I just spent the last seven hours organizing crap for tomorrow's yard sale. This includes hauling bags and boxes down from each of our two attics, reconstructing the Man-Cub's bunk beds in the garage, unboxing and folding three large tables worth of outgrown clothing (as an aside: my daughter was a freaking fashion plate in her youth, I kid you not), rounding up every piece to every Lego model, Kinex model, and jigsaw puzzle under the moon, and sorting through two childhood's worth of books.
It was exhausting, and, I didn't even get it all done; I still have to price everything and to pull it all out of the garage and arrange it for display.
On the bright side, I rediscovered the princess dresses that my mom and I tirelessly sewed for The Teenager's sixth birthday party. I intend to wash and press them and to wrap them in tissue for long-term storage. Why, you ask? Funny, Hugh asked the same question. I have no sensible answer save for the one in which I whine about having spent hours sewing the damn things, and that, my friends, will have to suffice.
In other bright news, Hugh rediscovered a treasure trove of black and white photos from his Boy Scout camp counselor days; he is channeling Greg Brady in each and every photograph and I insisted that he hold on to them for that fact, alone.
I am fairly certain that we will discover even more treasures tomorrow when we delve into the boxes that have been in the garage since our move to Petticoat Junction back in 1999. Or, we will discover a plethora of items that make us shake our heads in wonder; kind of like the twenty-seven empty appliance boxes that Hugh had been storing in the attic, also since roughly 1999 (Gateway computer, anyone?), did.
It's a crap shoot, really.