has been exposed. What you are looking at and wondering about is this author's collection of baby and permanent teeth that either fell out, were pulled out by moi, moi's parents or a quite terrifying dentist. There's even two wisdom teeth in that little box that were cut out by the oral surgeon who mercifully knocked me out and left me senseless of the trauma on my 21st birthday.Is it any wonder that I still have dentaphobial issues?
Anyway, lest you think that I collected these dentaline jewels, I did not. My parents presented them to me over Christmas. Of course, I also received a Bella 3-n-1 griddle, grill, and Panini maker, so the teeth were just bonus. Heh.
My parents being of great sentimentality and believing that at any point this AV adapter, that plastic partitioned drawer, or this box of teeth, (okay, not so much) are going to be needed, keep a lot of stuff. This mindset of course means they have historically not been purgers of stuff. They are not hoarders per se, but the name packrat does come to mind.
However, many great kudos to my folks as over the last few years in a supreme effort to simplify their lifestyle and to downsize their housing expenses, have begun a concerted, even herculean, effort to clean out their closets, drawers, garage, and attic of the extraneous, sentimental, and what the heck? stuff. They have been ruthless in their pursuit. They have also been ruthless in the bringing of various boxes of this stuff to me and my sister.
I admit to my own buried streak of sentimentality that causes me to pause over my first grade writings and my Beta Club induction photo, but then I'm paralyzed by the same dilemma that probably caused my mom to keep those things in the first place. Will I need this later? Will my boys want to see my fifth grade spelling test? What if one day I'm supposed to contribute to a time capsule but I have thrown away my Donny Osmond picture?
When the boys were in traditional school bringing home scads upon scads of construction paper turkeys, doily cards, and paper bag puppets--all fashioned in the name of education--I had to come up with a management plan or be buried alive under recycled paper. I bought two underbed storage boxes and throughout the year put everything in them. Absolutely everything. Then at the end of the year I would climb through the piles and keep my very most favorite pieces. One day I think they will enjoy seeing how their art, creative writing and handwriting skills have progressed. (Let us hope for progression.) But all of the rest went into the circular file. Along with the mommy guilt. Because frankly, there are too many things to have mommy guilt over and I refuse to have construction paper creations be one of them.
I want my children to know that I love them from how I care for their needs, from what I teach them about God, and from how I love them in His image. A Picasso styled fingerpainting that I keep for 28 years does not necessarily reflect godly love.
Anywho. I bear no resentment for my parents having kept this box of teeth. And I certainly know that my parents love me regardless of what they have kept or tossed. I continue to find the contents of stuff that they bring fascinating. As for this box of teeth, it has actually been the focus of timely discussion in our home as the Chairman is about to lose his very first tooth, ever; and he is extremely curious about all the ad nauseum details of how, when, where and does it hurt questions.
I guess if I participated in a blog show and tell Friday, this would count. Otherwise, it's just a box of teeth.
P.S. I really must learn to crop these photos for the new year of blogging. Sigh.
Photo #2--I'm well impressed! Really. I think I've only ever posted one!
ReplyDeleteBut the teeth? That's gross, no offense to your parents. I have a friend who is a dental hygeniest and she has saved all her daughter's teeth. Me, I throw them in the trash.
We have a lazy, but efficient system for keeping/storing kids school stuff. In the laundry room we have a plastic storage box for each kid into which we toss almost everything. (Some stuff is clearly garbage). At the end of the year, we put a lid on it, label it 1st grade, 2nd grade, and so on. Then we stack the boxes on the top shelf of the kid's closet. The next school year, we get new boxes. It's really easy to pick up a piece of paper from the sea of dead trees on my kitchen counter and say, "put this in your 1st grade box, please." and have it disappear. Then a few years later, when the "stuff" isn't so important to the kiddo, we spend some time on a rainy afternoon sorting and purging the contents of a box. The important thing is that all that paper has a place other than my kitchen counter. (Because the kitchen counter is reserved for newspaper, mail, and scraps of paper with unidentified phone numbers, after all.)
ReplyDeleteMy mom has been bringing me "my stuff" for years. I don't like it. I want her to keep it all. That box of trophies I was so proud to win? Well, I don't exactly want to display them on MY mantle....I just wanted her to keep them on hers. Where they belonged. I wanted all the things I left in my room when I moved out to just stay there like a museum. I find once stuff gets to my house I don't want it quite so badly as I just wanted her to keep it. Guess it wasn't so special after all. And good for your parents!
ReplyDelete