When I found out that my husband didn’t have to work this weekend I flippantly made the suggestion that we have an impromptu garage sale on Saturday.
Now, I don’t usually do garage sales.  I find that with garage sales you store and organize and tag and wake up early to sell your stuff for barely enough money to take your family out to dinner when it’s all over.  I prefer to load all our stuff in a fit of cleaning into the back of our SUV, drive around with it for a week, then finally donate it.
I also don’t do garage sales because I cannot handle the haggling.  Back in Tulsa, at our last semi-productive garage sale, I let a man talk me down from $40 for a set of chairs to $20 as my mother-in-law watched in horror.  But he was so nice!  And then I let a snotty teenager push me into dropping the price on a pair of factory-distressed jeans because the back heels were worn a little (they were distressed!).  Right then I decided that in the future I will donate my stuff to some sweet people instead of haggling with a snotty teenager.  She was not worth the $5 I made on that pair of jeans.
Except right now we have acquired extra chairs that we’re not using: a highchair, a rocking chair, a couple of barstools, and pretty soon we will not need two chairs that are rotated in and out of our living room because we recently ordered a ginormous sectional, and there ain’t nothin' that will fit in our living room besides that soon-to-arrive couch. Since I can’t load all those chairs into our SUV in one trip to donate, maybe a garage sale?
G and Little Missy heard my flippant suggestion to their father and immediately jumped on it.  “Can we sell our stuff, too?”  Not wanting to break their little hearts with the reality that is the garage sale, I said, “Sure.”  They ran upstairs to their bedroom and organized late into the night, sweetly working together and discussing what they would sell.  The next day after school they were determined to make signs and immediately disappointed in me because I did not have a stash of posterboard at the ready.  So they went back upstairs to their room to find more things to sell before Little Missy meandered her way to the living room with a shrug of the shoulders when I asked her how it was going.  I went upstairs to find G lazily playing with a Hot Wheels set that he has not laid eyes on in at least two years.
“How’s it going, Bub?”  
A shrug of the shoulders from him, too.  “There’s not a whole lot to sell.”  I looked at their teeny garage sale pile of mismatched toys and three books and gently suggested that maybe we don’t rush into the garage sale this weekend, but instead wait until they have more stuff.  “Yeah, that’s probably for the best,” he agreed.
And so no garage sale this weekend.  But still a lot of chairs that may have to be donated in multiple trips.