This morning my toddler found his dog eared Oriental Trading catalog in the trash can. Full meltdown: “My stuff Mommy! Daddy threw away my stuff!” (Full disclosure: it was Mommy who threw away his “stuff” but I am not going to argue semantics with a 3 YO.) We removed his stuff from the trash, he stopped crying and ran outside to play in the ashes of his charred Christmas tree. I threw the catalog away again.
Earlier this year we listed our home for rent. For four tedious weeks I kept it Pintrest perfect. Accessorized the coffee table with art and fashion books, even. Everyone who came through commented on how lovely it was, unique and so well decorated. “What a great yard!” they said. The toddler in me repelled – these bozos are picturing themselves in MY HOME, MY KITCHEN, MY GARDEN. My possessive emotions were so palatable I entertained staying. Moments later the actual toddler returned, trashed 1200 SF in 12 minutes and I was emotionally mature again. My kingdom for a playroom.
I did an admirable job of narrowing my closet down to practically nothing but there are still several items to reconcile. What am I afraid of? If I truly need the J.Crew graphic tee that says “Cheers!” in 11 languages, I can grab it from the storage box.
Letting go of our stuff is scary. What if there is nothing left?
As AJ would say: “That’s silly, Mommy!”
Details: Stella & Dot Nora Chandelier Earrings (2014); TJ Maxx No Name black knit turtleneck (2013); Gap denim jacket (2002 - no seriously); tangerine cashmere scarf, origins unknown (2012)
Details: Coach purple tassel cross-body (2012); Steve Madden cheetah flats (2011); J.Crew Minnie pants (2013)
For 12 easy payments of $2650, all of this could be yours.
Top photo in front of our new home, which is right next door