I actually have a few days off and I am celebrating by cleaning out boxes o' shite that have accumulated from 27 moves in 19 years, 11 of them in the past six years alone. I have boxes full of power cords for cell phones long since lost or broken, plastic sacks full of unwashed and unmatched sox, and several cute Ikea fabric boxes full of uniforms from expensive private high schools my daughter no longer attends. (She's in college where, judging from the photos she sends, she wears nothing but miniskirts.) The washing machine is straining under a load of knee-highs which have followed me from move to move, growing skankier by the month, and the big carpet from the living room spent 24 hours in the shower being gently massaged free of a year's worth of dog hair trapped in its stinky polyester blend fibers. In short, I'm spring cleaning, and while my house currently looks like hell it will be lovely and clean and ORGANIZED when I am done.
Several boxes yielded real treasures, such as the tea set my daughter bought me, and some little heart-shaped porcelain candy dishes which I like to have out on Valentine's Day. In fact, as I look around the apartment, my favorite and most expensive things were all gifts from my daughter. In addition to the two things I mentioned there is my beautiful floor lamp, Chinese style, with two different shades: a mah jong set: a red satin pillow with a hand-painted cover, and finally an oversize cup and saucer which has like-minded guests begging for me to fill with hot cocoa (it would be too big to lift if filled--I can barely manage to lift it when empty, that's how big it is.) There are other things too, but these are ones I love and look at daily. I also have other small things, such as my grandmother's gingerbread boy cookie cutter, which is out on display all year. Art? Some paintings and art work, again done by Lulu, such as the Auntie Mame painting I requested, and the abstract art done from magazine clippings. I look around and see the result of her handicraft and her thoughtful attention and her love and I'm again bowled over by how lucky I was to have such a wonderful daughter. I sleep every night on the pillow case she embroidered for me with a free hand design: it says Mom, and it took her a month of working on it in secret. Granted, I often wondered what she was doing in her room with the door firmly shut, or why she snarled at me when I threatened to clean her room, but it's my complete surprise when I opened her gift that I recall. She, of course, may have a different version of that story to tell: what I remember is the love, and her drive, and her need to make me something special that showed she loved me, even though we were snippy with each other a lot at that time.
Do I resent having to cart around boxes of her stuff while she's on the other side of the planet? No, although I can't see a reason to hold on to old uniforms, but guess what, that's her decision to make. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without her, and as I open up yet another box, and plunge inside, I can't quite get that old Kenny Rogers song out of my head, "You Decorated My Life." I'm not crying--I am somehow accustomed to her being gone--and while I'd like more emails and phone calls I'm ok with the amount I receive. It's all good: she has been launched successfully into adulthood and whether she makes it or not is now up to her. She has baggage too, emotional stuff from the times I failed as a parent and a human being. Hopefully she learns to sort through it and throw away the bad and keep the good, as I'm doing with box after box after box of Important Papers I've forgotten I had, old school uniforms, and half-used tubes of Hello Kitty lip gloss.
Several boxes yielded real treasures, such as the tea set my daughter bought me, and some little heart-shaped porcelain candy dishes which I like to have out on Valentine's Day. In fact, as I look around the apartment, my favorite and most expensive things were all gifts from my daughter. In addition to the two things I mentioned there is my beautiful floor lamp, Chinese style, with two different shades: a mah jong set: a red satin pillow with a hand-painted cover, and finally an oversize cup and saucer which has like-minded guests begging for me to fill with hot cocoa (it would be too big to lift if filled--I can barely manage to lift it when empty, that's how big it is.) There are other things too, but these are ones I love and look at daily. I also have other small things, such as my grandmother's gingerbread boy cookie cutter, which is out on display all year. Art? Some paintings and art work, again done by Lulu, such as the Auntie Mame painting I requested, and the abstract art done from magazine clippings. I look around and see the result of her handicraft and her thoughtful attention and her love and I'm again bowled over by how lucky I was to have such a wonderful daughter. I sleep every night on the pillow case she embroidered for me with a free hand design: it says Mom, and it took her a month of working on it in secret. Granted, I often wondered what she was doing in her room with the door firmly shut, or why she snarled at me when I threatened to clean her room, but it's my complete surprise when I opened her gift that I recall. She, of course, may have a different version of that story to tell: what I remember is the love, and her drive, and her need to make me something special that showed she loved me, even though we were snippy with each other a lot at that time.
Do I resent having to cart around boxes of her stuff while she's on the other side of the planet? No, although I can't see a reason to hold on to old uniforms, but guess what, that's her decision to make. I can't imagine what my life would have been like without her, and as I open up yet another box, and plunge inside, I can't quite get that old Kenny Rogers song out of my head, "You Decorated My Life." I'm not crying--I am somehow accustomed to her being gone--and while I'd like more emails and phone calls I'm ok with the amount I receive. It's all good: she has been launched successfully into adulthood and whether she makes it or not is now up to her. She has baggage too, emotional stuff from the times I failed as a parent and a human being. Hopefully she learns to sort through it and throw away the bad and keep the good, as I'm doing with box after box after box of Important Papers I've forgotten I had, old school uniforms, and half-used tubes of Hello Kitty lip gloss.
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