Let's Make a Deal

It's not easy letting go of my children's playthings

I remember a time not so long ago when I was on a transatlantic visit to see my mother. She lived in New Jersey at the time in a small one-bedroom apartment and she was trying to purge those things no longer needed.

Together we pulled one of those old-fashioned metal travel trunks from her living room closet. I flipped the two latches, lifted the lid, and opened a window to my childhood. Inside the trunk were remnants of days gone by -- barrettes adorned with braided ribbon and beads, plastic horses, Menudo posters -- all that was left over from a time that preceded my mother's cross-country move more than a decade earlier.

I left our home in Washington state to go to college here in California mere months before my mother's move. At the time she shipped to me a few boxes of belongings I had left behind in my room. The rest she took with her in this old family trunk.

That day I sat before the trunk, her charge to me was simple: Go through the contents and take out anything I wanted to keep. The rest would be tossed or donated to Goodwill.

Instantly, I felt overwhelmed and emotional. It was almost too much to bear, the idea of getting rid of anything, any of my childhood memories. Eventually I completed my task, but not without shedding a few tears in the process.

Today, a few years later and with two young children of my own, the irony is not lost on me as I try to sell their childhood on Craigslist.com. Sounds terrible, doesn't it?

The thing is, my children are 4-1/2 and 2 and already have more clothes and toys than they can possibly play with and wear, let alone need. And with each birthday and Christmas my two darlings only accumulate more. I know unless I intervene now, we will be buried in playthings sooner than later.

I have always been good about going through their clothes and purging when necessary. This task is made easier by the simple fact things my daughter outgrows -- and those which cannot be shared with a younger brother -- must go to make room for the new stuff that fits her. It has been relatively easy to pass items on to my niece or friends who have daughters younger than mine, to sell the higher end stuff to consignment shops, and to save a few favorite outfits for the cedar chest.

Toys are a whole other matter. These are the things with which my children played and snoozed. These are the things they might actually remember and ask for once they are gone! These are the things even I have a hard time letting go.

So the process of purging at my house has been a painstaking one. Around the holidays I sorted through all the playthings in our family room and in both children's rooms into three piles: keep for now, keep for sentimental reasons, and get out of the house! I made the mistake of leaving the purge pile within reach of my children and they became prone to grabbing a toy they had neglected for months with renewed interest, as if to say, "Gee, I forgot I had this Elmo doll/rubber ball/Happy Meal toy."

I finally moved everything into our office and behind closed doors, but it took a couple months before I sat down in front of our PC to start posting this stuff on the Internet. I sold some baby items this way a couple years ago, at the recommendation of a friend, and delighted in the ease of the transactions. No need to hold a whole garage sale, simply sell that which you no longer needed.

But this time has been different. Almost immediately after posting some baby equipment and toys on Craigslist.com, the e-mail messages started to arrive. And a few were a little -- dare I say? -- weird.

For the Bebe Sounds Prenatal Heart Listener, I received the message "i want it, how do it get it, pay you" signed with the sender's first name and telephone number. Already wary, I sent a generic response to which he replied with the address of the bar where he'd be serving drinks that afternoon. What?

Now I really wanted to sell this thing -- why should I care who buys it? Maybe this guy was on the up and up, but his e-mail messages were too strange for my taste. I concluded he did not deserve my children's castoffs.

A few minutes later, I received a message regarding several Elmo items I had posted which read: "Please, Please sell me all your ELMO stuff my son is really in love with him ... could you call really soon I want them all call any time, like right now."

I will not lie to you, I did not reply to this message at all nor did I call the numbers until a week later -- and when I did so, it was just out of curiosity. Suffice it to say, the two numbers given did not belong to the sender of the message.

Another person wrote "I would this doll" and my imagination ran wild filling in the missing verb. Did they plan to dress up Elmo and perform voodoo rituals? For some reason, I could only conjure up an unsavory end for our hand-me-down Limbo Elmo. Yeah, I did not call them either.

To date, I have managed to weed through the e-mail and find whom I consider suitable buyers for some of the stuff I am trying to sell. A nice woman bought the heart listener and a grandmother purchased the baby swing. I met both in the parking lot where my husband works and handed over to them small bits of my children's babyhood from the trunk of our car. In exchange, they gave me cash.

"This feels strange," said my husband, who supervised from the periphery. "It's like you're a dealer."

I laughed at the time, but thinking about it now, I have to agree. I am dealing a part of my children's past. I may not be shedding any tears this time around, but I am also not shedding these reminders of my babies' precious childhoods without reservation. It's never easy letting go.

Mommy Time Column ~ May 2006