Brad has been on a mission to declutter the house before it implodes and we retire. He has banned me from bringing anything into the house and if I do, something must leave. He drives a hard bargain, which I ignore.
Last week he dragged everything out of the crawl space in the basement and told the kids they needed to come home to take or toss.
I kept what appeared to be a significant amount of their treasures, trophies, report cards and a fraction of their precious artwork. I knew that at some point my children would think I loved them immensely because I kept all these without them realizing I threw away a majority of stuff. In addition to the children's "stuff", we had boxes from our parents with their "stuff" which I guess is really our "stuff".
A caution to those who are brave enough to endeavor a similar mission and a warning to those with young ones:
Elementary school teachers insist students draw pictures of their family repeatedly. I am on to them and know this is the teacher's way of getting back at parents. Be forewarned young mothers; throw these pictures away.
Come to find out I got a D (among a sea of A's) on my 4th grade report card! Mind you, it was from a super mean teacher who also made me put the gum I was chewing on my nose the entire day. I told Mag and Jake I should have looked at my report cards before I had a nervous breakdown when they got an S on their elementary report cards. What can I say, my memory had me as a straight A student.
Three sets of china dating back to great grandmas were not a big hit. Surprisingly the white milk glass collection Brad wanted me to sale was a hit. I mean go figure.
Mag displayed her few trophies proudly until Jake unloaded his big box, which triumphed her collection. Swimmers get ribbons while tennis players get trophies. Mag had higher ACT scores and report cards. She also drew complimentary pictures of me.
According to their elementary journals, Brad made meat dinners and I yelled at everyone (another wink to the teachers).
After many laughs, tears and surprises, Brad made us a meat dinner and I yelled at the kids to pick up their crap and home they went. Brad headed downstairs to survey our progress and wanted to know why there were so many boxes with stuff. I told him the kids asked us to hold on to their "stuff" until they are ready to take them.