Issue 49: We Said Goodbye to His Trucks Today
On the impermanence of childhood and the self
A very predictable new year toy clean-out began eight days after Christmas. Our house was littered with new playthings, more stuff to find a home for, which meant some toys had to go. And so, off we went into the abyss. My kids and I pilfered through bin after bin, plucking out broken bits, toys with missing parts, and pieces of actual trash nestled therein. They were quick to part with too-easy puzzles and birthday party trinkets, dried-up markers and worn out hand-me-downs. I had a sense when picking up an item if it would land in the keep, give away, or trash pile; there were few surprises as to the fate of each thing.
Nearing the end of the clean-out of my son’s room, we were down to the final items: his big trucks. In the corner, lined up in a neat row, was a street sweeper (with working sweeper!), a remote control truck gifted by his Pappy, a cement mixer, a combine with multiple parts, and the one that started it all: a hefty garbage truck with a side-loading arm and several 3D-printed garbage cans, one personalized with his name on the side.
I began lightly cleaning them while offhandedly asking, “You want to keep these, yeah?” barely listening for the answer as I tucked them back into place.
“No we can give those away,” Chase said without hesitation.
“What? Are you sure? You really don’t want these anymore? But you love them!” pleading with him more than asking for an honest answer.
“Yep!” he said, returning to a rediscovered broken slinky, a long-lost forgotten treasure.
Blindsided, I reluctantly grabbed one truck in each arm, moving slowly towards the doorway in hopes of a change of heart. When only the recognizable zip-zip-zip of metallic rings lingered in the air, I lugged the trucks out to the credenza by our front door, sucker-punched by the exchange.
That night I sat on the couch and, taunted by the trucks leering at me from the corner, searched my photo library for “garbage truck” then “truck” and finally “toy truck” until I found the earliest memory of him with a truck. In the video he’s eight months old, playing with the brightly colored V-Tech Drop & Go Dump Truck—a toy I remembered fondly for its only-semi-annoying music and many afternoons of independent play. He pushes the ball into the cylindrical hole on the top of the cab until—pop!—the ball shoots out into the bed of the dump. He does this over and over, each time surprise and delight sweeping across his face at the novelty of what he just accomplished. He pushes the blue button on the front repeatedly until the song he prefers cycles, each time looking to me to dance enthusiastically as the notes hit our ears.
Dozens of other photos populate this search term: Chase alongside a baby blue car carrier just after he turned one; sorting pieces of a garbage truck game called Trash Stash at three years old; stuffing play-doh into the “mold it, mash it, trash it!” garbage truck; reciting the entirety of Little Blue Truck by heart; next to the intricately-designed combine on his 4th birthday. The last image is from Christmas a year ago, holding a metal die cast front-loader gifted by Santa himself.
Since before he could even walk, these vehicles have been hallmarks of our life together—hours upon hours spent vroom-ing across the kitchen floor. Now, the truck-filled memories both captured on camera and those simply stored in my withering mind would cease to proliferate; trucks would be replaced by other interests unknown to us both. A sea change was underway.
As I began to mourn the loss of what was one of my son’s first loves, I thought about how much of childhood—and subsequently, how we experience our child’s childhood—is connected to play: how we play, what we play with, who we play with. It shapes the beginnings of our lives; there is no discovery of self without play. In those early years, we often frame our baby’s identity by their beloved toys. It’s a path to meaning-making, to bonding, to understanding them more fully. So when a cornerstone of a perceived self is suddenly removed, we ask ourselves: who is my child now that this very important thing in their life is no longer important?
Last fall, in an Instagram post reflecting on his 5th birthday, I remarked how astonishing it is that the humans we, as mothers, have created and birthed and soothed and spent countless hours with are, mostly, unknowable in this way. I wrote:
One of the wildest things about parenthood is the fact that we will be one of the only witnesses to the changes that happen over the course of our child’s lifetime—every inch in height, every too-small shoe, every feeling felt, every well-won victory and every devastating failure. We see it all in the smallest fragments of time, impossibly tiny and nearly indecipherable, shifts that can’t be fully perceived by the layman’s eye.
And yet, the days pass, another year is marked on the calendar and we still wonder about this small creature before us. Who are they and where did they come from? It’s the most mystical and perplexing feeling to know you’ve sat front row to the metamorphosis of a singular human, but continue to be astounded by the soul in front of you.
