Well, it's garage-sale week....like seriously people, I'm going to do it.
If I can get my butt in gear.
Because I need to cleanse my life of this stuff.
But now I'm resisting for a whole new reason. This weekend we went up with Dustin's family to their house up near Lake Michigan. I was supposed to stay home and get ready for the garage sale - get some major stuff done in record time. Instead I decided at the last minute that it was too depressing to spend the weekend by myself when my neighbors were all imbibing in family cookouts and late-night gatherings. Packing up my life and putting pricetags on stuff I bought with wild plans for my house suddenly seemed like a downer. So I ditched it all and went up north to sandy beaches and time with family. (Real Simple magazine says you need two weeks to put together a garage sale....how about 3.5 days?)
We had a lot of fun. And pictures will follow. But this post isn't about that. This post is about the first experience I had with what I can only imagine is going to gradually get worse as our departure day draws closer.
We were getting ready to leave to come home and I had picked up all of the toys, including the toy track that Miles played with all weekend. As we were getting ready to head out to the car, he discovered the track tucked away in the closet and pulled it out. I explained to him that we had to leave it there, and that we were going home. He lost it.
He was exhausted, and emotional...but I have never seen anything so sad in my life. He just sobbed....and kept saying over and over again that he "don't want to leave." He fell into my arms and went limp with anguish. I had to pick him up and carry him outside as he clutched my neck and sucked up huge sobs against my shoulder. He was just so sad. It made me sad. I am so excited to go on this adventure. But I know me. I know how I am. And I'm just wondering who is going pick me up and carry me onto that plane when I have to say goodbye to my family and friends and no longer want to.
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