It is hard to believe it has now been seven years since we first moved into our house. I remember loving its location and Jim saying it was the only suburb where he had felt a familiar connection a certain " I could live here … wake up in the morning early go outside and across the street work out on the park, after work go out to play in the park with the kids." The place evoked us going outside and being active and we liked it. In fact, living here has lived up to that first impression. In a way it is like it was in the Basque Country, tiny living space makes it uncomfortable enough to want to spill out of your house to live outside in the company of other people, your neighbors who may become your friends. But regardless of who you choose to make your friends the truth of the matter is that everybody in the neighborhood ends up knowing who you are because they see you everyday or atleast every week for the past three hundred sixty weeks.

I can still remember the shock of moving from a nice 1200 sq. ft. apartment for two in Oakland to a 500 sq.ft. apartment in Renteria. We were so grateful to our hosts but wondered how could people live in such tiny spaces for so many years. "Why, there is barely any room to put clothes, what about the rest of the things you accumulate?" Our American ways could not comprehend such a drastically different paradigm for living. We had barely begun a life together and were living in the apartment of a recently deceased elderly couple . In two years of marraige we already had spill over boxes of stuff outside the aparment in the floor of the inner courtyard where people shook out their table cloths and rugs and hung their laundry.

Over the course of the couple of years we realized a transformation coming about. Every opportunity to buy, get, save, accumulate would go through the heavy filters: do we have space for it? do we absolutely need it? will we pay to take it with us? can we save it some other wayby taking pictures or writing about it? At the same time, hanging at home watching tv was almost painful in the Basque Country. The TV programming was awful and after a few hours in the living room the walls seem to cave in, searching for deep breathes and space we were compelled to leave the apartment. Being out led to being seen and talking to strangers that soon became neighbors and later became friends. Life was good.

When we bought our house, we knew it was small and increasingly feel small as our family grew. But we now valued living small and knew that though painful it would serve us well. Well I am now at that pain point. Seven years and three children later we do not fit. I have to let go of something. Over the past few years our sentimental instincts had us saving baby toys, baby clothes, car seats, strollers and the like, saving for the next baby. Saving and recycling hand me downs felt good as we avoided being consumed by the western push to buy, discard and consume again. But even if we been less consumers of new goods we still have accumulated so much and our tiny house is woefully short on storage thus forcing me to this moment.

I am not sure if it is the anthropologist in me *that sounds so fancy* or if it just the sentimental packrat in me but I have this old world compulsion to want to hand down to other generationsof family some of our precious things. Many are precious not so much for their market value but for the fact that they were chosen and worn for baby that was so loved and adored that the item itself has come to carry the sentiment. Alas, we cannot save it all so I am today applying the critical analysis:

Is Javier, our third child, to be our last? I cannot say I wish it so. My husband and I do enjoy children and parenting so much. Strangers on the street ask us if we are "closing shop." I reply "we have not shut any manufactuing lines down, we are just not putting in orders for now." We always knew we wanted atleast three children. It was always "and perhaps four", "perhaps." What does perhaps mean? It has been this mental marker. I planned and held on to things because we were sure we wanted three, now I am in the realm of Perhaps. If it were to happen what will I keep for "Perhaps"? Well, for starters I cannot save all of this I see before me for the chance I may need it. I now need to plan the space for elementary school books and longer dresses and pants. I have come to accept that if number four were to happen the biggest thing we are saving is the joy and love we have and wont go away. If number four comes, it will be a joyous return to early childhood parenting, but the time and context will be another. The family demands a new use of space and it is into that family that any future "Perhaps" will have to fit.

So today, I have come to terms with what Perhaps will need, so long as it is a construct we hold. As I look around I have my camera in hand, laptop on lap and am ready to ask: How special is this article? Is it is in good enough shape to save for another 10 or 20 years? Is it a classic that will age well in 10 or 20 years? Can I bear to part with it and not have it around for Perhaps? For memorable items that do not make it past the 10-20 years question I have pictures and brief stories. To ease the transition I also remind myself that just as I enjoyed recycling hand-me downs, these beloved articles of clothing will now go to clothe another baby and part of our love will be added to that new bunddle of joy.