It’s garage sale season.

June in the upper midwest means two things.  One, you can safely put away the snow blower and two, it’s garage sale season.  A friend lives in a small town next to a large one.  Their small town is having a “city-wide” garage sale.  Basically everyone in town is open for business on this one weekend.  My friend is no exception.  And I’m tossing in a vanload of my own treasures just to test the waters before I have my own sale.  The black cloud in my little black heart says that it’s going to rain, our stuff isn’t good enough, it’s priced wrong, it will be excruiciatingly hot and nobody will come.

The reality is that there will be some old bird waiting in their Reliant K car at the curb for that garage door to open.  Even if the door opening is just to sweep and put out the tables.  Oh, and she won’t come back so you had better let her look around.  Not that she’ll buy anything.  She’ll pick up a tea cup or a microwave cookbook and tsk, tsk to “herself” that she could buy it cheaper on ebay.  And…you go do that.

I’m ready to clean out my basement.  I’m ready for all the baby stuff to be gone.  The reality is that my baby making days are over.  At least for now.  Much of the stuff was not used all that much because my babes preferred sleeping with us, being worn in a sling, breastfeeding and being naked.  And yet, we got sucked into (no pun intended) all the necessary accessories of parenthood.  And now it’s clutter.  But I’m ready for this step.  I’m ready to get rid of all the extra and pare our lives down a bit.  One van full won’t hurt anybody. 

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