PSA brought to you by Mean Mommy

First off, shout out to Susan in NY for the Project Runway update in Friday's comments. My DVR is set, girly!

So as The Big Move begins to pick up steam, and I spend every free moment cleaning, sorting and packing every item we own, many, many items are not making the cut. This group includes, my grad school mortar board, did I really think I was going to wear it again?, pants I haven't worn since before I had kids*, and thirty, count 'em, thirty, back issues of Bon Appetit, when the most ambitious thing I cook these days is five-minute couscous.

While we did have a very successful garage sale, and pawned off the majority of our crap on some of the strangest people in New Jersey, like the guy with the mustache on the ten speed bike who pedaled off with half our cookbook collection slung over his handle bars, some of the stuff just didn't move. Namely the baby gear. So while I did get rid of my never-used yoga kit (I have become comfortable with the fact that I am way too kinetic to sit for that long and too mentally manic to "still the chattering monkeys" and listen to my own breathing without also making a grocery list in my head), I was left with two Exersaucers, a high chair, several of those useful-for-twelve-weeks-before-they actually-roll-over musical archway toys and that ridiculously expensive Lamaze brand baby mirror.

I get it, having been there myself. During my first pregnancy, if someone had asked me if I'd like some gently used baby gear from a stranger I would have looked at them like they were offering me some backwashed Yoohoo. During subsequent pregnancies, while suffering from the severe ebb in cash flow that comes with multiple children, I took anything and everything offered from acquaintances, but still, nothing from strangers. So I wasn't surprised our Ikea lamps sold, but our barely used highchair sat against our driveway wall unnoticed, like the ugly girl at the dance. But, despite Hubby's insistence I junk the stuff, I'd be damned if I was going to throw out what I knew were expensive, good quality, baby items, when I knew somebody, somewhere, could use them. And since most of my friends are already done having kids and, therefore not in need, (and laugh at me from their comfortable perches on the park bench while I chase around my third...bitches), I began my search.

So guess what? Salvation Army is really only interested in saving suburban kids the expense of having to buy real costumes for their eighties parties and hipsters the angst of having to buy anything someone else might actually wear. They are not, however, interested in saving financially struggling parents from buying over-priced baby gear. I was basically laughed off the phone when I called to inquire about dropping off my load.

I finally found two charities who would accept my items - in Manhattan - and they did not offer pick-up services. Still, I was undaunted. I had endured almost two weeks of H's doubting-Thomas looks as he stepped over my pile in the garage each day and there was no way he was going to win. So this morning, I loaded Little Man, #2, and all my booty (and the baby gear... yuck, yuck) into the van for the trek into the city. Preparing to be in the car for hours, I was armed with eighty-five juice boxes, an emergency potty in the back, a bushel of Teddy Grahams and a copy of Toy Story. The whole trip door to door? Ninety minutes. And while I'd like to credit the short trip to my mad my driving skills, (which some members of my family like to call "aggressive", although I feel liberal horn usage is the standard in NYC and I maintain the right even as a passenger, to reach over and give a good toot when a toot is needed**), traffic was light at that time of day, and the charity I chose had curbside help, who came directly to my car, preventing me from having to find parking, and drag them through the streets (ala Family Day at H's office last year), they gave me a receipt, and sent me on my way. It was so easy.

So let me urge you, dear readers, to not throw your gear away when you're done. If you're close enough, and not working during off-peak traffic hours, take a few hours to donate your stuff to one of these fine charities - Room to Grow or Baby Buggy - who both were super helpful and organized. They have affiliates in other cities as well. While I know it's a total pain in the ass, think about all the other moms out there who truly can't afford the things we consider absolute essentials and how less than two hours of your time can make a difference (while creating space in your garage and giving you the opportunity to smack that smug look off your husband's face). It can also be a learning experience for your family. While I could have made it easier for myself and found a sitter for the kids, I thought it was a real opportunity not only to teach them about charity, but also the difference between doing what is easy, like dragging all this crap out to the curb, and doing what is right.

Whoo! It's hot up here on this soap box, let me step down. I've said my peice, take it or leave it. Oh, and H? What's that all over your face? My righteousness! Ha!

*Hanging on to old, out of style, clothes simply because they still fit is dangerous because you are tempted to actually wear them out of the house as proof you still retain some semblance of the woman you were before you had kids. And nothing says "I'm trying too hard" like high-waisted, red, capris.

**KK, I still defend myself on this point obviously.