Today was another one for the baby books. My husband finally decided that after ten years of his
garage filling up with things that just couldn't be thrown out, it was time to call in some reinforcement. I was okay with the whole 777-Junk
thing. They said they would donate any reusable items and find a place to dispose of the rest. Their motto, "Consider it Done" sounded good to me.... Until my DH told me that my son's closet needed to be "dealt with".
I wasn't thrilled with the idea. I've learned that when he says something needs to be "dealt with", it's usually serious. I admit, I haven't been in the boys closet since we got here, so when I opened the door, I let out a screech. "Give away POOH? Deflate SCOOBY DOO? What about his Tinker Toys? They're his favorites! You must be crazy"!
I mumbled at him.
Knowing me as he does, he left the room. He knew I didn't need to be reminded by HIM that my baby is going to be 20 in November. And the point is? Men just don't seem to get it.
Anyway, I spent a few minutes remembering how much fun my son had playing with his toys. I can still hear him beating up Scooby and singing off-tune Christmas carols with Winnie the Pooh. He loved his Tinker Toys and spent hours just happily creating "his stuff".
Knowing as I do that my life seems to be constantly filled with what I call "letting go moments",
I took some pictures, boxed up the toys and took them to the garage. I swallowed hard, blinked back a tear or two, and convinced myself that the truck wasn't going to drive straight to the local dump; and that some sweet little boy would soon be enjoying the toys as much as my son did. It helped to make this latest "letting go moment",
just a little bit easier.