Scattered throughout the house - in closets, in the attic, littering the garage floor and usurping vehicle storage - are "reminders" of our children when they were younger. Of course, the kids are only 6 and 3 now, so the collection has only begun, I'm sure. We have bibs, but they're "special" bibs. We have "special" jeans and oodles of "special" frilly dresses. For the love of Pete, we even have "special" onesies with poop stains! The ultimate, of course, is the christening gown - in a frame on the wall. I don't even want to think about what that has been through.
*shudder*
These are precious, priceless, irreplaceable items, or so my wife tells me. My wife tells me that these things are dear to her heart and make her happy. Then, when they have been buried amongst the other "treasures" for a few months and my wife discovers them again, she cries. They aren't tears of joy. They are tears of sadness and regret that the kids have grown past these things.
Hmmm...so let me get this straight...
These items that occasionally phoenix themselves into view every so often that have no practical value that will never be used again that make you sob in depressed anxiety are precious and irreplaceable and make you happy???
Huh.
So I just have one question. Why do I get nothing but scorn when I insist that the holes in this pair of underwear are meaningful? Why do I get flinty looks when I insist that those sneakers are fine and have plenty of life even though the soles flap on the bottom and are only attached for about an inch at the heel?
OK, that was two questions.
But why is it sweet and wonderful for you to keep old nasty clothes and insensitive and disgusting when I do it? Why am I the pack rat while you get to be the pack angel?
"You wouldn't understand. Now throw those disgusting things away or I will when I do laundry."
*sigh*
Yes dear.
No comments:
Post a Comment