By Carol Kaufmann, Mama Tricks
This year, I decided our family of four should experience a traditional Spring. We would brave the tourist crowds to see the cherry blossoms that grace our nation’s capital. Since the kids were now old enough to carry baskets and pick up small oval objects, we would take part in a few Easter egg hunts. And facing an impending move within the next couple of years, we would give our increasingly cramped home a good ol’ Spring Cleaning.
As invigorated as I was by the prospect of living with ONLY the items we truly needed, it also scared me. A quick trip up the folding stairs to the dusty attic forced me to confront the reality of just how daunting this would be.
Leaning against a rickety wooden railing stood a row of suitcases ready for trips that we scarcely take. Crammed and tossed into every dusty corner lay remnants of my kiddos babyhood—the bassinet, the crib, the plastic boxes of seasonal clothes not especially well-marked. Behind kid central, lay cardboard boxes of the things each of us brought to our seven-year, non-itchy marriage. (Too exhausted, thank you). My husband’s puzzle collection and bin after bin of old paperbacks. My framed prints, art, and carpets I acquired from places I visited when single and carefree. There were odd pieces of furniture, lamps, an antique table, and yes, even a kitchen sink.
We lived without this stuff every day. What would be so hard about getting rid of it? Set aside the factor of time—the hours upon hours it would require to sort, bag, donate or trash—and there was still one incredible obstacle.
The Let It Go part.
Each object seemed to represent a period of time we’d lose forever if we cast it aside. True, my hubby and I high-fived each other as soon as we could rid our dining area of the bulky, crumb-crusted high chair but getting rid of it meant that our little people were slowly becoming big people who didn’t need their chins wiped after every mouthful.
Moment of celebration? More like a bittersweet parting.
But the hardest part of purging, especially the items that have traveled with you from different places and over some distance, is letting go of who you used to be. In a bin hastily labeled “winter” I found a pair of jeans I bought on a trip to Belgium, before my husband and I were officially a pair. It was an engagement gift, this trip to Bruges and Kevin had left me in a cute shop where I found THE pair of jeans—you know, the ones that just work. Right color, right size, right vibe. I was athletic and engaged and energetic and much, much thinner. I love those jeans. But the hard fact is that my lower abdomen may never ever fit comfortably again into a European fit, though I guess my optimistic side thinks this may still be possible.
Then, in the same box, there were the purple cotton pajamas on the other end of the size spectrum. An extra large, I wore them in the hospital after I had my daughter. The 5×7 photo that sits on our kitchen windowsill shows me wearing those huge jammies holding my then one-year old son as he pokes each part of his new baby sister’s face. His curly blond hair is resting against me, his sister is looking directly at him. The background is purple cotton.
They’re nothing special, strictly speaking about these P.J.s—and now they’re way too big, but how do I toss the go-to outfit I wore again and again when they were so little?
Would I never be the toned, spirited gal traipsing through European cities? Would I never be the new mommy, tired but content and in love, cuddling my tiny babies in the wee hours of morning?
No. Face it. No. Then, how else will I remember?
Perhaps the real reason to let go of sentimental items is to make sure that someone else in need of clothes—or in need of memories—has the chance to own them too. So away went my pretty camel-colored winter coat, a pile of white button-downs, a box of pumps and every suit I own. I remember that career girl well enough and can pass her on. But letting go of the free-spirited young woman and the sleepy new mommy are two past lives I need to embrace a little longer—and I can find a tiny corner for them.
Carol Kaufmann regularly shares her “Mama Tricks” with The Well Mom. Her work has appeared in Reader’s Digest,National Geographic, The Washington Post, and in the anthology, A Woman’s Europe. She lives in Alexandria, VA with her husband, two children and two obese rescue cats.
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