This week

This week I cooked six meals, packed four lunch bags, polished shiny apples, measured perfect serving sizes, sliced grapes and tomatoes and bread. I wiped peanut butter off the floor, jam off the wall, dabbed a wet paper towel furiously on my new shirt with the fresh ketchup stain. I washed dishes, disinfected sippy cups,…

What our stuff says

I have a lot of stuff. I realized this when my husband and I moved into our first apartment. He neatly packed his clothes, books, a few antique cameras, and a box of photos into his little white Neon. I had to make 10 trips in a Mercury Sable that was bursting at the seams….

Immigrant hoarding

A couple of years ago, when I was fresh out of college and living in my first apartment, my parents came to visit from Hungary. Opening a kitchen drawer, my Mom was surprised to find months’ or even years’ worth of Hungarian snacks, spice mixes, and other food stuff stashed away. “Why do I keep…

The stuff of childhood

Finally, all of my parents’ boxes have arrived. They are stacked neatly in their basement, smaller boxes on top of taller ones, with cryptic signage on the outside, like L/R for living room and “mixed” for well… Mixed stuff. There are also a bunch of boxes that belong to me. Or rather, they belong to…