The Not-So-Fine Art of Throwing Stuff Away

I am not a dumpster diver. Not one of those people who goes around sorting through trash to find useable items — food or otherwise — based on their desire to be frugal and/or environmentally friendly. The fact that I have to clarify this little piece of information will be come clearer in a moment.

My 8-year-old son, Newt, got a card yesterday from his teacher, Miss Sophia, thanking us for her end-of-the-year gift. When I gave it to him, he read it with an, “Oh, okay,” and then handed it back to me. His sister, Elfie, seemed more interested than he did. Fine. He’s eight. It wasn’t exactly a new Percy Jackson book (latest obsession) or an iPad. Jumping up and down not required.

A little more back story: I love to throw stuff out. My kids don’t. So I have a habit of sticking “unnecessary items” in a bag, putting them on a shelf in the laundry room, and then waiting to see if anyone notices they’re gone. Why do I do this? Why don’t I just chuck them all in the garbage? Because the one time I went through my then-4-year-old’s “junk” toys and tossed out some crappy little action figure he got in a Happy Meal, he — no joke — asked where the damn thing was. On the very same day (thank you baby Jesus). Ultimately I found myself digging through a trash bag that had already made its way outside to the garbage can.

So after that episode, the laundry shelf was created. It’s chock full of erasers and candy from birthday parties, half-finished art projects, and grainy pictures taken at Chuck E. Cheese. I used to think it was my insurance policy against touching trash until. . .

A couple of weeks ago, I was vacuuming, and I sucked up a teeny, tiny, plastic perfume bottle from Elfie’s Calico Critters. Not a big deal — I frankly vacuum up their toys pretty routinely and just chalk it up to the cost of doing business. But this time was different. Elfie and I had just discussed how important it was to her that her little Calico Critters set-up remain undisturbed. I was going to have to move it, and I’d assured her that I was more than capable (duh) of doing this without screwing it up.

So when the teeny, tiny bottle got sucked into the Hoover, I knew I was busted. Obviously I’d rattled some stuff in the move, and on top of that, I’d probably decimated the perfume bottle in the wind tunnel. Crap.

But no. I was saved! It was safe in the canister. Which was great until I was picking it out of the dirt and. . . dropped it in the garbage can. Crap.

Let me emphasize that this thing was smaller than half a baby pea. And transparent pink. After sifting through a full can of trash, I finally found the frickin’ thing on the outside of the can. It had slipped around the bag.

So karmically speaking, I really thought my days of dumpster diving were over. That was until last night, after I’d tossed out the thank-you note from his teacher. And suddenly I come upon Newt and Elfie fishing through some cards.

“Wait,” I say, “You wanted to keep that card from Miss Sophia?”

“Of course I want it,” he says. “It’s very important to me.”

Yes, of course he wants it. It’s the one thing I’ve covertly thrown away in the last year that hasn’t gone on the laundry shelf. Mommy will be right back, honey. Just need to look through some junk mail. And the recycling. And. . . the garbage.

Crap.