My eldest baby is off at college. For several weeks before moving into her college housing she went through her room creating three piles: take to college with her, store in the attic, and trash. For anyone who’s seen Toy Story 3, you’ll understand why I cried through the whole movie. Except that I didn’t cry when Ken was modeling his vintage clothing.
The teens were given two options: have a yard sale and split the proceeds or load up everything for a donation run to Salvation Army. They wanted to have a yard sale.
The last yard sale at our house was probably a good ten or 12 years ago. I detest yard sales. Having them, at least. So if the girls were going to put one together, I was going to get rid of as much as I could so that I don’t have to even consider the possibility of a yard sale for another ten or 12 years.
My closet looked like it was suffering from projectile vomiting. Piles all over the bedroom. Things that I hadn’t seen in years. I found my stash of cards from all the flowers that Mr. Gaelic sent me when we were first dating and he was leading up to the proposal. I also found baby girl clothes. So tiny! With the delicate lace that my mother insisted on buying when I was making their layette. And the ethereal cotton dresses that I wore as a baby before my father had air conditioning installed in the house.
When I held up one tiny gown I could only picture how big the girls are now. All grown up and off at college. When I was in the thick of it, I thought they’d never grow up. Now when I look back on it, their childhood was gone in a flash.
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