Cleaning the garage knocks memories loose

Cleaning the garage. Ugh.

It might be my least favorite job. Yet, it's a task that's been calling my name for months. And I've been procrastinating — shutting the door quickly, so no one could see.

But recently, my mess threshold broke. I couldn't put up with it anymore, so I put on my grubby work clothes, opened the garage door, took a deep breath and dived in.

It was messy and unorganized, and there were too many things we no longer needed. Bottles and cans that needed to be returned. Grass cuttings, fall leaves and dead bugs that needed to be swept.

We got a new couch in January. The old one still sat in our garage. (OK. Full disclosure: The old couch is still there.) There were large cardboard boxes from items recently purchased. Kids toys were strewn in various corners. Many of them, the kids outgrew years ago.

I could go on, but you get the picture. Maybe you even understand first-hand what I was up against: a collection of a nearly 14 year marriage and two kids.

That's what prompted this entry. As I began to purge the past, I also began to reminisce. And that can be dangerous when trying to clean.

I mean, how could we get rid of the old stroller? It carried both of our babies on numerous amazing trips, as well as the everyday walk around the block. I found it in pretty rough shape, and why shouldn't it be? It raced through airports as we tried to catch flights. And it has been shut in the back gate of our van more than a few times. It also has cradled sleeping babies, strapped in screaming toddlers and has endured more smashed up goldfish crackers and stinky milk than it deserved. How could we get rid of that?

Or the kids' play lawnmower? That thing has "cut" more grass than our real lawnmower. And if you know the Fettigs, you know that's true. Carter received this little mower on his first birthday. I've watched our little guy follow his dad around the lawn for hours. A precious memory. But he's old enough to push the real thing now. Still, am I ready to admit that those days are behind me? Those toddler years, full of exploration, wonder and adoration?

The memories were starting to cloud my judgment. Could I really part with all these treasures? I had to shake it off.

That's when I ran across the mini-shopping cart. Oh, the mini-shopping cart. That cart was dragged to grocery stores to entertain my little "helpers."

And then there was the day we took it to the farmers market, a trip that will never be forgotten.

Carter was 3, and Tatum was 4 months old and strapped onto me in a front carrier. Carter wanted me to put the fresh fruits and veggies in his cart. It had been a lovely morning, and we were at our last vendor. I was paying the farmer and, Carter, a rather busy boy at that age, had already pulled away and decided to take off running.

The rest of it happened in slow motion. His head was down and he was barreling along and picking up speed. I could see he did not notice the older gentleman right smack in his way. I yelled. I tried to get his attention to stop.

Too late.

He nailed the man in the shin. Hard. The man somehow defied gravity, his body at one point parallel to the ground, I swear. I have no idea how he stayed on his feet. But as soon as he could, he looked at Carter and mumbled something about "damn kids."

My produce went rolling. My tears instantly went flowing. Luckily, a nice woman stopped and picked up my vegetables while I, sobbing, picked up Carter and hauled both kids to the car.

OK, maybe I am ready.

Out with the old and in with the new, as they say. I don't need the item to remind me of the amazing times we've spent together as a family. I will always hold those memories dear.

Well, at least most of them.

I'd rather forget that stupid shopping cart.

Just the kind of day grandma would have wanted

The weather was lovely, friends and family gathered, stories were told — some I'd never heard about her before. There were tears shed, laughter heard, hugs and handshakes. It wasn't easy, but it was time. It was the perfect day to say goodbye. Rest in peace, Grandma.