It started as a joke.
Last year, my kids asked my husband what he wanted for Father’s Day, and, looking around at our messy house, he answered, “a dumpster.”
At first, we all laughed. Yes, the house was messy. Yes, we had items we needed to get rid of. But a dumpster? It sounded over-the-top.
But the truth was, my husband wasn’t wrong. We’d been swimming in broken toys and baby furniture for years. Our once-spacious house had started to feel small, the walls creeping closer as we stacked piles of superfluous items too big for the garbage can along the perimeters of our rooms.
The mess was stressing him out. It was stressing all of us out.
“I’ll go to the dump,” had been the popular refrain for years, but the truth was that with our hectic schedules, there was little time to go. Saturday mornings often belonged to sports, and on Sundays, it was closed.
So the piles grew. Larger ones got moved to the basement. Broken furniture was thrown in our garage and against the side of our house. We looked into calling a company to haul away the mess, but it was expensive. And yet we’d never considered a dumpster. A dumpster felt so decadent, so extreme for regular household junk. Weren’t they the type of solution reserved for construction projects and move-out days?
After my husband’s comment, I began to wonder. Then I made some phone calls. It turned out that renting a small dumpster was much more affordable than other options.
All of a sudden, a dumpster didn’t seem like a bad idea.
“Yes, let’s do it,” I told the kids one afternoon. “Let’s get Dad a dumpster for Father’s Day.”
Within a week of making the call, the large green container arrived in our driveway. No one was home when it arrived, but I found it there, its green sides shining, when I returned home from an errand.
Its girth filled half our driveway, making it almost impossible to park a car next to it. I climbed up one side and stared down at its large walls. There is no way we’ll ever fill this, I thought.
All of a sudden, the dumpster felt just as decadent and unnecessary as I’d feared. Doubt crept in that I’d just wasted my money on a gift first mentioned as a joke.
Luckily, the kids felt differently.
“Dad! Dad! Look! Your present is here!” They all screamed when he came home for work. They saw the dumpster as a novelty, an adventure, a welcome disruption from our ordinary, clutter-filled lives.
Meanwhile, I hid inside, still unsure whether the dumpster was the right move.
When I heard my husband’s voice matching theirs, my fears began to dissipate. He wasn’t just excited. He was elated, cheering and chanting along with them.
That night, he began throwing stuff away, ridding our side yard of its junk pile. That weekend, we all helped clear the garage, then the basement. By the end of the weekend, the dumpster was almost full.
For the next week, we continued to throw smaller items into the dumpster. The kids started running out to the dumpster whenever they had trash. They came to us with items and asked if they were “dumpster-worthy,” and squealed with delight when we told them they were.
We talked incessantly about the dumpster, my husband praising it every time we stepped outside. It became a talking point and a sense of pride, as we pointed it out to friends, family, and the entire neighborhood. That is, until about a week and a half after its arrival, when we realized it could hold no more.
That large, once endless-looking abyss was overflowing.
My husband made the call for pickup. And then, just as mysteriously as it had arrived, one morning it was gone.
Inside, the house felt bigger. Cleaner. Calmer.
As a family, we all felt a sense of pride at our accomplishment, having worked together to make our house a better place to live. My husband called it the best Father’s Day gift ever.
And yet, as more months passed, the piles started to accumulate again. More broken furniture made its way to the side yard. More worn-out toys and equipment too big to fit in the garbage can began to accumulate. It was time for another spring cleaning purge.
About a month ago, my husband looked at me. “Early Father’s Day gift?”
I nodded.
As I write this, we are preparing to call to arrange for our dumpster, the whole house eagerly awaiting its arrival. Stacks of toys, broken bikes, couch cushions ripped by the dog. I can already picture us throwing it all into the green abyss. I can already close my eyes and feel the calm.
What once felt like a decadent indulgence now feels necessary, a form of self-care vital to our mental health.
Of course, like with most parenting, I’m sure this phase won’t last forever. At some point, our kids will stop wanting big, plastic toys. At some point, our mischievous puppy will stop destroying our house (they do grow out of the chewing phase, right?).
But until then, we will continue to invest in a dumpster each spring to regain our sense of calm. And to all those who have ever considered, then reconsidered, a dumpster, I encourage you all to make the call.
I guarantee that afterward, your house will feel bigger and calmer. And your hearts will be filled with laughter from all the memories made along the way.