Just when we think we have a sense of who our child is or is becoming, things change—the great constant of life, change. We know, logically, that the change is coming; impermanence is one of the most brutal but inevitable realities of parenthood, recognizing that each moment as it passes will never be experienced again in the exact same way. And yet, it still takes our breath away every time.
Of course, a million more transformations lie ahead; there will be interests adopted and dismissed, hobbies pursued and discarded, loves revered and released. As adults, we cling so tightly to our stuff, our careers, our relationships, our curated public identities. Who would we be without them? Watching our kids hold loosely to the things that only superficially and fleetingly define them feels freeing as a grown-up, a gentle nudge to lean towards newness, adaptability, self-liberation, and yes—change. Maybe to discover our innermost, truest selves, we have to continue to discard layers over and over and over again.
Our exterior self changes countless times over the course of a life: a pixie cut here, blue hair dye there. Grow our nails long, trim them short. A new freckle appears on the cheek, an age spot on the hand. Weight lost and gained. We add a tattoo to catalog meaning or delight around a moment in time. We don a polka dot bikini one day and a biker jacket the next. Of course our interior self is shape-shifting in the same way our exterior self does, if only with a slower cadence, a proverbial outfit change for the soul: we outgrow a friendship, a job no longer challenges us, an old perspective becomes limiting. We let go knowing that the parts that belong to our deepest selves—the ones meant for us, those etched into our undeniable essence, a knowing our kids recognize inherently—will hold, steadfast and true. We are both eternal and ephemeral at once.
Weeks later, the gang of trucks still sat on the credenza. I passed by them throughout the day, a nod of appreciation in their direction as I took out the trash and retrieved the mail. I let myself linger with them a little longer; goodbyes are hard.
Finally, I snapped a picture of them together and posted it on Marketplace. “Perfect for a small someone who loves trucks as much as mine has,” I wrote. I paused at the field marked “price.” Assigning a value to them felt impossible; how do you appraise a core memory? I hit publish anyways.
The afternoon of pickup, a pang of sadness swelled in my stomach as I watched a father drive away with what felt like a small part of my son, but I knew was only a mirage of loss. My baby was still here, still whole, still him. Forever him.
A few mornings later, Chase crawled into bed with me holding a small $5 garbage truck I got him last summer for our plane ride to Pennsylvania—one he had found tucked away behind a newly organized bin—its itsy-bitsy yellow can held tightly in his palm. A phase I had convinced myself was over sparked and sputtered in the distance, its warm flames not yet fully extinguished.
“Hey mom,” he whispered. “Wanna play?”
Worth Reading: Madwoman by Chelsea Bieker
Bieker’s third book follows Clove, a wellness-obsessed mom of two living in Portland as she’s faced with the prospect of reconnecting with her estranged mother who is writing to her from prison in California. The story switches between Clove’s retelling of her own childhood—the bond she shared with her mother, her father’s violence, an unlikely friendship in her apartment building—and present day, where she navigates marriage, motherhood and identity, both who we are and who we yearn to be. There are a couple of expertly-executed twists which, paired with Bieker’s thoughtful writing, makes for an incredible read.
Related reading: I listened to Bieker’s short story collection, Heartbroke, last summer and enjoyed it as well—Chelsea has a real gift for storytelling.
Worth Listening: The Telepathy Tapes
This 10-part podcast series (stay with me!!) takes a deep investigative look at the unconventional way non-speakers with autism communicate—mostly with their non-speaking peers and caretakers—through telepathy. Even the most skeptical listener will be left in awe at the ways this phenomenon is playing out in families worldwide. The evidence is vast and profound; I was left in tears many times over and episode 8 gave me full-body chills. These non-speakers have so much wisdom around consciousness and connection, and their insights have the potential to truly change the world.
Worth Subscribing: Amid the unfurling of American democracy as we know it, there’s a fine line between consuming too much news and staying informed. It’s incredibly important to me to know what’s happening in our government and not turn a blind eye, especially since so many policy upheavals will affect the resources and protections available to my kids and the families in my community. In addition to reading the Times and AP every day (even just scanning the headlines on busy days or when I don’t have the mental bandwidth), I’m paying attention to a few other spaces that lead with evidence-based reporting and keep the fear-mongering to a minimum. Here are a few I keep in my queue currently:
Sharon McMahon: “America’s Government Teacher” (and longtime educator) explains news headlines in a way that’s easy to understand and without a partisan bent, continually encouraging her followers to choose “principle over party.” She’s thoughtful, immensely empathetic, and genuinely wants to make the world a kinder place: She’s raised nearly $10 million through microdonations, making huge contributions to Undue Medical Debt and World Central Kitchen, thousands of grants to teachers, and hundreds of thousands of dollars of assistance to those in need during the holiday season. Someday Sharon will grace the pages of history books as a model of what you can do “where you are with the resources available to you.” Follow her on Instagram @sharonsaysso or subscribe to her newsletter, .
