This week, I walked the trash bin out to the curb and realized something odd. It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t overflowing. It wasn’t… much of anything.

For years — years — we had to order a second trash bin because one just couldn’t handle the aftermath of a house with four kids. Juice boxes, granola bar wrappers, homework drafts, sports equipment that mysteriously ended up in the garbage (still not sure how), birthday party debris, pizza boxes, broken toys, art projects we couldn’t keep forever but couldn’t part with either — it was a full-time job just managing what was going out the door.

Back then, I complained. A lot. “Why is there SO much trash?” “Did someone throw away an entire backpack?” “Who finished the cereal and put the EMPTY box back on the shelf?” “Why does it smell like a science experiment?”

But now, the trash is quiet. And if I’m being honest — I miss it.

I miss what that chaos represented. I miss the noise, the mess, the daily mini-disasters that meant there was life happening in every corner of my home. I miss the piles of shoes by the door, the laundry that never stopped coming, the sticky floors that told the story of sleepovers and spilled Gatorade.

Now, as I count down the final month before I officially become an empty nester, I realize: the trash was a blessing.

It meant people were home. It meant memories were being made. It meant we were all in the thick of it together — growing, learning, bumping into each other (literally and figuratively) in one busy, beautiful household.

And while I know there’s joy ahead — quiet mornings, clean counters, full control of the thermostat — I also know I’ll always be a little nostalgic for the days of two trash bins and not enough hours in the day.

So if you’re in that season now, knee-deep in wrappers and smelly gym socks and wondering if you’ll ever see the bottom of the laundry hamper — let me tell you: it’s a gift. A loud, messy, full-hearted gift.

And one day, you’ll walk your tiny, barely-full trash bin to the curb and think… I miss the trash.

With love and less garbage,

XX,

MG