There's something inside of me, however, that dreads this day. I watch my husband carry each load of "junk" to the front of our home with a hop in his step and a smile on his face. He calls it the day of, "Getting paid to clean our house". It's one of his favorite times of the year but for me, it feels more like pulling my heart out.
I've never considered myself to be a hoarder. When I think of the definition of hoarders, I'm reminded of the TV shows where people can't walk through their homes from all their belongings.
I, unlike a hoarder, like our home to be clean. It never is, but I like it to at least be clutter free and somewhat organized. I really don't have a problem with throwing much of anything out in the name of organization.
Except, for baby shoes.
Baby shoes are so little, they barely take up any space. Their little feet used to squeeze into those tiny shoes as their fingers reached to feel the foreign objects. Baby shoes definitely don't belong in a yard sale.
Neither does our son's first bike. Sure it goes to his knee now and he couldn't sit on it if he tried, but it was his first bike.
How could you sell his entire childhood for five dollars? The day we let go and he spread his wings without training wheels. That day absolutely doesn't belong in a yard sale.
You know what else doesn't belong there? Our daughter's first tea set. You know, the little one in the light pink wicker basket. The one she's never actually played with, but it's so cute you're sure this summer, she will. The fact that you actually HAVE a tea set when you never thought you could, is reason alone not to sell it in a driveway. That's absurd and barbaric.
So as you can see, I'm not a hoarder.
I thought Adam would break into a jig each time a car drove off with our memories as I sat feeling a little more empty. Their childhood, all those firsts, simply gone.
As our driveway cleared away little by little, I realized something strange. The kids were just as excited each time we made a sell. Little fist pumps occurred from the purchase of their books, our daughter actually high fived her brother when she sold one of her princess dolls. Our SON actually broke out a box and drawing pad to sell artwork for anyone interested.
What was happening?
That's when I realized. Nobody cared. The kids didn't mind selling their things. They didn't remember their baby shoes, first blankets or things I've held onto for years. To them, it was just, stuff...and they were right. The things didn't hold the emotional reaction for me, the memories did and whether their first bike sat in our garage or somebody else's, the happiness and love from letting go, would stay inside forever. That's what really counts. The happiness from within.
I'll have to say though, I'm still mad about the shoes. :)