Cleaning Up

In the aftermath of my daughter's move to college, husband and I spent the better part of Saturday cleaning out her room.  (We are not kicking her out, but we ourselves are getting ready to move, so everything must be evaluated and discarded or boxed up.)

It was an archeological dig of her whole life.  Layers of little girl, middle schooler, teenager and young woman sorted into boxes and labeled.  Oh, and found some of my stuff, too, which I gladly reclaimed. Had to paint over the raspberry polka-dot wall, the back of her door where all of her friends doodled and wrote notes to each other, the places in the closet where she measured herself to see how tall she was (what kind of parent am I that my daughter had to keep her own height record?).

All the layers of activities over the years -- ballet, cheerleading, swimming, lacrosse, leadership, choir.  Remnants of who she used to be, who she tried to be and glimpses of who she might turn out to be.  So much left behind, so much to find ahead. 

Relief that she's away, concern that she's away, hopeful for what comes her way.  I can only clean her room; thankfully, I can't clean out the memories.

P.S. I have enough shampoo, conditioner and lotion to last the rest of my life.  I am not exaggerating.