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It’s garage sale season.  I load eager children into the monster van. We roll slowly through middle class neighborhoods, seeking signs and cluttered driveways. When we spy a worthy target, we stop, click doors and spill out. Excited fingers jingle and drop quarters while I deliver final instructions.

“We’re not taking home junk.  Just because it’s in the free box doesn’t mean we grab it. Everyone ready?”

Determined little shoppers approach the treasure-filled yard. We nod at the smiling homeowner with one eye on bargains in a corner.

Markie bubbles when he finds something on a sawhorse table. My big-eyed boy approaches, hands behind his back.

“I want to give you this for Mother’s Day.  Will you get it and I’ll pay you back?”

I peer down at a sparkly find on a chain.  The necklace reads “HOT” spelled out in rhinestones.  I nod and smile, suppressing a major giggle.

I remind him that I forget to wear necklaces. My sparse collection of chains sits lonely on a handmade jewelry tree. It’s literally a branch of a tree that my son T.J. mounted on an unfinished wood base.

If I had to choose, I’d pick the branch holder over the jewelry.

“If you don’t want to wear it, you can just let it hang on your branch thing,” he says.

I hug him and smile. “That’s a perfect idea.”

We check out, tote a full bag into the van, ready to attack another driveway.

~ Lisa

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