The Red Dot Chronicles

My sister introduced me to the Red Dots. On the surface, they seemed harmless. Perfectly round red stickies. 24 to a page. Lined-up in nice symmetrical rows. You can pick them up on Amazon or any CVS or Walgreens.

She sent me a full package the day I announced that we were selling our home and moving to Colorado.

My sister is a little older than me — but far wiser. A few years back, she and her husband downsized their life from the busy home where they raised two sons. They moved into a chic townhouse—plenty of room for holiday celebrations and sleepovers with grandkids. But right-sized for their on-the-go lifestyle.

As they prepared for their move, she used the Red Dots to signal which items were not going to make the transition into their new life. She and her husband walked around their house and Red Dotted (yes I just made it a verb) the items in their home that they no longer wanted or needed.

It worked for her. I decided to give it a try. I have decades of “treasures” that need to be dealt with. I unwrapped the package of Red Dots and prepared for the challenge.

I thought this was going to be easy.

I started in my kids’ rooms. They both have moved away to their adult lives. While they do come home for the holidays for visits and wax with nostalgia about their yearbooks, athletic trophies, and tattered zip-up sweatshirt with the multi-colored skull on the front, I’m feeling pretty confident that I can Red Dot most of the things in their rooms.

In my oldest son’s room, I begin with the “under the bed box”. It’s a little dusty. I wipe off the layers of time and I open the box. Baby shoes. Baby hats. And the most adorable miniature jean jacket. I pause for a moment and wonder how my almost 30-year-old son ever fit into that thing.

No Red Dots yet. It’s okay. These things are small. I can take them with me.

Then I see the frames. There are a dozen of them in this box. And, where there are frames…. there are photos. Pics of kids covered with cake at a birthday party. Splashing naked in the bathtub with a friend. Toddling down the hall in striped pajamas and goofy Winnie the Pooh slippers.

I make a deal with myself. Keep the photos and Red Dot the frames.

Next up is the younger son’s room.

The desk gets a Red Dot. So does the desk chair. The bunk beds get Red-dotted too. We are building a whole “bunk room” in the new house so we don’t need the stand-alone beds.

Progress!

I’m zipping along making piles with the Goosebumps, Lemony Snicket, and Captain Underpants paperbacks, when I come across Tickle. He’s a tattered old grey mouse who used to go everywhere with my son. I decide I get to keep this one.

Then I come across the second and third Tickle. You see, I learned that these treasured companions get lost sometimes, so we stocked up on them. I can’t part with number two or number three Tickle. But if I come across number four, I make myself a deal that I will put a Red Dot on it.

I look at my phone and realize that I’ve been at this for three hours and I have only used one row of Red Dots.

How do you sort through decades of history - of birthday parties, science projects, programs from school plays, baseball gloves, velcro sneakers, report cards, clip-on ties, and the field day ribbons?

I feel like I am living in a snow globe and someone has shaken it. Everywhere I look memories are drifting around. I want to catch every one of them before they fall to the ground.

Coming home from the hospital full of joy and apprehension. The snap of the child lock of the infant car seat. The first words. The bruises from falling from first steps. Waving to the bus as they head to 1st grade. Off to sleepover camp with a brand new sleeping bag. Moving up day from junior high. White knuckles from driving lessons in the mall parking lot. High school graduation. College graduation. Shopping at Ikea for furniture for a new home.

Each of the memories is as real as they were the moment that they happened.

As I let the snowflakes fall to the ground around me, I feel a flood of emotions. Sad about the years past. Proud of the young adults who emerged through them. Excited for the future (and maybe a use for the mini jean jacket folded away in the under-the-bed box).

I look down at the pages of Red Dots still in the package and I sigh.

Maybe I will do better tomorrow.