aka The Frazzled Mom
I’ve been watching a show about families/relatives with a lot of problems, yet strong bonds.
The kids are grown and have children of their own. In one particular episode, their mother has asked them to take whatever they want from the attic, because she’s planning on cleaning it out. Whatever they don’t claim, she’ll get rid of. So I’m at the moment where a brother and sister are going through various items that bring up memories. The brother is debating on whether one item is too big for his place or how he’d even manage to bring it down from the attic. His comment is what cracked me up.
“The whole point of having parents is to keep your crap in their attic.”
I had to laugh. Because I’ve already been through it, sort of. My mom had gone through their garage, packed up my trophies, school papers, sewing projects and other various childhood items. Placing them in a box, she left it all at my house. Um…what am I supposed to do with all of this? I don’t have the room for it. Yet, I feel like I can’t just throw it away. That’s a representation of my childhood.
What do you do with stuff like that?
Now I’m collecting stuff my kids bring home from school so I can dump it in their lap when they move out. The tradition continues.