Mother’s Day is a major event in our household. Each year, one sibling takes on the responsibility of hosting the entire family. This year, it was my turn. With only three days left until our big dinner, I felt pretty proud of myself. For once, I was ahead of schedule. The invites were sent, the menu was set, and the house was almost spotless.
Usually, I settle for a state of functional tidiness. But since our home was chosen as the official gathering spot for both sides of the family, I felt compelled to spruce things up a bit. I tackled the obvious chores first. Then, with a little extra time on my hands, I decided to confront the one area in the house that had been nagging at me the most: our junk drawer.
I’m convinced that even the neatest of families have them—those drawers filled with old phone numbers, warranties for appliances you no longer own, and recipes scribbled on napkins that you always mean to rewrite. Our junk drawer is located in the kitchen, right next to the phone. The last time I tried to shove a pencil in there, it shot back out at me like a jack-in-the-box. That was my sign: it was time for a clean-out.
I scheduled my cleanup for after breakfast, as soon as the kids left for school. It was crucial that they weren’t around. They always wanted to keep every little scrap of paper for some grand future project. No matter how much I reasoned with them, their sad puppy faces and heartfelt testimonials always won. No mother should have to deal with a stuffed drawer and pitiful children at the same time.
Armed with a garbage bag the size of my first apartment, I approached the drawer with determination. If I couldn’t remember who owned the phone number, I wasn’t going to play twenty questions with the person on the other end. Any warranty older than my marriage certificate was going straight into the trash. This time, I was committed to finding the bottom of that drawer.
As I sifted through piles of 3×5 cards filled with cake recipes, mismatched thank-you cards, and a collection of springs and bolts from who-knows-what, I found my first emotional roadblock—a drawing of “Mommy” from my then 5-year-old, Max. The date was scribbled on the back, along with a letter filled with adorable misspellings. I could vividly recall the day he handed it to me, his face beaming with pride. That picture was a keeper, so I folded it carefully and tucked it back into the drawer.
Next, while tossing out broken crayons, I stumbled upon a sealed envelope that rattled when I picked it up. Curiosity piqued, I opened it and watched helplessly as sand and small pebbles spilled onto the floor. Suddenly, I remembered—it was my daughter Emma’s beach memories. She had begged to take some of the ocean home with her after our trip. I couldn’t bear to part with it, so I swept up the sand and returned it to the envelope, placing it back in the drawer.
From there, it was a delightful downhill journey. I found tiny hearts made for Valentine’s Day, rainbow drawings, and notes that always included at least one “I love you.” Each item sparked memories, and my garbage bag wasn’t getting any bigger.
After several hours of reminiscing, reality set in about how fast children grow up. Soon, all that will remain of these early days are misspelled letters and the warmth they bring to our hearts.
Almost done, I decided the drawer didn’t need cleaning—it needed a new name. I grabbed a broken red crayon and wrote “TREASURES” on a piece of paper, taping it to the drawer. In my eyes, this collection was no longer junk; it was a beautiful, albeit chaotic, reminder of the children who make Mother’s Day a lifelong celebration.
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In summary, what started as a simple task of cleaning out a junk drawer turned into a nostalgic journey through the memories of my children. I learned that what may seem like clutter can actually hold the treasures of our family’s history.