Greg carried the fourteenth plastic bin down the half flight to the family room at about four o'clock last Sunday, set it on top of the stack and said, "If there's a fifteenth, I'm moving out too." There wasn't a fifteenth. There were fourteen, and every one of them had been sitting in a closet or under a bed upstairs since Josh moved into his apartment near campus last August.
I've been putting this off for seven months. Emily's room has been half a museum since she left for nursing school in 2017, and Josh's room still had a Reds pennant over the bed and a box of chargers for phones nobody owns anymore. With both kids grown and out, the two of us were walking past two closed doors every night. It felt silly to heat and dust rooms that were mostly storage.
The rules we set before anybody opened a bin
I didn't want to throw out somebody's childhood without asking, and I didn't want to become the parent who mails her kids boxes they never wanted. So I texted both of them a list of rules two weeks ahead, and to my surprise neither one argued.
- Each kid gets one bin to keep at our house. One. A standard 18-gallon tote, lid has to close.
- Anything they want beyond that, they take with them by the end of April.
- Anything nobody claims by April 20 goes to the garage sale or the donation center.
- Photos and school papers go to me, because I'm going to scan them eventually. (Greg laughed at "eventually.")
- Nobody is allowed to feel guilty about letting something go, including me.
Emily came down from Columbus on a Saturday morning with Nate and a stack of flattened boxes. Josh drove up from Cincinnati the next day, a little later than promised, with an empty duffel bag and a sandwich.
What each kid kept
Emily was fast. She has a small apartment and no patience for clutter, which she did not get from me. Her keep bin ended up with her high school letter jacket, two yearbooks, a shoebox of cards from her grandparents and the stuffed rabbit she slept with until about fourth grade. She let go of eleven soccer trophies without blinking. Nate took a picture of them lined up on the bed first, which I thought was a nice touch.
Josh was slower. He picked up every single thing and told me a story about it, and honestly I enjoyed that part more than I expected. He kept his Pinewood Derby cars, a baseball signed by a minor league player nobody has heard of, his senior yearbook and a hoodie that should probably be burned. He took his Lego sets back to the apartment in two laundry baskets, which saved me a decision.
By Sunday night the count looked like this. Of the fourteen bins we started with, two became keep bins, about three bins' worth went home with the kids, four bins of clothes and linens are marked for donation, and roughly five bins of toys, games, books and a few small furniture pieces are tagged for a garage sale at the end of April. I wrote it all in the green notebook, because of course I did.
The almost-fight
There was one. Josh wanted to throw out his elementary school art, all of it, a folder about two inches thick. I wanted to keep all of it. We stood in the hallway for a few minutes not saying much, which is how Mercers argue. Greg finally came up the stairs, looked at the folder and said, "Keep five things each, scan the rest." That's the closest Greg comes to a speech. We each picked five. The rest is in a pile next to my scanner, waiting for the same "eventually" as everything else.
I'll admit I got teary over a clay handprint from 2009. Then Josh made a joke about how it looked like a turkey with a skin condition, and I was fine.
The one box still in the basement
There is one cardboard box in the corner of the basement storage area labeled MISC in Emily's handwriting from high school. Nobody wants to open it. Emily says she doesn't remember what's in it and doesn't want to know. Josh thinks it might be his. Greg says leave it. So for now it stays, taped shut, and I've decided that's allowed. One mystery box in a 1,720-square-foot house is not going to break anybody.
What it did cost us: about $26 for a few new totes and a roll of packing tape, plus pizza for everyone on Sunday, which came to $38 with the tip. What we got back is two rooms we can actually think about. I don't have a plan for Emily's room yet. A guest room, maybe. Something with a sewing table, if I'm dreaming.
For now the doors are open again, the carpets are vacuumed, and the house sounds a little different with the closets empty. Next stop is the garage sale. I have four weeks to figure out what a used foosball table is worth.
