Today is a lazy Sunday. You would think I would take this time to write. I did stay in bed an extra hour, plotting about Amy. But no. I did not write. Perhaps I’ll blog about that issue at a later time.
Today I began sorting through some things. Pictures, clothing, and toys to name a few. Toys that are keepsakes include Woody, Buzz Lightyear, and Jesse. And don’t get me started on doll babies. My daughter never took to them, or as she calls them, “creepy things that their eyes follow you around the room.” That’s okay; I can keep them. And so comes the question of hoarding memories. Perfectly cute dolls will not get tossed out. Case closed on that one. Someone could play with them. It could happen.
As for the mounds of picture frames. Yeah, I remember every time my baby turned a different month, off to the photographer I’d go. And home with 20 pictures to frame, I came. Oh, did I mention every time someone close in the family gave me picture, I’d buy an 8 x 10 frame and up that would go, too? Ahh…I have so many enormous frames, it’s ridiculous. Of course, after the third child, you kind of stopped going to the photographer. I was lucky if I took out my own camera more than three times a year. My fifth child just goes through the pictures only hoping to see himself in one of them. Poor guy. So I solved the picture hoarding with stripping the frames and putting the pictures in an album. Or at least I will when I get some at the store. Note to self: pick up at least ten albums. Large ones.
Now for the clothing. I know what you’re thinking: clothing? Don’t you remember precious little outfits you’d dress your child in and want to keep it forever? So I was putting my memory pile together and it began getting really large. As in, “Honey, we need another 3 x-large totes at the store when you pick up the ten albums.”
No, I know they’ll never wear these items again. But I can remember when they did. And do I want another child bustling about in these archives? Granted, some are out of style, but some are classic. Like my little boy’s (okay, so he’s 18 years old) jacket from the “Cars” movie. He wore that everywhere. And a little red robe that my other boy wore (all right, so he’s 16). You never caught him without that thing on. It was like he was a little Hugh Hefner in that thing. Always. Had. It. On.
Where do I stop keeping things? I feel ashamed for tying these items of clothing up for no one else to ever wear. But really… I just need to know they’re there…in the stacked totes should I ever want to recall the memories. Should they ever get married, settle down, and ask where that little pink dress with the daisy on the front is. Am I a hoarder? Does anyone else do this? Feel free to chime in. No, really…. 🙂