I did an amazing thing this weekend. I cleaned out my laundry room.
I know. Thank you for the standing ovation. I'm very proud. Please be seated.
In case you're wondering, this is the room where I hide the bodies, as previously mentioned. Randy went in search of socks one morning and backed away from the door as though he'd just seen a giant, three-headed dog drinking from a jug of Tide, which is not out of the realm of possibility. I sometimes throw MJ's Dora helmet on my head before going in to take clothes out of the dryer, because one never knows what book or magazine or curtain rod might fall and crack me on the skull. What an embarrassing headline that would be.
So, in a flash of inspired housework, I sieved through the muck. And now I need some help. What, pray tell, do I do with all of these:
"These" by the way, are the multitude of drawings MJ has amassed in her three short years of life (she sometimes prefers a conventional canvas, despite previous escapades). I. cannot. throw. them. out. This is a chronic problem I have. Even before I had kids of my own, my niece and nephew gave me elaborate drawings of houses and malproportioned stick people that, to this day, sit on a bedroom dresser. How could I possibly toss something created and given with such love and care? They're like greeting cards, only worse. It feels so wrong not to keep them.
I tried to look through each of these and decide which ones were best, which scribbles show the most depth of feeling. Purple crayon on green? Red marker on blue with Elmo stickers? And guess what? They're all freakin' awesome. My kid. Drawing! The precursors to writing the Great American Novel and buying her parents that house on a lake they've always wanted. I can't get rid them; I'm certain "60 Minutes" will want them one day. Or even better, Stephen Colbert! I hope she remembers to get us tickets to that show.
Learn all about Costanzatizing at my Triangle Mom2Mom Tuesday post.
I know. Thank you for the standing ovation. I'm very proud. Please be seated.
In case you're wondering, this is the room where I hide the bodies, as previously mentioned. Randy went in search of socks one morning and backed away from the door as though he'd just seen a giant, three-headed dog drinking from a jug of Tide, which is not out of the realm of possibility. I sometimes throw MJ's Dora helmet on my head before going in to take clothes out of the dryer, because one never knows what book or magazine or curtain rod might fall and crack me on the skull. What an embarrassing headline that would be.
So, in a flash of inspired housework, I sieved through the muck. And now I need some help. What, pray tell, do I do with all of these:
"These" by the way, are the multitude of drawings MJ has amassed in her three short years of life (she sometimes prefers a conventional canvas, despite previous escapades). I. cannot. throw. them. out. This is a chronic problem I have. Even before I had kids of my own, my niece and nephew gave me elaborate drawings of houses and malproportioned stick people that, to this day, sit on a bedroom dresser. How could I possibly toss something created and given with such love and care? They're like greeting cards, only worse. It feels so wrong not to keep them.
I tried to look through each of these and decide which ones were best, which scribbles show the most depth of feeling. Purple crayon on green? Red marker on blue with Elmo stickers? And guess what? They're all freakin' awesome. My kid. Drawing! The precursors to writing the Great American Novel and buying her parents that house on a lake they've always wanted. I can't get rid them; I'm certain "60 Minutes" will want them one day. Or even better, Stephen Colbert! I hope she remembers to get us tickets to that show.
Learn all about Costanzatizing at my Triangle Mom2Mom Tuesday post.
Di
May 1, 2008 6:54 AM
How could I throw away my son's letter to the Governor of Kansas in which he made an astute reference to the Wizard of Oz?