When I first moved here from Minnesota, my friend kept going on and on about how much fun yard sale-ing is. I’m a bit slow to begin with, but I really did picture some sort of bicycle or go cart rigged with a big sail on it - as in Yard Sailing - because in Minnesota we had Garage Sales. It was one of those embarrassing misunderstandings I never ever told anyone.
Until now. Blogs are good for that.
That same friend is having her own yard sale this weekend, and she said I could bring some of my stuff to sell, So finally I went through the tubs of Ruthie’s old baby clothes that I just haven’t been able to part with. I’m much more sentimental about her baby clothes than I am with Thomas’ clothes. She’s a girl. She’s my first. She has clothes picked out by Gordy.
She had an amazing shoe collection.
I sorted and resorted about three times into different piles. Sell, consign, keepsake, next baby. WHAT?! I kept shifting outfits around into various piles, and somehow everything that wasn’t a sock ended up in the ‘next baby’ pile. I’m not even sure who intervened in this process to create a ‘next baby’ pile, because I have said from the first puke of Thomas’ pregnancy that I am DONE with babies coming out of my body.
(Maybe.)
Regardless, I can’t afford the space all these clothes are taking up, so I filled four paper grocery bags with clothes to sell, one bag of clothes to consign, and one filled with clothes I can’t bear to part with because I can still see her cute little evil face up to no good wearing that ridiculously adorable pink and red Ralph Lauren sweater from my dad.
If there ever is a ‘next baby,’ she’s screwed.
Be warned: what you see here is not my best work. It is what Anne Lamott describes in Bird By Bird as a series of “shitty first drafts.” Blogging dragged me kicking and screaming out of creative constipation by getting me to actually write. So I do that. A lot. Without worrying about every word choice or comma placement.
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