Three baby teeth, saved for more than 50 years.
That’s what I came across as my husband and I prepare for our personal D Day.
That will be the day we rip into our normally peaceful home to reconfigure the spot where we spend the most time aside from sleeping.
We had talked vaguely of a redo for several years. The discussion ramped up last fall when the handle on the microwave oven cracked. Simple trigger, big effect.
I’ve long thought about trying to blog, and I figure writing about a kitchen upheaval is a way to start. Today marks the beginning.
Now about those baby teeth.
To prepare for the demo, I’ve been scouring the house for spaces to store the hoard in our current kitchen.
In our basement are the kitchen cabinets that were installed when the house was built in the early 1960s. They were moved downstairs during our first reno, a couple of years after we bought the place in the nineties.
At the time the large laundry room was mostly vacant. We decided to use the old cabinets as storage space for our active family of two adults, two kids, a dog and a cat.
So how did that work out?
That formerly vacuous room is stuffed to the gills. The walls are lined with not only the old cabinets, but also lots and lots of shelving. There’s a beverage fridge, a freezer and a big old filing cabinet.
We’ve managed to preserve a tight spot for the washer and dryer, which actually require little more space than the drum set.
The drummer, who lives far away now, will turn 30 this summer. He promises to do something with the kit he bought with paper route money in junior high school.
Those old kitchen cabinets were full of stuff nobody ever looked at. We had long forgotten much of it even existed.
I pulled out several musty boxes dragged home when my parents passed away in the mid 1980s. Emptying them has been an exercise in family anthropology and also a big mess.
I’m sifting through bits and pieces of my childhood, including those baby teeth.
There are also letters to Santa, locks of baby hair and letters I wrote to my parents from summer camp. Send candy, says one.
The cabinet space has been cleared for dishes, pots and pans, but what about all those unearthed artifacts?
Unlike King Tut, most human beings arrive in this world with nothing and also depart that way. Should we leave our descendants the gob piles of our earthly existences? I’m torn.
My parents did it to me. And their parents did it to them. I know because I still have some of my grandparents’ stuff, too.
This kitchen project is forcing some decisions beyond quartz or granite, tile or hardwood. In a finite piece of real estate, only so many items will fit.
One decision is easy. The baby teeth have to go.