A mass of stuffed animals huddles under the bed. Lego people and their destroyed city populate a drawer. In a shoebox on the top shelf of the closet, the remains of broken wooden boards, mementos of a child’s brief foray into martial arts, gather dust. I know if I dig deeper, I will find tiny plastic wrestlers, tangle-haired Barbies, a toy tea set. I have an art cabinet full of coloring books and dried Playdough, a game cabinet where Candyland still rests, sports equipment from sports my children haven’t played in years.
As I look at my children, both on the cusp of adulthood, I realize that it’s time to sort through their childhood belongings.
My own drawers and closets aren’t much better. Blouses I haven’t worn for a year compete for space with jeans which will never fit me again. Drawers are stuffed with my children’s art, stories I wrote when I was in elementary school, and sketches from students I haven’t seen in decades. Do I need my daughter’s kindergarten journal or my 6th grade report card? Is it time to part with the hardback set of Nancy Drew detective novels I read as a child?
A cursory glance at the kitchen is equally disheartening. I have Tupperware with no lids, and lids with no Tupperware. Brightly-colored plates stamped with Peter Rabbit or Mickey Mouse designs take up half a cabinet, sharing space with more refillable water bottles than we could ever use. No one needs six flower vases, or three pitchers, or twelve shot glasses. Worse, I don’t even know where most of these items came from.
I take a deep breath, and decide that one of my resolutions in the new year will be to sort through clutter, and donate or throw away unnecessary belongings. I want to cajole my children to do the same. It’s time to let go of the debris gathered over the course of decades. Perhaps a cleaner, tidier life awaits us in a cleaner, tidier house.
Even as I sort through belongings, I know that letting go of things will be difficult. I hold my children’s toys in my hands, while visions float through my head of tiny toddlers sprawled on the floor, making truck noises, or having tea parties with stuffed animals.
As I heave the Scooby Doo coloring books into the recycle bin, I know there is no return to afternoons coloring outside the lines as sunlight streams through the window. Outgrown roller skates and battered skateboards remind me of Saturday afternoons spent in the park, and I’m acutely aware of how time has slipped away.
Dolls have been replaced by dance shoes; Legos by cycling equipment. Hair products and perfumes line the shelves once occupied by Polly Pocket dolls. Real tools lay where plastic toolboxes once stood.
I begin to understand why people are so reluctant to de-clutter.
Going through my own papers is easier. Rereading my elementary school report cards, I am surprised to find that I was not a great student. I talked too much and had messy handwriting. I toss these with little sentiment. Journals stay; doodles go into the trash. Clothing is donated, papers are shredded. Notes and drawings from my children are tucked lovingly away in a shoebox.
Cleaning out clutter makes me feel both lighter and heavier. For a moment, I am seized by a fierce desire to turn back the clock. It’s balanced out by the feeling that it would be easier to move or burn the house down than to sort through decades of detritus. I’m torn between clinging to my kids’ toddler plates and the desire to rent a dumpster and blindly toss everything I can get my hands on.
Despite the stirring up of dust and memories, cleaning is an oddly satisfying way to begin a year. The process of deciding what to keep and what to cast aside helps us prioritize what is important. Does the 17-year-old need the plastic wrestlers anymore? Of course not. Can he keep them if he doesn’t quite want to let go yet? Absolutely.
We make room for the new, while holding onto the treasured old. Like my newly emptied cupboards and closets, the days ahead wait to be filled. Optimistically, I vow not to encumber them with useless debris, even as I know things have a way of worming themselves into our lives and our living spaces.
I suspect I’ll be entering 2020 staring at forgotten baseballs, middle school yearbooks, and outgrown costumes, wondering whether to hold onto mementos, or to let go and make room for new phases and the belongings that accompany them. I’m routing for tidiness, but susceptible to sentiment.
