It’s funny how the silly little things can hold such sentimental value. When I moved out of my parents house a year and a half ago there were few things I left behind (although my parents would argue that the garage is still full of my crap)… but it’s not the real special stuff that’s in the garage. Gym shoes and old bags don’t come close to this…

The one little thing I distinctly remember leaving behind was this pink, bear, nailbrush that I’ve had since I was a little girl. I still remember contemplating whether I should pack it, as it’s sat on my vanity for over two decades smiling at me… and then I saw my brother’s, which he had left behind when he moved out. How could I leave his little guy there all alone? I stood them next to each other in the cabinet and laughed at how touching two little nail brushes could be.

It made me think about how teeny plastic bears could represent our childhoods in that house– in that bathroom– arguing about taking too long, or about using up all the hot water.

That night, I cried my eyes out as Jordan and I drove down my parents driveway with our mattress on the car roof. It was our last car full of stuff…  the last piece of my bedroom… and it was a sure sign that I was moving on. Without my little nailbrush.