Last month, I was helping my daughter move into a two-bedroom apartment with her partner. The latter is also a woman, and I know from personal experience that women tend to accumulate more clothes, shoes, toiletries, plants, and other stuff than men do. I encouraged them to purge, declutter, and consolidate their belongings before moving in together, but with two full-time jobs, this didn’t happen. Or were they too attached to their stuff to make such decisions?

Both women have dogs, but her partner has a 16-year-old female chihuahua with a wardrobe of her own. No kidding, Roxy is a fashion diva with a whole row of colorful quilt, fleece, and wool jackets, waterproof raincoats, and dog hoodies. My daughter’s pit bull, meanwhile, is male and seems content going naked most of the year. This may not be a fair analogy of the male-female dichotomy when it comes to accumulating clothes unless, of course, the pit bull has a closet full of shirts from Costco.

I’m as guilty as the rest of my sex. I have a larger walk-in closet than my husband does, but I still store a rack of my shoes in his space. I’ve given away most of my heels, so why do I still have so many shoes? I can’t say. As a retiree, I gravitate most days toward two pairs of Sketchers and flip-flops. I once bought these flat, soft canvas sneakers to pair with my capris, but since they’re white, I only wear them indoors so they don’t get dirty. Additionally, my podiatrist recommended that I wear shoes with better support. But they have this cute bohemian vibe, and I don’t have the willpower to give them away.

I do have one new rule:  if I buy something new from Chicos, Talbots, or J. Jill (I can’t help it if they keep sending me coupons), then I must get rid of something in my closet to make room. Only recently did I throw out a Virginia Tech sweatshirt that my son (or rather, his then-girlfriend) had purchased for me back in 2005. Yup, 20 years ago. The end of the sleeves had frayed, and some of the seams grew holes, but it was the most comfortable sweatshirt I ever owned—cotton with a bit of spandex. It pained me to throw it in the trash bin, but I didn’t look back. I also have some sentimental pieces—the biking top with a martini print that I wore the year my daughter and I pedaled the Sonoma wine country fourteen years ago, the only mother-daughter trip we took together. Facebook recently reminded me of this with one of its “Memories” or “On This Day” notices, and there I am — sporting the martini biking shirt with a big smile on my face. I still wear it biking around Brunswick Forest; the funny thing is, I don’t even drink martinis.

Back to my daughter’s move. My job was to move the kitchen items, small plants, paintings, and dog paraphernalia. The kitchen is a big job. There are not just dishes, glassware, pots, pans, and cooking utensils; there is also the pantry, where abandoned cans of lentils, curry paste, and flaked coconut go to die. (At least in my pantry!)  My daughter had a very deep pantry in her old apartment, which is even more lethal. Does someone really need 12 plastic water bottles? Why was the olive oil missing its top? Is that apple cider vinegar with “mother” about to explode? After carefully wrapping up the spice rack and its contents, I uncovered about twenty more small containers of various herbs stashed in the back, including three opened cylinders of thyme, all of whose expiration dates had long passed.

Luckily, I didn’t have to transport the large aloe plants. These succulents are natural air purifiers and contain a gel that is good for your complexion. But do you need five? I suggested she give some away, but when you invest several years watching something grow, it becomes a part of the family. Luckily, the new place is a corner unit with a wrap-around balcony where some of these green “children” can continue to be nurtured.

Lest you think I am unfairly razzing my daughter and her partner, I will admit that my husband and I have just as much, if not more, stuff; it’s just more spread out and slightly better organized since our house is bigger. However, I keep the door to the attic shut so I don’t have to face the myriad boxes of loose photos, decade-old wrapping paper, abandoned craft projects, or old rugs that “might one day come in handy.” The stuff of our lives that we can’t seem to give up.