Who Am I Saving This Stuff for Anyway?

Deliberating over the fate of childhood toys, trophies, and trinkets

Throughout this past year, I have spent a considerable amount of time cleaning out my house. I can hear my family laughing as I write this because, in truth, I spend a considerable amount of time every year cleaning out my house.

Channeling my inner Marie Kondo, I recalled the joy that my childhood dollhouse brought to me and thanked it for the memories. And then I took a hammer to its roof (which I had long ago shingled piece by piece with my own hands) smashing it to bits, stuffing it into a giant Hefty trash bag, and leaving it on the curb.

Being the only daughter and granddaughter of women with vast collections of dishes, linens, rugs — you name it — I inherited heaps of these beautiful items. While I still use some, and find joy in others, I have learned how to part with things that don’t serve me anymore— happily jettisoning several place settings for twelve, embroidered table runners, and monogrammed napkins.

But this year I had a different focus. I set out to tackle my kids’ stuff. And by kids I mean my seventeen-year-old son, who is the tallest person in our family (and we are tall people), and my fifteen-year-old daughter, who makes fun of me in a more sophisticated way than any…