In our family, Mother’s Day holds significant importance. Every year, one sibling takes on the responsibility of hosting the entire family gathering. This year, the honor fell to me. With just three days to go until the big meal, I felt a sense of accomplishment. For once, I was ahead of schedule: the invitations were sent, the menu was set, and the house was almost presentable.
Typically, I settle for a state of functional tidiness. However, since our home had been designated as the official meeting point for both sides of the family, I felt compelled to give it a thorough cleaning. I completed the obvious chores first, but then, with some unexpected free time, I decided to confront the one area of the house that always troubled me: our junk drawer.
I believe that even the most organized families have these drawers—those spaces where old phone numbers, warranties for appliances, and recipes scribbled on napkins gather dust. It’s the place where all the little bits and pieces go, waiting for the day they’ll find a proper home.
Our junk drawer is located in the kitchen, near the phone. One day, while attempting to shove a pencil inside, it sprang back at me, indicating it was well overdue for a cleanup. I knew this task was mine, much like the dust lurking under the refrigerator.
After breakfast, once the children were off to school, I set aside time to tackle the drawer. Their absence was crucial; it was my only chance to dispose of the wonderful strings and scraps they would insist on saving for future projects. No mother should have to deal with a stuffed drawer and heartbreaking pleas from her children simultaneously.
Equipped with a trash bag the size of our first apartment, I approached the drawer, determined to be ruthless. If I couldn’t recall the name associated with a phone number, there was no way I’d call and engage in a game of twenty questions. Any warranty older than my marriage certificate would be discarded, as it was clear that the appliance had long served its purpose.
As I sifted through dozens of 3×5 cards filled with cake recipes, leftover thank-you notes with mismatched envelopes, and a collection of springs and bolts that likely originated from a long-forgotten toy, I made good progress. That was until I stumbled upon a drawing of “Mommy” created by my five-year-old. I remembered the day he gave it to me, the pride on his face, and how much it resembled me. That piece of art was not going anywhere.
In the midst of tossing broken crayons, I discovered a sealed envelope that rattled as I lifted it. Curiosity piqued, I carefully opened it, only to watch as sand and small stones spilled onto the floor. It dawned on me that this was my second grader’s cherished memories of our beach trip. She had begged to take home the sand and pebbles collected in her shoes, only to forget about them later. I swept the mess back together and returned it to the envelope, recalling the joy on her face when she first emptied her sandals.
As I continued my excavation, I found heart-shaped notes made for Valentine’s Day, drawings of rainbows, and scribbled messages that invariably included “I love you.” Each item was a reminder, pulling at my heartstrings, and my garbage bag was no longer filling up with useless clutter.
After several hours of nostalgia, I realized how quickly children grow. Soon, all we will have left of their early years are misspelled letters and the warmth of cherished memories. My task was nearly complete. Rather than cleaning out the drawer, I decided it simply needed a new label. I found a broken red crayon and a scrap of paper, wrote “TREASURES,” and affixed it to the drawer. Clearly, the contents were far from junk; they were a disorganized yet tangible reminder of the children who make Mother’s Day a lasting celebration.
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Summary:
In this article, we explored the familiar struggle of managing a cluttered junk drawer that many families face. The author recounts the journey of decluttering and ultimately realizing that the items in the drawer are not mere junk but treasured memories of her children. This reflective process leads to renaming the drawer and embracing the sentimental value of its contents.