…is that it always ends up costing me more money to come home than it did to actually leave.

There was the time, when I was in Mexico and I saw the cutest little baby dolls in the airport, as we exited the building. Sold for $10, I was convinced that I’d certainly be able to find them for MUCH cheaper in the cities that we were visiting, and so I didn’t buy them for my girls. Big, bad move. I spent the rest of the vacation feverishly hunting for teeny dollies, not satisfied with any that I saw. When I finally returned to the airport, the dumb dolls had disappeared.

There is a similar story for each trip I’ve taken sans kids,. The revolving glow in the dark torches from Rockefeller Center, the change purses from Jamaica, the t shirts from Vancouver (we travel for my husband’s job) - each and every trip means that I’m hunting for souvenirs, searching for the right thing, and knowing, deep in my heart, that whatever I buy for them won’t be enough. In a month or two, those treasured items will be consigned to the back of the closet or shoved under the sofa, only to appear on vacuuming day.

They don’t want the trinkets, the junk, the doodads and stuff. They want me. Next time, I’ll save my money for a massage and use the Zoints I have credited to purchase something new for us, something that is fun and family friendly, something we can all play together. Maybe a board game, or roller blades for all of us. It’s a win-win for all of us - I can relax on my trip, the kids get something new, and I can feel confident that I’ve done my part to share.

One of my most notable achievements is what’s in my basement: A box collection that is the envy of everyone who has ever moved. So if you’re in the military, or a part of a witness protection program that relocates you every time you blow your cover, I’m happy to give you a tour. The strange truth is that we’ve moved so much in the past two years that my husband has actually become attached to one box in particular. It’s his favorite, the one I’m never allowed to toss, and it’s so torn and crumpled that it’s not really so much a box as it is a testament to the powers of clear strapping tape. Thank you, 3M Corp.

I’ll confess that I have my own special box in the basement. It’s the one with the big “Z” on it written in black Sharpie. It’s my Zwaggle box, and it’s full of stuff right now that I found in, you guessed it, the basement. There are some of my daughter’s summer clothes from last year that she’ll outgrow before the next. I’ve got toys and electronics that we never unpacked from our last move, so we obviously don’t need them as much as we were convinced we did when we packed them almost a year ago. There are some videos that we’ll never watch again, not because they aren’t good, but because Baby Einstein just isn’t cool anymore. The basement has been my Zwaggle mine. Until today, when I made a rookie mistake upon returning to my car from my bi-monthly pilgrimage to COSTCO.

While I was cruising the aisles of barrels of tomatoes and vats of sour cream, I had forgotten something that wasn’t on my shopping list. It never occurred to me that, after filling my cart with toilet paper, paper towels, and dog food, I was going to have to actually take it all home with me. Oops. While I wouldn’t say that I’ve got a lot of junk in my trunk, I will say that I realized there in the parking lot that I needed desperately to Zwaggle my ride.

After some re-arranging and stuffing, and understanding for a moment why some people choose minivans and SUVs, I took my things home, where I promptly dragged a new box out of the basement. I made like Zoro with a Sharpie by pasting a big black “Z” on it, and went to work on what was going on in my car. I placed a ban on all books, bears, and ball caps that hadn’t been touched since the Clinton administration. While it’s nice to keep an umbrella in the car for those rare occasions I get caught in the middle of a drizzle, I don’t really need five of them. I had spare, “just in case” outfits that my daughter had outgrown ages ago. And, dare I say, there were no gloves in the glove box; just some CDs that we hadn’t touched since long before Greg had even considered leaving The Wiggles. (We’re pulling for you, Greg.) Into the box they went. Inspired, I drew from my collection a few more times, claiming “Z” boxes for the kitchen, garage, and play spaces. As the immortal James Brown once said, “I feel good!”

Next I’m going to consider what I do need. Summer’s coming, and I’m totally unprepared for the outdoor life that we’ll be enjoying more of now that my little one’s going on 4. Considering that, maybe I’ll even—no kidding—post my boxes, except for my husband’s fave, on Zwaggle. Mafia rats and military brass, that’s your cue to register and log in.

I experienced an epiphany of sorts last week, while browsing the local Target.

I was shopping for Easter basket stuff. What an ordeal THAT was.

I remember when I was a child, I complained about the contents of my Easter basket. There was some candy in there and a 45 record. Instead of being thrilled with the chocolate, I really felt like I should have more - kind of like Christmas all over again. My mother told me, in no uncertain terms, to enjoy my chocolate bunny and be done with it.

Somehow, some way, Easter baskets have become a bigger idea to my kids, and they expect more than just jelly beans and plastic eggs. I don’t like it, but somehow, I always fall victim to their pleas. Which explains how my bright thoughts came to be today.

While trolling the aisles, I mentally selected, and then abandoned, several toys and games. I don’t think I truly realized it until last week, but I’ve apparently become a fan of the “less is better” philosophy, even if my kids aren’t entirely on board with me yet. I couldn’t look at many items without thinking of having to pick them up repeatedly, yelling for them to be picked up, or becoming annoyed with them enough to finally toss them in the toy bin. I also don’t want to spend the money, knowing that the “stuff” will become “junk” in just a few short weeks. It would undoubtedly end up in the landfill or the thrift store.

I wish I’d begun this process a month ago. I could have used my Zoints to buy the things that my kids would enjoy, without the pressure of trying to get just the right gift without breaking the bank.

But, there must be a positive side to this, right? At least I’ll have some new merchandise to list here, in a few months.