A-tisket, a-tasket

I was looking at a basket of items today which some people would probably wonder why I don't discard them as junk and yet I hold on to them as I do many other items safely tucked away. I think we all do that to some degree; hold on to treasured memories via some inanimate and otherwise useless object whether it be a dried flower, a ragged old book, a slip of paper with nothing but a drawing upon it, etc. These items mean absolutely nothing to anyone but the one who possesses it. As the saying goes, "One man's trash is another man's treasure. " It's why our space is our space. What's in it is often meaningless to anyone but us and heaven forbid anyone disturb it or throw something away!

When my daughter was small, I found an old metal trunk which I and my sister painted and lined with floral paper just for her items. Into it went her baby items and everything I treasured through the years. Finally, when she was in the fourth grade and realizing I'd kept every single piece of paper she'd ever brought home from school, I opened the trunk to minimize the clutter and began a reminiscing odyssey. What should have taken no more than at least an hour took several days with me going back and forth between other responsibilities. Organizing and tidying each item brought with it its own memory and I'd linger over them one by one. Through further years, she'd often place her own items in the trunk as well and many others I salvaged from the trash where she'd thrown them, believing that the memory would one day be a fond one even if it wasn't at the present time. I've no idea what all eventually went into that trunk. Needless to say, I had to do the same with her clothing for I could never part with a single item through those first years. Everything about the childrens' lives is so precious that you hate to lose even the smallest part of it.

For my son, I found an old wooden two-drawer chest though I've no idea what it once may have been a part of. Into it went his items though by this time I'd learned that keeping every single thing was unnecessary. I think most parents would agree that parenting becomes much easier with each successive child...barring their different personality quirks. It's why the youngest is most often the more spoiled of the brood because we parents find the experience less frightening and intense by that time. We've learned to relax and not see everything as one big deal.
As for myself, I've containers of all shapes and sizes which hold the things I hold more dear than any material possessions otherwise. Some items are nature's perfection found by curious eyes and hands, some are of child-made perfection, some store-bought gifts only a mother could appreciate and yet all given with the spirit of pure love. These are the things I consider priceless.

So tonight I'm sitting here thinking of a little red-headed toddler who seldom left my side and, if he did, never went beyond the comfort zone of where he could still hear my voice or my movements as I went about household chores. I think of the number of people who insisted on turning his pacifier upside-down just to watch him flip it over with his tongue and the last day he ever took an afternoon nap following Santa's thievery of that same pacifier. I think of the little fellow who brought me countless treasures which he found fascinating trusting that I would too. I see still the joy on his face as he brought flowers from behind his back and the love which never failed to grip my heart regardless of how many wilted stems were counted through the years...even when I'd taken pains to grow those blooms. I think of how simple it was to comfort him with kisses and hugs whether it was a scrape from a fall or an ugly word from a friend which hurt him. Even now he'll walk into the house, offer me an appendage and command that I kiss the offending wound...and I still will while laughing at his audacity. Onto kindergarten my thoughts travel where, unaccustomed to being with other children and no longer napping, he refused to be still and quiet especially during naptime despite the teacher's direction. I'll always remember the hopeful look on his face when I arrived at shcool one day and the disappointed look I left him with once I'd talked with his teacher. His rescuer betrayed him to another authority and spent the rest of the day crying her eyes out literally. I'm not sure which of us the transition from mama's boy to schoolboy was more difficult for but for his first show and tell he requested that his grandfather bring his bulldozer and afterwards they could just push the school down.

Oh well, memory lane is paved with many joys and triumphs as well as trials and errors but it's a lane I walk often and lovingly. There are many different kinds of parents in the world and we all do things our own way and somehow our children survive and thrive with us or despite us. Never do we know if our decisions will be the right ones, if our efforts will encourage them, or our values be adopted by them but we can only do our best and hope.