Going through the house, bit by bit, box by box, memory by memory, dug up some pretty funny stuff.

Erin’s purses were everywhere. That’s a misleading statement, mind you; she is not now nor ever has been an accessories girl, and she rarely buys anything for herself, but for some reason her bags we’re ferreted about our home like Easter eggs. Every closet had one. Two were tucked in under beds. One was in an old clothes hamper. One had buried itself under a pile of photographs from the 80s.

More oddly, every single one of them had at least one piece of cutlery inside.

I get it. You bring your lunch and you don’t trust there to be a spoon or a fork in the kitchen. But the sheer number of these things was really scary. Neither were they our crappy backup pieces from IKEA (you know, the $5 sets you buy for university, where the forks only have three tines and the spoons bend when exposed to heat). No no. These were the really nice pieces from the set my rich aunt and uncle gave us. Yes, I was annoyed to see the real reason why I could never account for half our forks at any given time, but I was more baffled by why my wife would choose to bring such heavy cutlery with her. Those things are substantial!

We pulled up lots of other memories too. I found the note my wife had left for me on the day of our wedding. There was a piece of cedar I had carved into a bust when I was 15. Abby’s hospital bracelets finally turned up, as did roughly twenty positive pregnancy tests from both this baby and the last. (We saved one of them, recognizing that it is a stick with dried pee on it, and therefore kind of gross.) We also found a box of pregnancy tests from the dollar store. (I wonder if I’m the only person that has an immediate, irrational response to using dollar store pregnancy tests. I fear for Erin’s safety, even though I know it’s just a stick, and not something like a vitamin or a stent.)

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