Thursday, September 16, 2010

Re-Do's of my 3 year old daughter

Her little tiny 3 year old  fingers look like her momma's. 
When she reaches to pick that little flower, I can't help but remember watching her mom doing the same thing.
Sissy-like, don't get dirt on my hands-like, eww there's a bug-like, reaching with just her thumb and forefinger to avoid any of those undesirable additions to picking just the right little daisy weed.

The shape of her thumb, the little hang-nail she obsesses about, the leftover pink of the immediately peeled fingernail polish and, Heaven forbid, just a touch of dirt under the nail.
Her momma in Re-Do. 

Re-Do's... we ask for them often when we mess up, or we just want to re-live an "oh so joyful" memory.

I'm enjoying the Re-Do's of my daughter as a 3 year old. 
Her daughter is a "mini-me" of her momma. But, not so much at first glance. 
Her momma has beautiful, slick-straight, thick black hair. Dark features and big brown eyes that melt you when you look in them. She has a easily-given, friendly smile.
She, on the other hand, is fair skinned, has striking, vibrant blue eyes, and thin, wavy, alittle messy blond hair. She shares her smile only when she feels like it. You have to earn it.

But it's the little not-so-obvious things she and her momma share. The little things most wouldn't notice. 
An expression, the shape of her hands, those crooked little toes (like her brother and I, also have). 

The bit of obsessiveness... her mom had to have everything lined up and in its' place. She does the same thing when she's playing. All the cars in a line... perfect line. Tupperware lined up end to end from room to room, all the little ponys in their places. I love it.
One little spill? Oh My! It must be cleaned up immediately or it bothers her until it is. 
Sticky fingers, a drip on her shirt, a crumb on the table next to her plate, a bug, a hair, a speck of dust... she'll let you know it's bothering her. Fix it, clean it, get it out of here.
I learned to not even notice this with her momma. Rolled my eyes at most of it. Just the everyday stuff when raising a 3 year old. Figuring she'd grow out of it one day.
I embrace it all with this little one. Funny how our eyes open when the next generation comes along.

Re-Do's... chances to capture those moments and memories again, but only if our eyes and minds and hearts are open and ready to do so. 
Mine are.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

No, I don't want a damn kitten!

Do you really think every time you bring an "oh so cute" little kitten in to work and show my husband, he'll be able to talk me in to taking it? 
NO... been there, done that.
He even described the little black kitten to me. "It's a manx"  "When it meows, it sounds like a donkey"
I know if I just said the word, he'd take it home. Sorry... not gonna say the word.

I'm so past falling for these adorable little creatures that grow up to be annoying, flea-carrying, flowerbed- destroying, walking-all-over-the-hood-of-my-brand-new-car, CATS.
Just this morning I had to spray off the car because of the neighborhood cats who decided to have a middle of the night party on the hood of my car.
Lovely, just lovely.
I'm scared to dig in certain areas of our flowerbed because of something I'll find that I know for a fact, I didn't plant there.

So, no, I don't want a damn kitten... I even told my husband to tell his co-worker those exact words. She laughed. 
But good try, good try.

And no, the grandkids don't need one, either.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


col-lect   verb \kə-ˈlekt\
1. a: to bring together into one body or place
    b: to gather or exact from a number of persons or sources<collect taxes>
    c : to gather an accumulation of (objects) especially as a hobby <collects stamps>

Have you ever wondered, I mean, seriously wondered, if you're a hoarder?
I've always considered , (well, I've chosen to call) my obsession "collecting".
I've collected for as long as I can remember.

Though I now don't have a certain item I collect, I used to collect hearts.
Besides the male human hearts I broke and added to my collection, most of the hearts were trinkets. I suppose some of those broken hearts could have been called trinkets, too... but that's another topic.
Paperweights, little glass heart shaped boxes, etc. They didn't take up much room and I enjoyed looking at them all arranged together in one place.

My first collection I can remember was, believe it or not, the little plastic thingy you clip on the twisted end of a bread bag. You know... usually something you throw away or into the bottom of the bread drawer or, I suppose, you could actually put it back on the bag.
I don't know why I collected them.
My mom had a large clear vase sitting on the window sill above the kitchen sink. That vase became the home for my collection.
I became obsessive about those little plastic squares. Every one I took off the bread bag or found laying on the countertop (because someone else didn't put it back on the bag) went into that vase.
I'm not sure how long this went on. I just remember that vase was about half full when I quit.
Probably the reason I quit was that I was at the age to begin my collection of broken hearts.
I wonder what my mom did with all of those little plastic thingys. 

Over the years, my "collection" has been: "Stuff I better keep because I might want to use it later or someone else might be able to use it and it's crazy to have to go out and buy another when I already have it in this box".
Picture frames, pens, pencils, paper, paper, paper, glue sticks, glitter, confetti, felt cut-outs, envelopes, Halloween costumes, misc game pieces someone didn't pick up when they were done playing the game, playing cards from that casino, dice, recipes, paint brushes, dishes, party decorations, fabric, yarn, nails, tools, candles, toys, games, scrapbook paper, stickers, wooden cut-outs, beads, bits and pieces of every craft I've ever tried, vhs movies, plastic disc cases, and on and on and on. You name it, I probably have it, though it might take me a couple of weeks to locate it out there in that "box".
I also have several boxes of: clothes my kids wore and I saved for them, things my kids made as small children and I saved for them, toys my kids played with and I saved for them, (they don't want any of that "crap"), things that belonged to my grandparents', little bitty pieces of paper my kids wrote "I love you, mommy" on, birthday cards, Christmas cards, "just because" cards, congratulation cards, graduation announcements, change of address cards, pictures of this little baby at 1, 2, 3, 4 months, pictures of: rainbows, deer, "that awesome cloud", flowers, hillsides, sunsets at the coast and the lake and the mountains, "take a picture of me making this face, mom", etc, etc, etc......napkins, ticket stubs, reciepts, etc, from places I've been with someone I love.... and on and on and on....

My family rolls their eyes at my "collections". I'm sorry, o.k?, I can't stand to throw something away someone might need or want.
Or is it I want them to want it.
want to have that "something" they need or want.
It is a good feeling when someone mentions something they're looking for or going shopping for and I can say "Hold on, I have one (or a dozen). Don't buy it".
I don't know why. It's a feeling of being needed, counted on. Sometimes people actually call me and ask if I have "one of those".
But, at times, it can be a double-edged sword.
Sometimes, that feeling is more of an obsession for me... gotta do, gotta give, gotta have what they need.

So, I'm giving myself a break.
I'm cleaning out and throwing away and putting "unwanteds" in a box for a sale (or for you to look through to see if you want or need any of it).
(sigh) So many boxes to clean out ..... so many items I might use one day.... or you might need.