Surely I'm not the only I've who still has (and uses) my caboodles box from junior high school?
This thing has to be at least 15 years old.
And I cannot bring myself to get rid of it.
Every few years I empty it out, throwing away old makeup that's busted or dried out or just ugly.
I spend some time polishing the mirror and cleaning all the dust and eyeliner smudges out.
I usually do this about when it gets too full or too dirty to look at, and tonight was one such night.
I was standing at the kitchen sink and thinking about my teenage years, all the houses this caboodles box was hefted to.
It was with me in my most tumultuous times and the lock still clicks, the mirror still shines, and the handle is still firmly attached.
This caboodles box went with me when I moved out on my own for the first time, with a no good guy and then it came home to the safehaven of my dad's with me one dark night when I rushed to grab everything before the boy came home and I couldn't get away.
This box saw my tiny bathroom of my first real home away from my parents.
It saw me dancing in front of the bathroom mirror like a loon when Brandon kissed me for the first time.
It joined me on my wedding day, hurriedly writing vows in the bathroom stall.
It kept my makeup securely contained when I moved, and moved, and moved.
This box sat on my countertop while I injected meds into my stomach, my hips, and my tush.
It bore witness to the pregnancy test turning positive, as I sobbed gratefully into my husbands shoulder.
And it stood guard as I cried less grateful tears a few days later.
This caboodles box has seen me go from an insecure bubbly teenager to an insecure anxious woman.
The makeup may have changed, going from NYC and wet and wild to lipsense and Revlon, but the contents are the same.
The insides of this box tell the story of a woman who tries so hard to be more, I'd like to think it will be there when she succeeds.