One of my tasks yesterday was to make a delivery to the local Goodwill. I had gone through the old clothes and toys to make room for the impending Christmas joy. If I try to do this while the kids are around, they suddenly decide they’re interested in whatever I was just about to chuck. This interest lasts only as long as I’m loading up the donation. At that point, the toy is disregarded once more (this should come as a complete “duh”to anyone with children). I figured this was the perfect time.
Everything was going fine until I loaded up the grocery cart. You know, the big red plastic grocery cart that seemed like such a perfect purchase to go with their play kitchen? The one that hardly ever actually gets played with? Yeah, it’s that crapshoot all over again. So I loaded it up and got about halfway to the donation site when I started to cry. That’s right, I started to cry. Over a grocery cart. That the kids don’t really play with. I called B and asked him if we were sure that we were ready to give up the cart. He said yes, that the kids hardly play with it anymore. I said are you sure? With tears. Because they still like to go grocery shopping, which consists of taking all the foodstuffs from my pantry and leaving them at various spots around the house, which is just as annoying as it sounds. Don’t ask my why I was defending this practice, but it seemed at that moment most important that they be able to continue grocery shopping in peace. B, being the good and wise husband that he is, insisted that we were most definitely not ready. Are you sure? I asked (yes, again). Keep it for me, he told me. He’s gracious too.
The truth is, I’ve also been working on scrapbooking this week, and the day before I’d found a picture of K. Little K. K back when she was still toddling around. She had her bear in the cart and was wearing her cute footie pjs and looking so little and precious and happy. But especially so little. I’m not ready to give that up yet either. About this I’m very sure, except that it’s one thing I’ll have to give up eventually, whether I like it or not.
We get to see the kids again today, and while I have to say that sleeping in, eating whenever, and scrapbooking/cleaning/writing at will are all fantastic, I’m dying for a hug. Kids have turned me into such a marshmallow, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.