When I told my Mom we were having a garage sale on Sunday she smiled in that sweet, knowing way that mother’s smile when they know something sucks, but they know you’re going to do it anyways because you need to experience it sucking firsthand.
“Hmmmm.” she says, “Good luck with that.”
And then she walked away muttering something under her breath.
So Pat took the day off on Friday and literally spent the ENTIRE day pricing out his collectibles and organizing the sale. Cribs, strollers, toys, glassware, fine china, toys, high chairs, baby swings, papasaan chairs, baseball cards, posters, baby slings, books, etc., etc., etc.,
Saturday morning I was supposed to take Aries to a meet and greet so that he could find someone to adopt him, but after realizing how much work was left to be done…and how much I did not want to handle my three kids and a dog at the Farmer’s Market for the day…I decided to stay and help out.
I turned the kids’ rooms upside down to sort out there old toys in order to sell the things they’re no longer interested in. I went through every room in the house and did the same. And then spent the afternoon in conversations like this one:
lady: HOW MUCH FOR THIS SNAKEY THING
me: First of all it’s a dinosaur. Second of all 5 dollars.
lady: WHERE THE BALLS AT!?!?!
me: Hmmm…I don’t know probably lost which is why I’m selling the stupid thing.
lady: WELL I MEAN WHAT KIND OF BALLS DO I GET IF I WANT BALLS FOR IT???
me: First of all I’m pretty sure you do have balls considering the tone you’re choosing to take with me right now. Second by the looks of it any ball smaller than that ball hole should work just fine Einstein.
lady: Hmmph.
me: Hmmph your head.
After all is said and done, we spent hours of our time tearing our house apart, organizing chaos in our garage, haggling with strangers, juggling children, and breaking our backs moving furniture and boxes for…
…wait for it….
70 bucks.
And we just ate fifty of that for dinner tonight.
Our garage is still filled with crap. Our house is disturbingly messy after being over turned in a desperate search to add more to the sale. And my back is throbbing
Never.
Again.
Instead, I anticipate with great joy the moment when Mama Maile (or Kainoa or Laina) shares with me that she and her husband are planning a garage sale. I will look at her and smile in that sweet, knowing way that mother’s smile when they know something sucks, but they know you’re going to do it anyways because you need to experience it sucking firsthand.
“Hmmmm.” I’ll say, “Good luck with that.”
And then I’ll walk away muttering something under my breath.
