When Less Was More

Anyone who knows me these days knows that I have too much stuff.  Too many books, too many clothes, too many gadgets in my kitchen, and the list goes on and on.  Yesterday I was at my parents' old house going through some of my stuff that I haven't seen in at least twenty years.  Some of my stuff that I'd all but forgotten about, but oh, how special it was!  Much more special than many of the things I find myself picking up at Target or Kohl's when I'm shopping.

What particularly caught my eye were my pins.  They were just pins that a girl might stick on the lapel of her Sunday coat, but as I was looking at them, I remembered each of them so clearly.  There's the snowman with the pink hat that had lip gloss inside of it, and there's the little bird in a cage that wiggled a little when you shook it.  There's the pilgrim man and woman that I'd usually wear at Thanksgiving.  And of course a jack-o-lantern for Halloween and a Santa Claus for Christmas.  These pins are made of plastic, but I kept them in my little musical jewelry box with the twirling wind up ballerina inside of it.  I looked at them so, so many times and looked forward to wearing them as the holidays and seasons came around or as the mood presented itself.  There were a few pins from when I was a little older, too.  These were painted metal.  Miss Piggy wearing black fishnet tights and dancing like she was in a Broadway musical revue.  A little ordinary pig, too. I'm not sure what was up with the pigs.   It never would stay latched so I had to be careful to make sure that it didn't fall off my clothing.  I remembered this defect without even examining it.  These pins were among my treasures.

I was suddenly filled with tenderness for the girl that I was.  I treasured the things I had and was not always seeking more.  I always had lots of toys and things growing up, but at some point I accumulated so much "stuff" that it has sometimes become difficult to remember what is really important.    I want to be this girl again.  I want to buy less and purge more.  I want the opportunity to treasure the things that actually mean something to me. 

Not a Spring Chicken Anymore

My parents, ages 67 and 71, were recently paid a visit from a representative of the university where they both graduated.  I also graduated from this same university.  I felt suspicious of this visit.  "Ah," I thought knowingly, "this is the kind of thing I've heard others talk about.  This person is going to try to talk my parents into leaving our former college a sizable sum in their wills."  I felt bewildered in the way I have often been feeling lately and a little protective, too.  How did my mother and father get to be 67 and 71?  Where is the time going?  I must warn them about these money snatchers.

The visit my parents received from their former college's representative was thoroughly pleasant and anything but sinister.  In fact, my parents were graciously thanked for giving to the university for twenty years and presented with a commemorative coin. 

A few days ago, however, I received an e-mail from my former college's "Legacy" department.  Its purpose was to let me know that this year marks an "excellent time" to plan "to provide for the most important people" in my life.  The Legacy department hopes that I will keep my alma mater "at heart and consider a gift that will strengthen" its "long-term future." Sigh. While I've been lamenting the fact that my parents are getting older, I completely forgot to remember that I'm getting older, too. It is time I start realizing that I'm not a spring chicken myself anymore. 

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Super Dada and Wonder Mommy

Kevin and I have lately acquired powers that we did not know we possessed.  Sam woke up the other morning with a painful stuffy nose and told me to "get my nose better, Mama."  Suddenly I seem to possess special healing and/or comforting powers as the case requires.  Kevin, who has always been handy around the house when it comes to assembling toys or furniture, super-gluing broken objects, and making minor repairs, is finally getting the credit he deserves. "Da-da will fix it," a little voice will confidently proclaim whenever a cheaply made car comes apart or a clumsily handled sticker tears. This is the phase that I suppose I will be wistful for when teenage Sam someday finds me to be backward and uncool.  These phases are fleeting and fascinating.  I'm trying not to be sad about their passing especially since an equally interesting phase takes its place or is on its way.  For today I will just enjoy being Wonder Mommy.

Who is Banana Car?

As my friend Jenni says, we will never know.  Sam, age two and a half, has learned "Knock, knock" in part.  It is kind of mysterious seeming because I don't know where he picked it up and because of the following:

Sam:  Knock, knock

Mommy:  Who's there?

Sam:  Banana Car

Mommy:  Banana Car, who?

Sam: (Here he says nothing or he proceeds to "Knock, knock" again, but who is there is never someone as interesting sounding as Banana Car).

So who is Banana Car?  Is he made of an actual banana?  Is he peeled or unpeeled?  Green or ripe?  I guess we will never know.

A Beginning

I am calling this blog "Mommy Musings," having always been a big fan of alliteration, but I'm not sure what the primary focus of this blog will be, although I imagine much of it will be sharing some of the highlights and low lights of my life as a stay at home mom.  Beginning can be difficult, can't it?  I have always had the desire to be a writer in some form or another.  I recently turned forty-one, and I realize the time for beginning is now.  I remember eleven years ago when I had freaked out about turning thirty ("What!?!  No husband?!?  No children?! that sort of thing), I went to see the pastor at Woodmont Baptist Church for advice.  It seems strange to use the word "advice" on something like turning thirty.  As if it is something you have some control over or a decision that you make.  Anyway, Dr. Roebuck shared with me that he had just turned forty and that he had always wanted to write a book.  He said that he figured if this is something that he wanted to do, he had better start.  So I am starting, not a book but a blog.  I hope that I will think of a few things worth writing and that you will find them worth reading.