Stuff

I’m just beside myself with giddy this evening!
I worked on the garage today and it is now totally organized, compartmentalized, boxed up, and in some cases even labeled by holiday contents. (gives myself a round of applause and does the “you’re the boss” dance)

My garage is clean! Say it with me now brotha’s and sistah’s!
The garage is clean! Yea-yah…

My garage is so clean in fact you can actually park a full size mini van in it, and still have room to spin around with your arms wide open, while leaping naked through the air yelling “yippee”!

Not that I did that or anything, uh…, mind you, but I could have if I were the kind of person that was so inclined to do that sort of thing.
I didn’t.
I’m just sayin.

There’s space where there once was stuff.

How much stuff does a person need anyways?
When is it ok to get rid of your Cheerleading uniforms, or your high school memorabilia?
What age do you have to become to finally say, “ok…I’m probably not going to need this baby stroller any more because the kids can all walk perfectly fine with their own two legs and it’s just taking up space.

I’ll be 40, no wait, 30 again this year, so it’s highly unlikely that I’ll be having any new little bundles of joy to add to the present collection. I’d say it’s safe to go ahead and get rid of the baby stroller, and the maternity clothes, wouldn’t you?

Of course there’s all those adorable little outfits, and baby hats.
And what about that cute little onsie little man wore when he was 8 months….you know…the one with the ears and the silly bears’ face on the butt, that looked really precious when he crawled around on the ground?

I need that don’t I?

Sure I do. Let’s put that one back in the box.

No really….put the baby clothes down and step away from the box!
I’m just going to keep a few things.
I promise.

It’s hard. Life can be measured in so many ways. We tend to hang on to our things…
our “stuff”
because it represents where we’ve been and what we’ve done. Memories flood to the forefront and we relive the precious moments of our lives when we revisit our stuff, like when our babies were actually still babies.

I know I can’t take my stuff with me when I die.
But it's all I've got and I can still keep some of it in a box.

A box to take out and savor when the mood hits
and I need a baby fix, or a smile,
to remember.