Giving Back

'Tis the season for long waits at return counters, cringe-worthy weigh-ins and the crafting of resolutions.

It's also that time of year when we look to support our most beloved organizations while also reducing our taxable income by making our last charitable donations for the year.

At the Ball house, this means a few frigid hours of me bending over boxes in the garage in attempts to figure out which of our belongings can go and which can stay.

Most of what we give each year is clothing. Somehow, though I don't remember having clothes in quantity during high school and college, each year I discover yet another cardboard box full of size-six short shorts and size-medium shirts from American Eagle and Abercrombie & Fitch and Lord knows where else.

Regrettably, Momma ain't a size six anymore. Since I feel I have a better chance of finding a size-six person shoved and gasping for air between the cushions of my couch than ever being one again, I figure it's time to get these clothes to folks who can use them.

On my way back to said couch after last night's rummaging session, I found this box:

And two others just like it, all full of the books of my youth.

See? Full House: Indisputably my favorite show when I was in elementary school. I loved DJ. I wanted to know her. I wanted to be her. I strived to be like her in any way possible.

Maybe I still do. But you won't hear me say it.

Ah, Little Golden Books, how I loved thee.

Ah, pre-Elmo Sesame Street, how I really, really loved thee.

It's She-Ra!

Castaspella - what a name for a heroine. By the way, I didn't color this page.

I did, however, color this page. I was always a color-inside-the-lines kind of girl - at least, when it came to coloring books, that was true.

Speaking of coloring inside the lines...BSC, coming through!

That Claudia - always the malcontent. "No one understands!"

My husband asked me this same question once, way back in our early days. I called the folks in Arkansas to see if they still had our marriage license on file. They did. Then it was true: I'd married a man who'd never seen Fraggle Rock.

I forgive him - and myself - a little more each day.

Needless to say, he had no idea what a Wuzzle was.

My husband's parents wouldn't allow him to read Goosebumps. Too scary, they said.

Of course, I read them as fast as my parents could drive me to Wal-Mart and hand me the $4.95 to buy the latest copy. Those Goosebumps books were must-haves, even if they did give me nightmares.

Even the title of the series had goosebumps. What person who grew up in the '90s doesn't remember standing in the young adult fiction isle and running a finger over these letters? So classic.

And who could forget these:

The Boxcar Children! Go ahead. Squee.

Our son, who is in desperate need of a haircut, couldn't bear to see these books boxed up and hauled away forever.

Yeah, that's the ticket - our son couldn't bear it. I could, totally. I'd be fine. My son, though - he's just too young for this kind of heartbreak. I have to protect him, you see.

Now my old books are strung all over our living room, awaiting imminent destruction. I will try in vain to protect the relics of my childhood while attempting to share them with my offspring.

This is why we can't have nice things.

If you're looking to make a donation to a worthy cause while unloading what's become superfluous in your life, Trisha Swindle over at Ttownmoms.com has a nice list of places that could use your donations, and Holly Wall at Tulsa Business Journal put together a great story last month on local charities looking for your gifts this season.

What causes are close to your heart today, the day before the last day of 2009?