Letting Go: An Update

I wrote a couple of weeks ago about letting go of things. My personal example was a huge dollhouse that my dad built for me that I just couldn't seem to bring myself to get rid of.

It went away this week.

With my nieces in town for the week and staying at my parents' house, I talked my dad into letting the dollhouse live with them while the girls are here. Ashley loved playing with the dollhouse last year, and this way, she can play with it every day, rather than having to wait until the one day they visit my house.

My parents came to pick it up on Monday:



My dad is planning to fix it up (the glue has gone bad on a lot of things, which means stuff has broken off, the wallpaper looks dreadful now, etc.), then we'll sell it.

I'm actually okay with this. It makes far more sense for this dollhouse to go to some little girl who will play happily with it for years, as opposed to sitting unused in my guest room, gathering dust. It's just that darned emotional attachment that I had to get over first.

Here's part of the reason I had so much trouble getting rid of this before:





I spent most of my allowance money as a child on dollhouse accessories. That sweet little dish set with the handpainted pink flowers was bought at a specialty store that my parents took me to as a treat one Saturday. I remember how excited I was over all the fabulous dollhouse stuff that store had. It was expensive, but it was worth it to me. That dish set was my prized possession in that house.

Additionally, there were so many other little touches, whether they were realistic food items with fabulous detailing, a crocheted rug my mom made back when she crocheted, or wonderful furniture. I was so proud of those brass bunk beds back when I bought them!

It was more than a toy; it was an experience. It was my first taste of the typical home arts of decorating and cleaning. There was pride in the carefully chosen details. And of course, there was the joy of playing with it all.

But now it's time to let go. I have no little girl of my own to give the house to, and I certainly haven't played with it in years. It became clutter. Lovely, affectionately-thought-of clutter, but clutter nonetheless. So, it only makes sense to move on. Allow extra space in my own home, as well as clean up my attitude of selfishness in clinging to it. I took pride in owning this dollhouse, but now I can take pride in passing it on.

I just hope that some other little girl will treasure it as much as I did.