.

I also found a Ziploc filled with paper butterflies in various pastels, which I placed around the framed photos on the mantle. I added one picture that had been part of the shrine: a beautiful snapshot of Grandma and Annabelle, which my mother in law had enlarged and framed, shortly after she learned of her diagnosis last summer. Til she died, it was on Annabelle’s dresser. Now it’s in the living room, in an appropriate place of honor.

“You know why Grandma isn’t really gone?” Annabelle asked last night. “Because I have this! This is very special to me!” She hugged the frame tightly, then gazed at the picture.

She paused. “Grandma didn’t spend a lot of time with Sophie,” she said matter-of-factly.

It’s true that there is no corresponding photograph of Sophie and Grandma.

I do have a similarly lovely, similarly enlarged and framed photo of myself and Sophie, which my mother in law took at Sophie’s pre-school graduation and presented to me as a gift.

But there isn’t one of Sophie and Grandma. That doesn’t tell the truth, though. The truth is that my mother in law spent a tremendous amount of time with both girls — she babysat regularly early on in their lives (more than my own parents — by a longshot) and even in the last few months, made sure to arrange for special, separate play dates for just Sophie and Grandma.

I will say that both Grandma and Gaga forged particularly special relationships with Annabelle. I don’t know if that’s because she’s the first born granddaughter (I am for my generation, and I know I got special treatment) or for other reasons. I guess time will tell — with my own mother, anyway.

I think even Annabelle could sense that it was an awkward topic, and we both struggled to change the subject. I let her stay up to watch “It’s the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown.”

I’ve always been a big fan of “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.” The only part I really remembered about the Easter special is that wonderful bit where the Christmas display is already out at the local department store at Easter time.

But if you haven’t watched this one lately, make sure you do. It’s pretty special. My favorite part, I think, is where Woodstock decorates his new birdhouse all groovy.

I’ve always had a soft spot for the Peanuts, particularly Linus, since we both have blankets. I do recognize that Charles M. Schulz’s work is pretty retro and slow in a way that doesn’t appeal so much to kids today, so I try not to get bummed out when the girls stop watching halfway through the Thanksgiving or Christmas specials. (Remember how exciting it was, when they came on just once a year?!)

But last night Annabelle was right there with me. It was fabulous.

The Peanuts just don’t come up much in conversation around our house, which is why the following story strikes me as so odd. I have to tell it.

I’m sure it’s a byproduct of middle age (am I really middle aged? how can I be middle aged? I’m 8 years old, wearing my turquoise Snoopy outfit to third grade!) but people are dying right and left. A while back, a dear friend’s favorite cousin passed away. He traveled to the Bay Area for a service, and afterward, I asked how it went.

It was okay, he said, but Charles M. Schulz’s widow insisted on having the memorial service at the museum.

HUH? I didn’t realize that my friend’s cousin was a curator at Schulz’s museum. (I didn’t know there was a museum honoring Schulz, for that matter.)

Yeah, my friend said. His cousin did things like travel to Denver to oversee the removal of a wall from a house Schulz lived in before his characters were famous — he’d painted the characters on a wall, and his cousin made sure the wall got safely to Calfornia then made sure 10 layers of paint were carefully removed to reveal the characters.

COOL.

Be careful what you think about, people, that’s all I’m saying, because a few hours after that conversation I was in the car with the girls and out of the blue — I swear, I hadn’t mentioned the topic, the conversation had taken place at work, not home –  Annabelle piped up from the back seat and asked, “Hey, mama, where do the Peanuts characters live?”

Any other day, I would have been stumped. But this day, I was able to tell her: Santa Rosa, California, in a museum we can go to someday.

My friend says there’s even an ice skating rink on the property. Schulz liked to ice skate, just like his characters.

It was like Christmas in our house this morning. The Valentine Rubbermaid made its 2009 debut.

I meant to wait til all evidence of the last holiday was gone, but knowing Ray that could be months, and we needed to switch out Sophie’s little bribe at school. It’s one of the things that has made this year work, so far: We don’t really bribe her with stuff as much as the thought of it — at first she worked each morning and afternoon for five “Elmos,” cardboard cutouts laminated and velcroed to a small board on her work space. When she bored of that, we switched it out to holiday ornaments, which of course were obsolete yesterday morning when she showed up for school. Whoops.

So the Rubbermaid Valentine box came out. I don’t do a lot right as a mother — I’m the firs to admit it, if only to beat you to saying it yourself — but I give myself a hearty pat on the back for the Holiday Rubbermaids. Even my mom’s copied me, with her own version. If you can make yourself wait a year to open the box (and you have a bad memory, as I do) the whole thing will be a surprise: kid artwork from years past; Valentine stuff bought on sale post-holiday and crammed into the box; all sorts of pink, red and white treat bags, stickers, cards and even a hole punch in there somewhere, in the shape of a heart.

It’s fun because the crafts I bought when Annabelle was 6 months old are finally stuff the girls can use themselves (I got a little ahead of myself, ok?) and each year the art evolves. I dug around this morning and found some suitable Valentine stuff for Sophie’s bribe board, then snapped the top back in place, intending to wait til the tree is gone.

But it will be hard to keep that lid on….

I do understand. It’s the post-holiday thing. Last night I stayed up til 1, watching Baby Mama and putting away the holiday stuff. I actually reorganized the holiday closet — a little, not enough to bend over and pick up the plastic Easter eggs on the ground; I just mushed the Rubbermaids on top of them. But at least the holidays are in order and almost every shred of Xmas is put away. (Sniffle!)

 My reward: the silver clogs I’ve been drooling over. I finally found them at www.svensclogs.com and shamelessly bought them, even though I’m totally copying a new friend who bought hers at Triple Happiness in Brooklyn. (How freaking cool?! A CLOG STORE. I told her the silver clogs were the tipping point for the playdate invite — how can you resist a potential new friend with silver clogs?)

And now they will be mine. So shallow. So what?