Take a moment to notice
There are clear plastic bags on their way to the thrift store.
When they were younger the trips were constant. Clothes flowed through our house.
Stuffies. Stuffed animals were a constant. Go to the fair? Get a stuffy.
Go to a birthday party? Get a stuffy?
Got a new stuffy? Why not celebrate by getting another stuffy.
There were so many stuffies they collectively became the fifth and sixth members of our family.
And I hated them.
They were everywhere and got left everywhere.
There were just way too many of them. They never seemed to end.
We’ve seen fewer coming into the house over the last couple of years.
Those clear plastic bags are filled with stuffies.
And I feel a little sad.
Not in a sentimental anthropomorphic Toy Story kind of way.
I feel sad because although I hated the stuffies, I loved chucking them at my daughter.
We used to spend hours bifting stuffies at each other. They’d be thrown onto beds, into boxes, houses, tents, pillow forts and cribs. They were bombs. They were flying mons…
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