Like matchbox cars and Barbie-doll clothes. The things we played with as children. When we went to Goodwill to drop off a load of clothes and an old suitcase and a duplicate set of measuring cups, we took a couple of those little matchbox cars. Two of them that DH had hung onto and his mom had hung onto. Two that had ended up at our house when we moved to Texas.
But we kept one of them. One especially fancy tiny car. The hood opens and inside there are little tools, including a tiny tire iron. We kept it because it turns out that just after you’ve grown out of wanting to play with those small things that are reflections of the full-size grown-up version there’s a new small thing you want. And that small thing might one day want to play with the same small things that we played with. Or at least to see them. And who wouldn’t be impressed by Dad’s “vintage” toy car with a teeny tiny tire iron?
So it’s sitting on top of the extra refrigerator in our garage (something else, incidentally, that will be more useful when there are children). A sign that we haven’t given up our hope yet. That we’re still waiting and looking forward to having a little one or three or four or however many the good Lord decides to ultimately bless us with in the end.