Always a Packrat

Today I decided to go through the rubbermaids in my basement. I do it every time I move with the intention of getting rid of most of it, and I always find the most random things from my childhood like cereal box toys, elementary school awards, and memorabilia from my days in the Poison fan club (oh yes, I paid to be a member at twelve). I usually ditch about a measly one tenth of it in the end because I am a rabid packrat and find it all so hard to throw away. Here's what won't be going in the garbage tonight:

1) An "About Me" book from age 8 and 1/2 (because the half always mattered when we were that young, of course). There are tracings of my hand and foot that look insanely huge, but I do remember always being the tallest kid in school. I said I got sad when "My sister's a brat to me" and happy when "I go swimming." The best thing I think I found in this was the answer to the best thing that ever happened to me...it says "When I was born because I can live." I love how simply we all thought as kids. Everything was so matter of fact and appreciated.

2) This story I wrote in which I get left at grandma's because I am too young to go on the family trip to Russia. By the end, my parents sink and die on the boat that took them to Russia, and my twin siblings come to take care of me at grandma's mansion after she dies too. We all run around invisible and "live happily together." I am not sure if this was intentional foreshadowing to the insane bond my siblings and I had growing up, and in essentially raising each other, but it is oddly entertaining.

3) The ID tag and pictures of my cat who I had for ten years. He was a truly regal animal who would stare you down like you were the stupidest thing to walk the earth, but I loved him. Then my junior year, I came home from school and couldn't find Nicholas. In asking my mom where my precious pet was, I received the nonchalant reply, "Oh, I took him to the vet and had him put to sleep today...he was sick." Hey Nicky, sorry we never got to say goodbye.

4) A collage I made for an English project my freshman year of high school about my "Great Expectations." Some of the expectations have already been achieved, and not many of the others have changed except for my old diehard committment to only have koolaid at my wedding (but trust me, there will definitely be a pitcher of the blue kind sitting on the open bar for anyone who ever heard me promise it). It highlights my wants of a good husband and father for my kids, something I never had. There's a bit of my riot girl ideals on it that I used to preach to everyone, but even though I've shut up to some degree, I still agree with the cutouts that say No to violence! and Money Can't Buy Happiness.

Hmmmm, maybe I'll throw stuff out the next time I move instead. This stuff has a few more good years with me yet.