So it has begun.
What, you may ask, am I talking about?
What ridiculous notion, what self-involved nonsense am I worked up about now?
Other than the fact that it is not rainy and I want a rainy, dreamy day,
I am mostly stomping my foot emphatically over the beginning of the onslaught of Stuff The Girls Bring Home From School.
Because it leads to the both tedious and stressful dilemma of To Save or Not To Save.
And how do I save it?
I began this journey of preschool art and jibber jabber writings and such with V,
my first child, and I chronicled it as best I could.
(Note: I am horrible at this.
When there were scrapbooking parties,
Which: Subnote, is that still a thing?
I have no idea,
as I am sure anyone hosting one would wisely NOT invite me as I ruin stuff)
I kept up with her baby book, Which?
WHY do I need to write about every tooth that falls out??????
First tooth, I get.
Other than that, it is all I can do to remember to tooth fairy,
and I am also very awful at that job and have been busted twice so far.
But archiving for future generations which tooth fell out when?
I am not joking, V's baby book has a dentist-like detailed sketch with labels of the baby mouth and all the names of the teeth with spaces for you to note when said tooth fell out.
And I tried.
V's baby book has information filled out, pictures, stuff written in,
but when it got to the blasted tooth part,
the Allison part of me,
which is, all of me,
as I am me,
(Sorry, world! Maybe in my next life I will be able to fill out forms and garden)
subconsciously and consciously decided NO.
NO NO NO.
I am not charting tooth falling-outness.
That is weird and way too much remembering of stuff that I cannot fit into my head.
Never mind a baby book that is up in the attic somewhere,
I have a general idea of where, kind of maybe.
Rant on documenting every tooth in my daughter's mouth over.
Back to rant on schoolwork sent home.
let me say this:
Preschool, elementary school, any school ever teachers,
I bow at your feet, you rule,
I would be in jail if I had your job.
Send home whatever you want unless it is a cat, as I am allergic.
But that being said, I cannot save every single thingy the girls do. I
s too much.
I have to weed things out, right?
Somebody back me up here,
because I often have had to fish out of the recycling bin various math charts,
or What Does The Dinosaur Do or such,
after deeming it unworthy of the tub (more on that later).
Daughter of mine that produced whatever thing,
the thing I decided did not seem like an historical document,
wants to show Daddy the chart or Dinosaur Activities or whatever,
and I have to go get it out of the trash and pretend I did not throw it away.
This is very, very tedious,
and I have yet to learn the fundamentals on What Is Or Is Not Worth Saving.
I mean, clearly, journals, stories they have written, artwork that is original to them, stuff with the teacher writing on it, that stuff I save.
And pathetically attempt to organize into a very non-linear, non-workable system in my attic.
But the routine, daily classwork stuff, worksheets, I don't think I am evil or Ug, Mom, Really??? for tossing those.
I have learned to keep them for three days.
(Note: I apply Ben Franklin's "fish and visitors stink after three days" to lots of things,
not only children's schoolwork but also timeline for how long it takes to get used to new haircut,
how long you can passive-aggressively not bring in the trashcans in silent war over "It is YOUR turn,"
time allotted for hunting for lost thing before replacing said thing,
which always means I find the lost thing right after that,
but so be it,
I have to stick to my very (not)
structured (hee hee)
schedule on this.
Is Presidential Decree, after all.)
And in the beginning,
when I was wide-eyed,
slightly less deranged,
certainly less informed about Who Is Or Is Not On The Disney Channel And Do They Or Do They Not Also Sing,
I tried to keep ahold of all of these papers and drawings and such.
I even bought those big container tub things,
labeled them (!!!) and put V's stuff in by year, in a designated area of our attic.
Was Smug Mommy I Can Totally Do This, So There.
When E came along, her baby book does have some things in it,
(Note: FORGET about the tooth thing, though, that was not happening),
and I did label a tub and put her stuff in it too.
At this point I realize our attic will be completely overrun by tubs from Target,
full of Susie Sees Sunshine worksheets,
and begin to edit in more discriminating fashion.
I also lost the label on one of the tubs and things started going in whatever one was closest and had room in it.
I'm figuring that surely when the girls were grown,
I would totally be able to tell who wrote what when.
Or totally lie about it and they could not prove me wrong, so there.
By the time M arrived, I had stocked up on tubs,
knowing otherwise I would lose every single thing and I was bound and determined third girl would get as much devotion and attention to her schoolwork and tooth falling-outedness and head circumference
I mean, I get why the doctor needs to know this pertaining to her growth overall,
but why do I have to write it down?
Baby book is sneaking in FORMS, is what it is)
And like (Please let this be true) every parent of multiple children,
who are all little,
and needing you to do stuff,
or open stuff ,
or fix stuff,
or tie stuff or whatnot,
that TOTALLY did not happen.
M has totally empty baby book.
It may or may not (it is) still be shrink-wrapped.
Of course, I will remedy this glaring oversight and proof of me being NOT Smug Mommy,
I NEED AN INTERN.
Surely on some non-rainy day when it is hot and I don't want to go anywhere involving tennis or sunscreen or visors or whimsy,
I will fill out all the missing parts of their books.
With completely made-up stuff on shots and head sizes and teeth and ludicrous stuff I cannot keep track of at all.
(Note: To my children and anyone who would tell them about this,
I am lying,
I totally wrote all of it down right away and it is all accurate, timely, and true).
So have begun tub filling for this schoolyear, as I gave up on one per kid per year,
it got confusing when my poorly made labels,
which were in fact those sticky things you get to put on Christmas presents,
That (at least for me, others do not seem to have this particular challenge) FLY off of the package and land, sticky side up, on your shoe and never come off ever?
Those labels started flying around landing on other things and so now,
each year has a tub in the attic, where tubs are multiplying like rabbits or zombies.
For the most part, is organized by year.
And put in the general Special Keepsakes area of the attic.
And I know who did what.
For the most part.
For the rest,
I may or may not either recycle it or fake-handwrite using my right hand
(I am left-handed) one of the girls' names and say it is their thing.
And since there is no proof otherwise, it IS their thing.
That's my story, and I am sticking (unlike stupid label thingys) to it.