Exploring the past...

As part of our move to the new house I vowed to go through all my old ratty boxes of junk and clean out, organize, purge. For a month now a big pile of this stuff has sat in our bedroom and last night I decided to make a move. I don't consider myself a pack-rat, but lordy I think I might have a problem. I've saved practically every letter I've ever received...in my life. And I can't bring myself to stop. Seriously. Thank mother nature for email (which I do NOT print, so the accumulation rate has slowed in the last decade). I decided that there wasn't any point to "organizing" them....they roughly follow chronological order anyway. I sifted through a few and it's amazing how quickly my brain can recall intricate details about the distant past based on handwriting, a return address, and a few key phrases. I could NOT bring myself to toss them, but I also could not bring myself to read them. It was painful to dredge up teen angst, embarrassing to read about insecurities (that still exist to some extent) and above all, boring. I decided to put them all in a sturdy box and I filled....I kid you not....a 66 quart tub. One of those extra large tubs you see on sale at Target for $10. It weighs a ton and it's going into the attic. I instructed Steve to burn it when I die and I included the same information on a piece of masking tape on the side of the tub, though I doubt that carries much legal weight. I still feel a pressing weight on me and now it has a more exact measurement....40 pounds to be exact. My only thought is to have a little letter-burning ceremony, but I think that maybe someday when I have nothing to do but pick lint out of the ceiling fan vents I'll want to go through them. For now, this bit of history is acrchived in a plastic tub in my attic.

I've lost that blogging feeling

It used to be that I'd keep a running list of blog topics with never enough time in the day/week/year to write them all. I'd pick and choose the best ones. Now, it seems I can't come up with something to write about to save my life. It could be that I'm tuckered out from the big move and getting our new house comfy. Or, as in this past weekend, I'm busy doing laundry from the numerous vomitous incidents that have occurred since Tummy Virus 2009 invaded. Or, it could be that for the first time in my life I have nothing to say. Is this what turning 40 does (the big 4-0 is coming in April)?

The kids are still cute and challenging. Graeme is learning to pronounce the letter S and I'm sad for the day when he no longer talks about Piderman and Uperman and Tar Wars. He still challenges the daylights out of me, but life runs much more smoothly now that the two's are behind us. I think a lot about raising boys, particularly when he wants to play a shooting game and I just don't know how to respond. I bought Ian a doll for Christmas and today found Graeme carrying it around by a leg and bashing it's head into the floor...something about a dragon. So much for nurturing their warm and fuzzy side.

Ian seems to finally sleep through the night, with the exception of this current weekend when he's vomiting every hour. It took Graeme 14 months to figure out how to sleep 10 straight hours and we let him "cry-it-out" a lot. I didn't have it in me to do the same with Ian and I just got up with him every night until he seemed to just figure it out...at exactly 14 months. I guess that's the pattern in my kids.

Well, I've managed to squander away a few paragraphs of blah, blah, blah. I'm hoping the blogging urge returns on a more regular basis. In the meantime, thanks for stopping by.