|
|
|
My babies are back to school in a few days and I’m sad. While I don‘t spend my entire day directly interacting with them, I do enjoy listening to them play as I putter around the house. They’re funny little peeps and I’ll miss their noise when they’re gone for seven-and-some hours a day, five days a week.
The only good thing--and I think I’m being honest when I say that--about the kids starting school in a few days is that I will once again be able to throw away their stuff in secret. Which seems mean, I’m sure, but boy howdy do my kids cling to items they don‘t really care about and have forgotten even exist.
Hubby and I enjoy/are horrified by that show “Hoarders.” In the interest of not turning our kids into Hoarders--people who keep things, even when they are worthless, hazardous or unsanitary (let‘s focus on the “worthless“ word here) (also, I stole that definition from the TLC website)--I attempted to let my kids thin out their own closets a month ago, which I promptly wrote about here. Little Missy COULD NOT DO IT. No matter if she never once wore a particular shirt and had no interest in doing so, she could not put it in storage for her baby sister to someday wear. The tragedy of letting it go was too intense.
With that mission a big fail, there is no way I’m going through their papers with them. Each drawing they’ve lovingly put their hearts into for a good thirty seconds before moving on to the next one, never to remember again, they cling to as if it’s a masterpiece when stumbling upon it in the trash. Pictures they will not think of unless they find it headed out the door to the dump.
I know that I could go through their stuff after they’re tucked snuggly in their beds but my cleaning switch turns off promptly at 8 o’clock. That’s my time to go to the gym or sit on my behind and watch more TV with Hubby. It’s much easier to put all those pieces of “art” in a pile that constantly slides onto the floor so that I can gripe when I stack it back up again.
Next week, as they’re safely in their classrooms a mile away, I’ll sit on the floor and go through each scribbled-on paper that is mingled with pieces of real creativity that I will keep, and when I’m finished there I’ll go up to their bedroom and box up the toys they haven’t played with in six months.
And I guarantee they’ll never know it happened.
My babies are back to school in a few days and I’m sad. While I don‘t spend my entire day directly interacting with them, I do enjoy listening to them play as I putter around the house. They’re funny little peeps and I’ll miss their noise when they’re gone for seven-and-some hours a day, five days a week.
The only good thing--and I think I’m being honest when I say that--about the kids starting school in a few days is that I will once again be able to throw away their stuff in secret. Which seems mean, I’m sure, but boy howdy do my kids cling to items they don‘t really care about and have forgotten even exist.
Hubby and I enjoy/are horrified by that show “Hoarders.” In the interest of not turning our kids into Hoarders--people who keep things, even when they are worthless, hazardous or unsanitary (let‘s focus on the “worthless“ word here) (also, I stole that definition from the TLC website)--I attempted to let my kids thin out their own closets a month ago, which I promptly wrote about here. Little Missy COULD NOT DO IT. No matter if she never once wore a particular shirt and had no interest in doing so, she could not put it in storage for her baby sister to someday wear. The tragedy of letting it go was too intense.
With that mission a big fail, there is no way I’m going through their papers with them. Each drawing they’ve lovingly put their hearts into for a good thirty seconds before moving on to the next one, never to remember again, they cling to as if it’s a masterpiece when stumbling upon it in the trash. Pictures they will not think of unless they find it headed out the door to the dump.
I know that I could go through their stuff after they’re tucked snuggly in their beds but my cleaning switch turns off promptly at 8 o’clock. That’s my time to go to the gym or sit on my behind and watch more TV with Hubby. It’s much easier to put all those pieces of “art” in a pile that constantly slides onto the floor so that I can gripe when I stack it back up again.
Next week, as they’re safely in their classrooms a mile away, I’ll sit on the floor and go through each scribbled-on paper that is mingled with pieces of real creativity that I will keep, and when I’m finished there I’ll go up to their bedroom and box up the toys they haven’t played with in six months.
And I guarantee they’ll never know it happened.
