The End of an Era

Remember all the way back to the summer when I decided to deep clean every nook and cranny of my house? Well...summer's over, and I only managed the first 2 levels; the basement is still looming. In the crunch of back to school and after school, I have been putting off this final frontier for as long as possible, but this week I decided it's time to assault the mother-lode of mess, the big cahuna of clutter...that's right...the playroom. (Day 3...still no end in sight.) It's a good thing my kids are back in school because this has proven a great time to go through all the toys and get rid of the things that are broken or outgrown. For the most part this has filled me with unbridled glee (I have 3 garbage bags of toys sitting in my garage...shh, don't tell the kids!) but there have been a few partings that have caused me pangs of unexpected angst.

Like these guys.

These battle-worn veterans have rescued many a suffering pony, have opposed evil rivals in a war against freedom and won, and oh yes...have enjoyed several delightful tea parties. I'm sorry to see them go, but their box on the shelf is beginning to collect dust. They long to be in action, not sitting in a cubby, swapping stories of their glory days.

So, we will send them off to some other child's playroom where they can aid and assist and earn the name of "Rescue Hero" once more. Good luck guys; I almost think I could shed a tear over you.

And then there's these.

It hurts to think that there are no little boys interested in lining you up, motoring you around, and leaving you in exactly the right place so that everyone will trip on you. My heart aches when I realize that just 2 years ago Isaac could tell you the name of every truck in the Big Book of Trucks. Now he's more interested in pokemon. Au revoir, old friends.

This one feels like true sacrilege!

Cory grew up with the Hardy Boys, and I never intended to let these pass on, but Zachary and I tried reading one together and found they are so old-fashioned as to become almost incomprehensible. They use phrases like "stout chum" and "Hessian mercenary." They have been in the family for a while though, so it's hard to let them go...for now I am just boxing them up and saving them for my mother-in-law who might never forgive me if they end up in a rummage sale somewhere.

All of this sadness, I guess is just the result of a physical reminder that my kids are growing up.

And no, I'm not doing this to avoid actually working on the playroom...I just thought a proper eulogy would help me move on.