I had a good weekend. Saturdays off from work and class are going to be an invaluable key to retaining my sanity and unwinding one hectic week after another. They're also my planned time to hang out with The Boyfriend, who surprised me with a trip to the Columbus Conservatory and a dinner out and (get this) all while voluntarily wearing a button-up shirt. When he came to pick me up I saw he was wearing it and heard little bells go off in my head. Since he was going through Henry withdrawal (my mother's cat, and the real reason why Dave deigns to date me) we stopped at my mother's house and ended up staying to watch the OSU football game with my mom and stepdad. After such new busyness I haven't had much time with him it seems, so a day spent talking and having fun together was a welcome treat.
Tonight I went back to my dad's house to continue trying to empty out my old bedroom. My little brother has been circling lower and lower like the property vulture he is, DYING to have his own room, while my surly sister wants nothing more than to boot him out of the room she'll be holding onto so she can officially purge it and make it her own. And tonight the things I ended up boxing for storage or boxing for keeping were my yarn and my old stuffed animals. It doesn't sound like much was accomplished but trust me, if you knew my storage habits (KEEP EVERYTHING) you would understand the size of the hurdle.
I filled a big box to the brim with creatures I couldn't part with, furry beings with so much memory stored up in their glassy eyes. The variety I held onto is wide, spanning from My First Christmas bear to a maroon monkey I won at Cedar Point this past June with my friends. There were two I couldn't bear to box up. I felt so sheepish looking at them but I didn't have the heart to shove them in and tape the lid shut; their glassy eyes see too deep.
A 12 inch bear with a lacy cape and a flower tiara sewn to her head was one of the ones I couldn't bear to part with. I was 10 when my family moved from 13th Ave on OSU campus to our house on Norwood. For a few months my brother, the youngest, had his own room, but I made it clear to my parents that I thought I was old enough for my own room. Then, one weekend, I spent the night at a friend's house and when I came upstairs everything was different. My family decided to surprise me by moving my stuff into that room while I was away. When I came in there were these beautiful ivy-pattern curtains that matched my neatly laid bedspread, and resting on the pillow was a new bear the perfect size for hugging. That bear was my favorite comfort object during the divorce simply by how I received her and the fact that she had been a gift from both of my parents. I put Eve aside in the pile of things I intend to take to the new house with me.
The second was a tiny bunny with a body the size of my fist and long ears with yellow silk lining. I've been a daddy's girl my whole life, being the oldest daughter, and this object ties back with one of my earliest memories. Before my siblings were born, so I was probably about four, my mother and I were downtown having lunch with my dad around Easter time. I had passed a stand in the mall brimming with Easter brick-a-brack and had become enchanted with these teeny tiny bunnies with pastel colored pinafores and ears and when mom and I met dad I told him all about the stuffed bunnies I had seen and liked so much. I went to the bathroom near the end of the meal and when I came back I sat down and felt these lump. I reached behind me to find the yellow colored bunny in my chair, a gift from my dad. Original as I was, I named her Tiny. It's the first thing I remember being specifically from my father; that and he told me I got it because I was daddy's little girl. Every since then that's exactly what its symbolized, along with being another lump in my covers to comfort me like Eve when I would cry and want to think of better times.
Absentmindedly I began stroking Tiny's ears like I always have, the silk layer sliding across the other layer of nappy fur. It was weird to box up my favorite childhood things; for some reason that seemed to emphasis strongly how much growing up is done in this particular step of life. I've boxed up the majority of my toys but there are just some creatures, just some threads of childhood, that are far too dear to leave behind in the growing up.
Tonight I went back to my dad's house to continue trying to empty out my old bedroom. My little brother has been circling lower and lower like the property vulture he is, DYING to have his own room, while my surly sister wants nothing more than to boot him out of the room she'll be holding onto so she can officially purge it and make it her own. And tonight the things I ended up boxing for storage or boxing for keeping were my yarn and my old stuffed animals. It doesn't sound like much was accomplished but trust me, if you knew my storage habits (KEEP EVERYTHING) you would understand the size of the hurdle.
I filled a big box to the brim with creatures I couldn't part with, furry beings with so much memory stored up in their glassy eyes. The variety I held onto is wide, spanning from My First Christmas bear to a maroon monkey I won at Cedar Point this past June with my friends. There were two I couldn't bear to box up. I felt so sheepish looking at them but I didn't have the heart to shove them in and tape the lid shut; their glassy eyes see too deep.
A 12 inch bear with a lacy cape and a flower tiara sewn to her head was one of the ones I couldn't bear to part with. I was 10 when my family moved from 13th Ave on OSU campus to our house on Norwood. For a few months my brother, the youngest, had his own room, but I made it clear to my parents that I thought I was old enough for my own room. Then, one weekend, I spent the night at a friend's house and when I came upstairs everything was different. My family decided to surprise me by moving my stuff into that room while I was away. When I came in there were these beautiful ivy-pattern curtains that matched my neatly laid bedspread, and resting on the pillow was a new bear the perfect size for hugging. That bear was my favorite comfort object during the divorce simply by how I received her and the fact that she had been a gift from both of my parents. I put Eve aside in the pile of things I intend to take to the new house with me.
The second was a tiny bunny with a body the size of my fist and long ears with yellow silk lining. I've been a daddy's girl my whole life, being the oldest daughter, and this object ties back with one of my earliest memories. Before my siblings were born, so I was probably about four, my mother and I were downtown having lunch with my dad around Easter time. I had passed a stand in the mall brimming with Easter brick-a-brack and had become enchanted with these teeny tiny bunnies with pastel colored pinafores and ears and when mom and I met dad I told him all about the stuffed bunnies I had seen and liked so much. I went to the bathroom near the end of the meal and when I came back I sat down and felt these lump. I reached behind me to find the yellow colored bunny in my chair, a gift from my dad. Original as I was, I named her Tiny. It's the first thing I remember being specifically from my father; that and he told me I got it because I was daddy's little girl. Every since then that's exactly what its symbolized, along with being another lump in my covers to comfort me like Eve when I would cry and want to think of better times.
Absentmindedly I began stroking Tiny's ears like I always have, the silk layer sliding across the other layer of nappy fur. It was weird to box up my favorite childhood things; for some reason that seemed to emphasis strongly how much growing up is done in this particular step of life. I've boxed up the majority of my toys but there are just some creatures, just some threads of childhood, that are far too dear to leave behind in the growing up.
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