Tangle News: Daily news headlines with perspectives from the right and the left, as well as Tangle’s founder (and longtime reporter) Issac Saul’s “my take” section. He’s good at what he does, and his growth has skyrocketed in the last couple of years as people seek out well-rounded, less-partisan news streams.
Katie Gatti Tassin: Yes, she’s a liberal, which I obviously don’t have a problem with! Beyond that, though, she’s whip smart and does a great job digging into economic and financial policies. This short video unpacks how flawed the intentions of DOGE actually are (hint: it has way less to do with our government workforce and whole lot to do with the way we outsource funding of government programs to giant, private for-profit companies; do you think Musk and his cronies want to dismantle a structure that directly benefits them?! Never!); here’s the full piece if you want to really dig in. I’ll be keeping tabs on her throughout this administration to understand federal funding in ways I don’t think even mainstream media sources are covering so articulately.
Jessica Knurick, PhD/RDN: With RFK’s confirmation as Secretary of HHS just announced (*collective sigh*), I’m hoarding, oh ya know, actual science-based information around healthcare (what a concept!). Jessica Knurick does an amazing job debunking the myriad wellness influencers’ claims around food additives, vaccines, autism, etc etc, with science-based information (like peer-reviewed papers! and analysis from actual doctors!)—as well as spotlighting the ways in which these influencers (and RFK) really are just out to make a buck by selling their overpriced supplement at the end of a soundbite-ridden TikTok. As the administration moves on its proposal to cut healthcare initiatives and funding for nutrition programs like SNAP—programs that have actual public health benefits—it should be clear to you that RFK and Trump really care very little for the health of American citizens. You can sign up for her newsletter here.
Letters from an American: I just started reading Heather Cox Richardson’s “daily chronicle of today’s political landscape, but because you can’t get a grip on today’s politics without an outline of America’s Constitution, and laws, and the economy, and social customs, this newsletter explores what it means, and what it has meant, to be an American.” I definitely won’t have the time to read every issue, but I like having another daily resource to give me a rundown of headlines along with a bit of analysis—and from a seasoned history professor, no less.
Where are you consuming news these days? Any podcasts, newsletters, media outlets you’d recommend? Send them my way or comment below. I’ll round them up and include them in a future issue as a resource!
Worth Quoting: Ada Limon, from her book of poetry The Carrying
Worth Noting: This Week’s 10 Honorable Mentions
As someone who has a hard time understanding how to source and place art, Cristina Cleveland’s tips on how to make any art look expensive is a nice starting point.
Speaking of home decor, these cordless sconces and picture lights are both lovely to look at and easy to install. (They also have an amazing array of wired options, as well as chandeliers, table lamps, floor lamps and more.)
Honoring my 9-year-old self’s love of stickers c/o my new obsession with Sticky Business’s very cool assortment.
Nurturing friendships - near and far - is a top priority for me this year. Teresa Wu’s post about keeping friendships alive gave me some good ideas on where to focus my time and attention.
As a tuna lover, you bet I’ll be trying Matthew McConaughhey’s semi-viral tuna salad recipe. Peas and corn?! I’m intrigued.
It’s Oscar season!! I’ve only seen two of the nominations and of course they are both in the Animated category (The Wild Robot and Inside Out 2, both of which I loved). Looking forward to watching more grown-up fodder!
Now that we’ve entered elementary school territory, I have a whole new slew of moms to connect with at drop-off (an essay topic for another day). I found this short piece “Good Conversation Is Not Small, It’s Specific,” to be helpful, which encourages sharing specific, everyday parts of life in an effort to connect through the seemingly mundane.
Have you heard about the 5calls app? It allows you to easily contact your representatives with a directory of phone numbers and scripts—a great tool to make your outrage against this terrifying administration heard!
A fun artisan-woven tote with Clare V. vibes (at a fraction of the price).
This (100% un-kid-friendly) Ginger Salmon Salad was so, so good. I added croutons and extra almonds, and served it with crusty bread. I also used steelhead trout because it was on sale at my grocery store and I may actually like it better than salmon—super buttery and flavorful.