Stuff

My first garage sale is this weekend. The amount of stuff we have accumulated in this house astounds me. And I'm not even a shopper. These are things we deemed "necessary" or something close to necessary to function in life. Insane.

So as I've been sifting through what amounts to almost another entire house in our basement, I've come across all kinds of items. They really are just things, and I rarely miss material items once I get rid of them. I have discovered a bit of a purpose to all this "stuff," though: It jogs the memories.

Without the junk, I wouldn't have thought of all the things I've thought of in the past week, like events of my life flashing before me. I still have -- for the moment, anyway -- some of my old cassette tapes, many from the 80s. It amazed me how just seeing the name of one singer or song could bring to mind old friends and complete scenes and events. Strangely, the same thing occurred with my old purses. I recalled carrying that purse to such-and-such event when such-and-so happened.

I'm selling all the little-baby toys, gadgets (speaking of stuff that wasn't really "necessary" -- all the baby crap astounds me) and baby clothes, since we don't plan on more kids. All except The Orange Crocs and a few other little items, which I'm keeping for posterity. Having been at home with my girls more than I have worked full time since they were born, I feel like I remember vividly all the tidbits from their babyhoods. Of course, that's through a sleep-deprived filter and covering almost four years.

So last night, I was folding baby sleepers and nighties, and I was transported by a total recall of memories from Jellybean's infancy. L usually had post-bath duty in those days because it gave him a special time with her since I was nursing. I remembered how he would always talk to Jellybean in the sweetest way. He told her every night what animal or design was on her pajamas, and he talked to her about how pretty she was and how much he loved her. I was bursting with warm and fuzzy after remembering all this detail last night, and I couldn't wait to tell L about it. His response? "I don't remember that at all." He really didn't, he had erased it all from his mind. I was galled. How dare he forget anything about our babies?

That is why moms are supposed to be the keepers of all childhood stories. Dads are supposed to choose three stories from their kid's childhood -- preferably involving bodily fluids and/or embarrassing moments -- and repeat those same stories for the rest of their life to whomever will listen. I forgive L for his forgetfulness. And I'll allow him to choose his own three stories.

Equal rights gone wrong

Just when I think I'm doing all right raising my kids, I have found an enormous failing on my part. I am so appalled at some of the things that Jellybean has said lately, I can hardly stand it. Okay, I'm exaggerating a little bit -- but only a little bit.

If you know me, you know that I'm not exactly a doormat, especially when it comes to equality for women. If you don't know me, well, just take my word for it.

Example #1: After seeing a fire truck close up, complete with firefighters and boots and helmets, Jellybean asks me, "Can girls be firefighters too?" Heart ---> floor.

Example #2: The girls were playing with balloons, and the ribbons got all tangled up. I picked up the balloons and tackled the project of untangling the strings. Jellybean says, "Dad is gonna have to do that when he gets home." Excuse me?!

These, from the same girl who already announced her run for president.

L and I run a very equal household. For every task/chore one of us doesn't do, there is something the other one does do. He fixes faucets, I do all the returns to stores. He grills, I bake. Everything else we divide in half: We both cook (arguably, L is better at that than I), we both do laundry, we both clean.

There is hardly anything beyond my capability when I'm with the girls during the day, and Jellybean in particular understands that. (Of course, she doesn't know how many times I've secretly steered her away from a bug so I could have L secretly kill it. I refuse to kill bugs, but I think that falls under the phobia category instead of the gender category.)

I've decided to take these questions and comments in stride. Jellybean is almost 4, and she's trying to figure out her role in the world. Girls can do anything, and I tell her that all the time. Girls should be strong and smart, and both L and I make a point of saying that and pointing out examples of strong girls and smart girls. I'm also trying to DO instead of just SAY (well, except for the bug thing. A phobia, I tell you.).

Hopefully this phase will be short, though, because I swear a little part of me dies every time she wonders aloud what girls are capable of.

What's in a birthday?

Peanut is now officially a 2-year-old. I can't believe it. It seems like just yesterday I could hold a tiny Peanut in one arm while warding off a 2-year-old Jellybean. Ahh, memories.

Peanut's party isn't until this weekend, but of course we made the official birthday day a special day too. She's a very opinionated sort (don't know where she would get that!), so we gave her choices of things she could do on her birthday. She chose the zoo.

We spent several hours at the zoo, indulging her every whim with the animals she wanted to see. She literally talked to every single animal. "Hi, penguins!" she shouted, "Hi elephants!" Oblivious to everyone around her, using her special Dr. Doolittle powers to communicate. Every choice was hers to make all day long, she went first at everything, and of course at the end of the day there were presents to open. It was quite the special day for a 2-year-old.

L put her to bed that night (her choice again), and as he was reviewing her day with her like we always do, he asked her what her favorite thing was from her day.

Her answer: "Chocolate cupcake!"

So apparently, we could've sat around the house all day doing nothing but watching the grass grow, and as long as she had a chocolate cupcake at some point, she would've been happy. I love having kids that are so easy to please! May it always be this simple.

A little pair of shoes

Through almost 4 years of having children, there are very few THINGS of theirs that I have loved or cherished enough to want to keep for posterity. Blankets, little outfits and baby toys have all been adorable and fun, but I’m happy to pass them along to other new babies. The orange Crocs, however, have become somewhat of an icon for Peanut.

And not just for me – family members and friends have been talking about The Orange Crocs since Peanut donned them last summer. In fact, one of my neighbors just mentioned them the other day, as in, “I still think shoes don’t get any cuter than Peanut’s orange Crocs.”

The acquisition of The Orange Crocs is not the reason they have become iconic. I sent L on a spur-of-the-moment errand on a warm day in May to try to find some “Croc-offs” for Peanut. I wanted Croc-offs because I didn’t want to pay the full price for the real Crocs, when Peanut was still in that phase of outgrowing clothes every week. L came home with orange real Crocs, saying he couldn’t find any Croc-offs in her size (a plausible story). They were orange because that was the only pair there was.

When I saw The Orange Crocs for the first time, I reverted to pre-motherhood and actually did the high-pitched “awww, how cute!” That is how sweet they were. Little did I know at the time, The Orange Crocs would have that effect on every single person who saw them from then on.
Peanut also was uncharacteristically drawn to them. She had just turned 1, but that girl knew some influential shoes when she saw them. She insisted on wearing The Orange Crocs all the time, and she cried when we took them off.

The Orange Crocs went lots of places last summer: the backyard, countless parks, Lake Huron, Lake Michigan, the pool. Peanut put a lot of miles on them. And everywhere she went, people talked to her about her shoes. She could barely say “shoes,” but she was lovin’ the attention hers brought. From old men to tween girls, people literally stopped in their tracks to say, “Look at her Crocs!” or “I love your shoes!” And we would hear the conversation continue as we passed on by, “Have you ever seen Crocs that little?” and “Those are the cutest Crocs I’ve ever seen.”

It was a sad day last fall when the weather got too cold for The Orange Crocs. I knew they wouldn’t fit her again, and I knew that no pair of Crocs, no matter how little, could ever compare to The Orange Crocs. They embodied the spirit that was my 1-year-old summertime Peanut.

I have put The Orange Crocs in a closet. I don’t know if I can bring myself to sell them at the garage sale I’m planning. In the meantime, this summer she is wearing purple hand-me-down Crocs from Jellybean. She loves the penguin Jibbitz she got for Christmas, and she still refuses to take them off, but that hasn’t stopped her from asking about The Orange Crocs.