What should stay - What should go

We're trying to lessen our weight.

Mommy isn't a pack-rat. I am. We're trying to pare down the amount of stuff we own. Once, a long time ago, while moving into an Aunt and Uncle's house, I was told, "A nomad you are not." I don't know why I have a hard time ridding myself of things. It could be that I'm sentimental and see a memory in every object, but I think it comes from growing up during the Depression when anything could be anything. Ok. So I didn't grow up in the Depression, but I do have the mentality of one who did grow up then.

So we're throwing things away. We have piles to go to the Salvation Army which will end up at Goodwill. There are piles to photograph so that we can post them on Craig's list, which will later be destined for the Salvation Army to finally end up at Goodwill. And, of course, there is the pile for the dump. These, as you have already guessed, will most likely end up at the dump. If you thought for a second we would try to pawn them off as tax deductible contributions for delivery to Salvation Army, by way of Goodwill, you are seriously mistaken. You obviously have no idea of the things that we have decided are not trash and should go for a donation rather than trash.

I recently brought one of these piles to Goodwill - not the trash pile; the pile that was supposed to go to Salvation Army. Mommy and I have contributed to this non profit for a long time. We don't make any bones about it - the truth is, we are going for the tax deduction. When asked if I want a receipt for tax deduction purposes, I have been known to shout, "Hell yeah!" While there the other day, attempting to reduce my fees for living in the United States, I witnessed a rookie donator. As I was filling out my tax deductible form, he approached the woman who was organizing my junk . . . I mean trash . . . I mean, well, you know what I mean. I've committed the entire dialogue to memory in hopes of one day using it when I begin donating to another facility where my name, license plate, and vehicle are not known. When I begin donating at a place where the employees do not, upon seeing me, immediately drag a trash-can towards my car, or direct me towards the dumpster marked TRASH.

"Ah, excuse me," the innocent neonate to the world of Goodwill whispered to the woman who was haphazardly sorting shoes. "Ah, uhm, my wife and I are new to . . . well, we like the idea of giving back. . . We like the whole idea of helping out . . . we're not sure what to do." He rung his hands. He looked down. His tone was apologetic. His shoes were A. Testoni.

I realized, at this moment, that this was his first time. He was still virginal. Still attempting to be innocent. His eyes were downcast. I recognized the look of a person who is attempting to appear to not really understand what he is doing, when, in fact, he has already done his research. It is how I feel I looked when I bought my first condoms. I understood the implications; I just didn't want to admit it. I wanted to pat him on the shoulder. I wanted to let him know that everyone does it. I wanted to inform him that his friends and family wouldn't judge him. If he had looked, he would have seen me attempting to catch his eye so that I could give him the head nod to the damaged box of assorted, candles, some already partly used, which I was currently donating in hopes that he would understand we were kin. He kept his head down and averted his eyes.

She gave him the directions. He, not really understanding that you just park your car near by and unload as quickly as possible like a college kid who is using a near by dumpster the day before the landlord does the final walk through, backed his silver Honda Ridgeline with the leather interior right up to the door, blocking the hasty escape of fellow donators.

And I drove away, thinking about the upcoming dump run.

The way that we are currently deciding if most things should stay or go is if Asher will eat them.

"What about this Snoopy doll?"

"Tahlia doesn't play with it, and Asher will eat it."

"What about this candle?"

"We don't use it, and Asher will eat it."

"What about these booties for Suki's feet?"

"She doesn't wear them, and Asher will eat them."

Really, Asher will attempt to eat anything. We've seen it. Anytime that there is something near him, he attempts to put it into his mouth. Currently, it is for the sole purpose of gumming it, but we know that, shortly, it will be for the sole purpose of ingestion. If you'll notice, I didn't say anything in arms reach, because it really doesn't matter if it is in arms reach. He will lean, roll, shuffle, and mentally will anything he sees that he wants to put into his mouth to come to him. A list of some of the things would be: pizza crust, paper, magazines, diapers (full or empty), wipes, toys, pillows, watches, telephones, plates, vacuum cleaners, pieces of wood, etc. It really doesn't matter.

Of course, this could all be normal. Except it wasn't for Tahlia. She would find something on the floor, say a coin, and look at it, then look at us. This was, of course, prior to her having the ability to formulate a sentence. Through mental telepathy, we would hear her thoughts asking, "Mommy? Daddy? This? This can I put in my mouth? Should I touch this? Yes? No? Mommy? Daddy?" We would look happily down on her and say, "Wait Tahlia. We don't want you to put that in your mouth." She would then have a look of relief and pick up offending article, holding it with an air of disgust between her index finger and thumb, to hand it to us, rather than putting the vile object into her mouth.

I know; it is unbelievable. But it is true. Let me give you an example. Most children have the darndest time understanding electrical outlets. Not Tahlia. The first time she approached and casually reached out an inquisitive finger to prod at an outlet, Mommy quickly kneeled down by her and, while making eye contact, said in a calm, but firm voice, "No Tahlia. That is dangerous. You don't touch that."

Rarely do we tell Tahlia no. But, due to the severity of the situation, we took dire precautions.

She looked at the outlet for a little while longer, and continued crawling on her way. The very next day she was back at the outlet. Tahlia looked up at Mommy, pointed at the outlet, and said firmly, "No." That was the end of worrying about outlets.

On many occasions Tahlia has handed us objects that she has found on the floor that she has deemed dangerous: a small piece of plastic, a sharp stick, a broken piece of glass. Although all of these were found inside the house, when it is outside, she still lets us know.

But we realize that things will not be the same with Asher. Gone are the days of coins on the floor. Gone are the days of no feet wiping. Gone are the days of broken bottles and loaded guns lying carelessly around the house. We've realized our sinful ways and are repenting - one partially used candle that Asher will most likely eat, at a time.