I have once again been reminded that packing and moving and upsetting a home environment can add some stress to life. Everyone seems so eager to help at this point so that’s not the problem. It’s just that all of us lean on the side of sentimentalism.
We all love to hang on to special blankets and first drawings and some even like to keep their baby teeth… It’s all rather much when you start to weed out and sort through and decide whether it goes to the trash, garage sale or keep piles. I was thinking about the security of stuff and how some of us like to be surrounded with memories of the past…in fact some people like stuff so much that they make it on this show called hoarders… Which I can’t watch because I get too overwhelmed and then my head starts hurting and I have to lie down with a damp rag. I would rather burn the house down than try to sort through all of that. ICK!
I want to keep memories alive. Making sure that my kids remember at least parts of the first 20 years of their lives. And there is something so precious about holding that first outfit again and trying to imagine that tall lanky boy back in that little baseball cap or that little girl in her 0-3 month ruffly dress.
I’m odd that way.
Why is it that our memories often block out the night feedings and painful births?
My mind tends to remember the good memories which makes me think it was a better time.
But in my heart I know that there were some rough times…oh yes I know it!
I wrote them down. So I wouldn’t forget. It’s my attempt to be more understanding when others face that thing. Oh who am I kidding… It’s so I have ammo when those crazy kids get out of line 🙂
This is why I have so much to pack.
Because I’m raising kids just like me. All but one. He would just rather pitch it than pack it.
So my countdown is now at about 25 days till closing. I think it’s a good thing that I move every so often or my junk would just keep piling up. Closets that contained so many important games and art projects are being excommunicated from the family treasures.
It feels good.
I Keep taking it one day at a time.
One room. One closet. One drawer.
But I keep hearing my walls say… “How can you leave? You breathed new life in us”.
Is that creepy that my walls talk to me?
It’s all been quite a ride.
And for some reason I have this crazy feeling I just jumped onto a new one.