Love me... love my stuff!

Before I moved in with Ray last April I had been living in an apartment with my 2 daughters.  I left most of MY stuff there for them to use, as Ray had more stuff than any one person on the face of this earth could ever possibly hope to use.  It's hard to believe that his ex-wife already took half of their stuff when she moved out and they divorced. But now my girls are moving and I have to take whatever stuff I want out of the apartment and bring it to Ray's house.  Anything that I leave behind will be stored in their father's garage, where it could be confiscated by his insignificant other if she happens to take a liking to it.  The problem is that Ray already has so much stuff laying around, that there is no room for any of MY stuff.  There isn't even enough room for all of HIS stuff.  Even his stuff has stuff.  He is a major pack rat.  I figured if I wanted to get rid of any of his stuff that I would have to do it while he was out of the house, and dispose of it in someone else's trash.  "Honey?  You didn't throw away an old, beat up teddy bear, did you?"  It was under the bed, torn, tattered and dirty.  What possible reason could he have to keep it?  "My mother gave it to me last year.  She said it was mine when I was little and I slept with it every night.  She wanted me to have it in case anything happened to her.  I had to take it after she told me that she kept that bear for over 45 years..."  I have a sinking feeling that I will NEVER be able to live this little momentary lapse of judgment down...