I get the creepy-crawlies after Christmas. I don't know if my OCD kicks in high gear or what, but I find the urge to purge and buy thousands of dollars worth of organizing gear. Manufacturers don't produce enough linen baskets to satisfy this deep-seated desire.
And it isn't something new to mothering and finding myself drowning in a sea of toys. For as long as I can remember, I've never been able to keep my stuff under the tree for longer than a day or two, at the most. I'm a little astounded that it is 4 days post-holiday, and I am just now finding homes for my items (and hoping to find new homes for many other items).
I am not at the point where I can get rid of N's things. I'm hoping I will be able to part with some of it before she is able to vote, but I just don't know. As she is nearing 3, I am feeling weird. She is not a baby. D has been working to transfer our home videos from tape to CD format, so we've been watching what we all call "The N Show," since it is all her from start to finish (all 6 volumes of it, and we're only at 18 months).
I love watching her. It fills me with an endless sense of joy and a pit of despair because I cannot relive those times. In the Ender's Game series, one of the characters in the later books has these weird metal eyes and he is able to videotape experiences and play them back for himself (and for others in certain situations). Seeing her on video is good, but I want to feel what I felt at that moment, although I guess in truth the joy I feel now at seeing her on video is due to that "time has passed, my memory is foggy, isn't life sweet" sensation.
Isn't that funny about life? When I was in college, I traveled through England, Ireland and Wales for 10 weeks. I was drunk for most of it, thankfully, because our professor was a complete ass, and we had the privilege of not just traveling with him but living with him in thatched cottages and the like. When I wasn't drunk on Guinness, I was doped up on Dramamine because we took the scenic backroads over there. No highway driving for us. Anyway, upon returning home, I had the most miserable memories of this trip. For years, I thought about that experience with disdain. Now, some 14 years later, I remember only the fun things about that trip. I look back at pictures and get warm fuzzies, although that punk professor gave me a C (I don't think excessive drinking and occasional pot-smoking were listed in the syllabus).
I fear N growing up for all sorts of reasons but mostly because I want to savor now. I wish I had savored her first year and second year more (although damned postpartum anxiety and depression made that a little difficult). No matter how difficult it is for me sometimes to stay at home, the mantra "I can't get this time back" never leaves my head.
I have no idea what this thought has to do with linen baskets and reorganizing my living room, but hey, this is the way my old brain works (or doesn't work as the case often is).
1 comment:
Stop worrying about it(as if it were that easy!). You are going to spend her 3rd year worrying about not remembering her 2nd year, and then her 4th year worrying about not cherishing her 3rd year, etc etc etc. That's what video cameras are for, right? When you are old and gray and N wrecks your car, you can pull out the videos and say, "Remember when she didn't annoy the C**p out of us?". Oh wait, maybe that's just what I'm planning on doing.
;) I had fun seeing you this past week! Thanks again for letting us trash your basement.
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