The family I'm a nanny for has been on vacation this week, so I've been off. We are moving, (GLORY, HALLELUJAH!), on Saturday, so I've been trying to pack as much as possible. As a person who has moved my crap from place to place a ridiculous total of 18 times, you would think I would be an old pro by now. Nope, it still stresses me out. I think it is because of the inevitable realization, "I HAVE WAY TOO MUCH STUFF!!!" Why, Why, Why, do people need so much stuff?! I swear that about 1/2 of it we don't even use. Certainly not on a regular basis, anyway. Then there is the stuff you keep "for sentimental value". It sits in a box probably 364 days a year, taking up valuable space and collecting dust waiting for the one day a year you actually pull it out.
Of course, this time is worse, because I am not just moving my junk. This time around I am moving my stuff, Jim's stuff, and Dylan's stuff. The fact that I, a neat freak, organizational queen, lover of getting rid of stuff, has married a does not see dirt, surely this thing will have a use SOMEDAY pack rat of a man might seem amusing to some, but I fail to see the humor. Getting rid of stuff is freeing to me, I feel lighter, more alive, content and at peace. I'm not quite ready to sell all my earthly belongings and go live in a tree, but at times I can see the appeal.
Do you know how hard it is to pack when your kid keeps doing cute stuff?
Like figuring out how to get into his car seat by himself, albeit a bit clumsily. (The voice is my MIL, not mine)
Or like at the lake, when he fell face first into the water, and came up laughing!
Or like when Jim was telling me how he read him a story with a picture of a woman in a babushka, and Jim said, "Look! A Babushka Mama!", and Dylan ran to get the book, saying "Bush Mama, Bush Mama".
Or like when I tried to put 18 month shorts on my 20 month old, saying "I hope these aren't too tight", and he sucked in his belly, screaming "TOO TIGHT!! TOO TIGHT!!"
Or like today, when he shunned the 2-5 year old playground area, to follow a much bigger boy into the 5-12 year old area, where he totally shocked me by climbing the huge stairs, then sliding down the biggest, steepest slide I've ever seen. Sorry I don't have a picture of him actually going down the slide. I was at the bottom praying for a safe return to earth. Here are the steep stairs, though, and him at the top with the much bigger boy behind him. A part of me - totally scared about what my fearless kid has in store for me in the future. Another part of me - totally proud.
Don't get me wrong. This week hasn't been all peaches and cream. There was the little incident about him hitting Jim and I with his plastic bat. Then there was the day that his only goal was to step on my sandal clad toes as hard as he possibly could.
Today, when I tried to block off the kitchen so he wouldn't touch the hot oven, he somehow found a crayon and defiantly colored around the entire area on the hardwood floors. But then, he would do something like this...
and I'm thinking I really need to have next week off, too. I don't want to miss this stuff. THIS is good stuff.