Cleaning Out My Tween’s Room: What Still Holds Sentimental Value

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So, the other day, my daughter and I decided it was time to tackle her room. Now that she’s almost 11, she’s over the whole “little kid” vibe. The once-cute cotton-candy-pink walls suddenly feel too bright, and her beloved stuffed Smurf has been benched from the center of the bed. Princess decor? Totally out of the question! We’ve agreed to give her room a makeover for her upcoming birthday, but first, we need to sort through everything—closets, drawers, you name it. With Taylor Swift blasting in the background, we’re ready to dive in.

I settle onto her fluffy carpet, watching her sift through a box of doll clothes, sunlight streaming through the window. She’s the quintessential tween, straddling the line between childhood and adolescence. She still believes in Santa but is aware of way more than I’d like her to be. She turns on the oven by herself yet still wants me to tuck her in at night.

Her once-chubby frame has transformed into a tall, lean figure. Instead of the frilly skirts and sparkly accessories, she’s rocking simple jeans and a turquoise tee. The ponytail she’s sporting pulls her shiny brown hair back, making her green eyes pop against her face, which is no longer round with baby fat.

As we sort through her belongings, some things she easily parts with, and I do too. We toss aside posters from her old Daisy troop and pictures from her princess coloring book. Goodbye, golden curtain rods! But then I find myself making a separate keep pile. A little pink silk dress with glittery beads catches my eye—my in-laws gifted it to her when she was 7, and it feels like just yesterday when she twirled in it like a mini flapper.

“What about this?” I ask, holding it up.
“It doesn’t fit me anymore, Mommy,” she replies.
“I know,” I say, sighing and rubbing the fabric against my face.

She suggests we toss a purple tulle butterfly that used to hang from her ceiling, but I secretly add it to my keep pile. We end up with a stack of Rainbow Fairies books for our neighbor, which I won’t miss, but I can’t let go of the Ramona books. Those are staying with us.

Then I come across a clay heart box she made when her fingers were still chubby. It’s adorned with jewels and painted bright red, though the lid doesn’t quite fit. “Oh, Mommy,” she says, taking it from me. “I just have to keep this,” as she runs her thumbs over the bumpy surface. I smile; I completely understand.

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In summary, cleaning out a tween’s room is more than just decluttering—it’s a bittersweet journey of letting go of childhood while holding onto precious memories.