Are you a toy keeper? I must confess that I am.
What to do. We must downsize. We need to declutter. The nearest grandchildren are far away in MICHIGAN. I borrow my neighbor’s daughters on a regular basis to get a dose of childhood joy in this house, but they are not into trucks and dolls. This stuff has to be discarded, at least some of it.
And it’s so, so hard. The doll bed that my father built for me. The Madame Alexander teenager with the handmade wardrobe, a gift from my big sister. Chomper, the battery operated bulldozer who talks randomly. “Hey, wanna dig up some rocks?” The toy pop gun that delighted many small boys. On it goes. Teddy bears. Favorite story books – Winnie the Pooh and the Boy with the Drum.
Why is this so hard? Neither of us plays with them anymore. But I think I know wherein the problem lies. It’s the memory of the little boy who cuddled up with me at bedtime for an imaginary romp in the Hundred Acre Wood with Pooh and Piglet, a game of Poohsticks on that bridge. The seven year old with the long dark curls who delved into the mystery of teenage fashion in the ‘50’s as we dressed up Madame herself. The world of make believe that those cousins created when they set up the hospital where every stuffed animal was in medical crisis. Endless memories of the magic of childhood.
Those children have grown. That is a good thing. Would I want them to be trapped in childhood forever? Of course not. But oh, how I miss them, the way they were such a short time ago. How did it all go by so quickly?