Going Through My Boxes

Up to my balls in papers, toys and baby clothes in the garage.

We barfed out the entire garage into the driveway, and it looked like an episode of "Hoarders." Except I have an education and I don't have a bad dye job.

I keep thinking of my big brother, "going through his boxes," but because we have Katie here, and she isn't afraid to buy things in bulk, she actually managed to bring 24 clear plastic containers (I would have passed out in Target spending $100 dollars on clear plastic containers, couldn't we just make them ourselves out of mud?) - anyway, I owe her about $100 but we need about 24 more to make the garage a place people could take other people on dates. It is looking amazing and it's nice to have someone else organizing things and have me wander in after feeding children to sit down and sort through stuff already pre-arranged for me with all the stress taken out. Threw out SO many papers and old clothes from my fatty self (been all sizes after having kids), and broken toys and one shoes. Also got to read old love letters and see pictures of when the kids were small and find a new skirt for Lilly.

Bad part is the kids are wandering around without a leader, Lilly is waifishly alone too much, but I figure this week I have to push through, get things neat, get my mom moved over to our house, feel the relief next week and Lilly won't suffer long. It is good to lean on people and have them help. It's impossible to do some stuff alone.

Lilly told me last night that she's never going in there (the garage) again. "Because there's pincher bugs and a splinter." She got one on her foot.

We went to Back to School Night with Nathan the other night and we told him "hey we get to follow your schedule and go to all your classes and see what you do each day," and he looked panicked and said "ALL my classes? That's gonna take like six hours!"

Life is pretty big and scary right now, with my mom being my mom, and me having to understand (or never understand) how to be patient with that relationship. And Barry going to Ghana with a guy who isn't exactly the nurturing type, and parts of our house about to turn into a battlefield with walls torn out and room being made for old Poppa who can't hear a thing.

I thought today in the middle of the boxes that maybe boxes are silly, who is ever going to care and read these things, or look at these pictures or care if I still have my grandmother's old shoes. But life is messy that way - some of it is voices talking to you, people you love and know, some of it is their handwriting, some of it is a tall black dog, some of it is artwork made by kindergartners. Knee deep and wading around in the past in the garage, to try and make sensible room for the future which is hurtling at us. Nathan's already grown two inches from getting braces. He might as well apply for college, our lanky boy. Emma's as tall as a 14 year old.

Sprints by, folks.