I recently pulled together years worth of the kids’ artwork and miscellaneous creations piling up around the house in order to organize, cull, edit, wrangle, lash and cajole it all into some form of SENSE. What I intended as a one or two day project stretched into a couple weeks, turning our living room and all available surfaces into a tempest of papers, chaos and glue.
There was so much it didn’t even fit into the boxes provided by Plum Print, the miraculous custom book publishing service that digitizes all your stuff into a beautifully curated book.
So I purchased two bigger boxes from UHaul, crammed the stuff into them with the magnanimous help of Dear Hubsand, used the pre-addressed Plum Print shipping label and dropped them off at Walgreens which now hosts Fed-Ex.
As of yesterday I was finally able to excavate our home, discard the debris, put everything away, and sweep and scrub the floor. As if nothing happened at all.
This all sounds so terribly boring when I describe it, but it felt more like this:
Either way I cannot thank Plum Print enough for providing a repository for all the priceless preciousness. First and foremost it enabled me -eventually- to get the stuff OUT of the HOUSE. (Even at about $150 a pop the value is priceless.)
Secondarily (a distant second), we may end up with some lovely keepsake childhood book tributes.
During the process I officially BANNED the kids from creating ANY MORE ART!
And technically that is still my stance; “NO MORE ART!”
Of course my daughter just wiggles her fingers and laughs maniacally.
Maybe this time I should just do as Indiana Jones says; “DON’T LOOK!!!”
Glad to say the nightmares from our lastdental place are well behind us, as Cambridge Pediatrics does not lie and they ACTUALLY DO specialize in kids.
Afterwards a little “window shopping” finds us pooped and famished.
We land in the loving familiar bosom of our favorite pub, The Druid. They even dice up her chicken soup extra small on account of her mouth still being a little sensitive.
She treats me to a book full of jokes and has me read her a story.
AT RISE: Mom, exhausted, has stepped into a Sunday morning shower, alone at last. The hot water whooshes down enveloping her as droplets tinkle in the drain. She closes her eyes in gratitude that she gets to stay home today. Through the sounds she hears a child’s voice muffled through the door.
