Sunday, September 28, 2003

Memoriees


Not Cats. Not Streisand. TinyTuna.

As I mentioned earlier, we've been going through TinyTuna's TeensyTiny clothes and separating out things that don't fit from things that do. This weekend we tackled the closet. It was a dress-a-rama and the too-small pile definitely outpaced the still-ok pile. Such is the life of a growing kid. As we tried on the beloved Easter 2002 dress, it was painfully (really painfully) obvious this thing wasn't going to fit. She had to put herself into contorsions just to get it on, and it was just too snug. It wasn't going to fit. TinyTuna? Tears central. Granted, it's a pretty dress. Navy blue, decent material, with a lace-ish double square collar, and small lace-ish bows at the waist. It was pretty stylish. But let's face it. If you can't breathe, it's a pretty big drawback.

So TinyTuna is crying because her favorite dress is too small. I'm trying to tell her what a big grown up girl she is becoming, but let's face it...She ain't biting. As a last ditch effort I grab her fanciest Christmas dress that I know will fit, and I tell her to test the "twirl". That goes over big. Tears subside. Then I tell her I'll be on the lookout for something similar to her too-small dress. I ask her what she likes the very best about it so I'll know what to look for. She gives me a 10 minute lecture. Oy.

TinyTuna is a packrat. She could go in the basement, find an old sock, and start orating about all the great memories she has of this sock. Then she'll tell you elaborate stories about her and her adventures with said sock. I guess I must have always been unconscious, because I can assure you none of these episodes have ever occurred, despite her assertions that I was there. I let her tell them, though. Storytelling is a good skill. The thing is, I can give her that mom look towards the end of the story that says "I know you are full of it." She'll give me a classic TinyTuna evil grin that replies "Yep. And if it were anybody but you or GramTuna...I'd get away with it too."

Consequently, due to the wonderful memories attached to each and every object she has ever touched, I have a basement full of.....Memories. I desperately need to get these out of the house, and donate them to charity, but I can't do it while she is around. It's too much drama for a GreenTuna to bear.

Now, in all fairness, I must admit that I too, suffer from the packrat disease -- Grownup style. I don't use the "wonderful memories" defense. Oh no. I employ the "I might need this later" offense. I might read it later, I might cook it later, I might mend it later, I might plant it in the garden later, I might fix it later, I might file it later, I might organize it later. I am the queen of good intentions and planning ahead. I am in denial about the side-effects of my disease -- as much as I can be, anyway -- because it's not uncommon to trip over a pile of denials in the middle of the night. So, I'm constantly battling to weed out things I positively won't need later. I don't think I'll ever win the war, but I'm happy when I win little battles. In the meantime, you can be assured that in our house you will find plenty of wonderful memories bobbing gracefully in the river of denial. Hey, wait! Is that my sock?

No comments: