It’s a thought-provoking question that often leads to a more intricate answer than one might expect. I’ve always been the type to save everything, a true pack rat at heart. But the real question is: what am I saving it all for? Do I really need a tax return from 1995? Or an electric bill from 1993? Am I going to need proof of my eye exam from 1997?
As my daughter dove into the shredding process, the sound of the machine brought me a sense of joy. But then, something caught my eye—a letter addressed to my husband, Mark. It read, “Dear Mark, we are pleased to inform you that your school loan has been settled.” Suddenly, I was transported back to that moment when he sat at our kitchen table in our first apartment, writing that check.
“Here,” I said, handing a stack of papers to my daughter. Vvvrrr. She continued shredding, and I couldn’t help but wonder what other treasures lay hidden in that pile. After a few minutes, I interrupted her. “Wait!”
In front of me lay a collection of old receipts. One from Staples for copies, another from a local drugstore for faxes, and yet another for an answering machine. Who even makes copies anymore? Does anyone still fax?
I picked up a bill with a preschool’s name printed on it, instantly recalling the days of dropping my little one off at school. Back then, I would bend down to embrace her, but now, it’s me reaching up for a hug.
“Can I get back to this now?” my daughter asked, a hint of impatience in her voice.
“Soon,” I replied, lost in my memories.
Oh! A check stub for $303 from a radio contest I won with the answer to the question: “What never stops growing?” Answer: “Your nose.”
And look at this—a pay stub from the trade publication I worked at in my late twenties. My boss had thought I’d hit it off with a reporter she knew and arranged for me to cover a press conference he was attending. Two years later, Mark and I were married. The job was a whirlwind of long hours and stress, but it led to something beautiful.
Nearby lay a weathered receipt from the vet for our beloved tiger-striped cat who passed away over a decade ago, alongside a receipt for the adoption of our tiny black-and-white kitten from the SPCA just weeks later.
So many papers. What do I really need to keep? I can’t help but ponder what would happen if I were no longer around. Would anyone find these papers valuable? Would I want someone else to sift through them, deciding their importance? The thought alone brings me down, so I focus on the present. Each of these papers holds a memory, and as I glance at them, I’m momentarily transported back in time, similar to the feeling I get when flipping through photographs. I would never part with my pictures, but this paper clutter is another story.
“Mom’s at it again!” my daughter shouts to Mark, eyeing the chaotic piles of documents as she eagerly anticipates her $5 reward.
“Alright,” I concede. “You can have these.” Vvvrrr.
Just as she inserts another document into the shredder, I clutch the remaining papers tightly to my chest and step away. Perhaps next time I feel the urge to declutter, these papers will find their way to the shredder. But for now, I hold on to them—and the memories they encompass—for a little while longer.
For more insights into managing the complexities of parenthood, check out this related post on Cervical Insemination. If you’re considering home insemination, Make a Mom offers reliable at-home insemination syringe kits, while WebMD provides excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, while the clutter of papers can be overwhelming, each document tells a story of love, growth, and cherished memories that I’m not quite ready to part with just yet.
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