It's just plastic

Our little house has been overrun with toys and trinkets for the tiny humans. Their closet has been filled to the brim with boxes of matchbox cars, squeeky soft baby teethers, an unopened walker still in its box, and a sea of Legos and Little People dotted with Cars memorabilia. I had long ago snapped the lid on that bin of baby bibs and burp clothes when a pair of tiny red shoes fell on my head as I pulled it from the top shelf. (She had only worn those once.)

I fought back the desire to purge the house of the extra, the fluff, the excess that we keep tucked away, out of sight, out of mind. I want to hold onto to every little thing that those tiny fingers touched and hide away the memories of their little years away in my heart. I want them to stay small, to stay mine, for time to stay still.

But time does not listen and little ones grow up. My, they grow up so fast!

It's just stuff, I say to myself as tears fill up my eyes. It's just plastic and the memories are mine.

I think I'm struggling with getting rid of their things because it means that our baby years are behind us. My head says it's right but my heart just can't commit to moving forward. It means accepting that moments are fleeting, and unfair as it seems, time keeps going on.

My babies will grow up. We're edging closer to F-O-U-R and T-W-O. And what we have to look forward to!

So, yes, the most epic yard sale in the history of parenthood takes place THIS SATURDAY at the Ritz house. Please ignore the cry-face lady in advance. K? Thanks.

P.S. I'm keeping those red shoes.