Mom and dad’s basement


I ran this post in July of 2009 and decided that is is worth repeating. I still have stuff in my basement . . but not as much. Maybe in a year it will all be gone?

If you are in your twenties this may not apply to you, but it may apply to you and to some in their 30s, 40s and gee, I hope not, 50s — but who knows?

Dear person in their 20s,

It is wonderful that you got that new job and were able to move out of your folks’ place a mere eight years after you graduated from college. I know you will be turning 30 this year and you have accomplished much in your short life.

Your parents love you, we always have and we would do most anything for you and we probably have and we are very proud of you.

There is one thing that you need to know. We are not being honest with you about something. We have kept a secret from you all these years, and it has nothing to do with auntie Sue or that one incident a few years back at the water park. We know you did not do that on purpose.

We want to tell you that we are very tired of the boxes and storage bins in the basement and the bike, sports equipment and roller blades in the garage. We understand that you also regret having purchased that tacky piece of furniture that you bought the first time you moved out but left stored in the basement this last time you moved out. We hate it too, and yes, you may move back in — that is true, even though we had the locks changed, and you know the secret about the back door, you will find a way, but I suspect you won’t want to use the furniture as you seem to hate it so.

Even though we love you and would do most anything for you we don’t want to provide storage for your stuff anymore.  We would like to use our basements and garages and attics for something else now. We have our own tacky furniture that needs to be stored and most of our closets are over-flowing as we have not moved in years and have not had any place to put anything in decades.

It would be heavenly to be able to walk to the washer without tripping over something, and honestly, the furnace and water heater have always wanted a room of their own; they watch and wait silently as the stuff piles up around them. Last time we had a repair man here he couldn’t even find the furnace, though I guess he wasn’t much of a repair man. I never saw him leave the house, he may still be down in the basement looking for the furnace. I guess we don’t know for sure, but I hope not, because they charge by the hour. 

Please come over for dinner tonight.  We promise to cook something you really like, and buy a couple of bottles of wine, or maybe you would enjoy a beer instead.  Bring a friend or significant other and a moving van. We will even front you the cash so that you can rent it. After dinner kindly remove your stuff. Don’t make me have to write this twice. I may be old but I am still your mother and even though you are bigger than I am I can still kick your butt, or at the very least make you feel guilty.

Thanks, your loving mother.

P.S. If you read this after the garage sale, please accept my apologies, I know I should have sent a text message but for some things 140 characters are not enough.

Oh, and while I am at it, I would not mind being a grandmother some day.

By the way — I saved your crib and pookie, your stuffed rabbit, just in case.