Currently, The Calm One and I share a closet with our daughter. It's a nice, big walk-in closet. The day we moved in, The Affectionate One claimed it as her bedroom. She had it all planned out. "Just throw an air mattress on the floor, I'll be fine." Evidently, her needs are few and her heart is big. Rest assured, she sleeps in a proper bed in a proper bedroom, but the thought was nice for about 27 seconds.
The thing is, we do share the closet with our daughter -- her clothes, I mean. We also share it with the plethora of storage totes, the no-longer-inflated air beds, a gigantic suitcase, various tools of the trade from all the The Calm One's outdoor hobbies and a purple pint sized guitar. I am almost able to get to my clothes -- in my own closet. A dream come true.
Since we are renting a small apartment, wall space is at a premium. And The Calm One, though okay with the purchase of said poster, was not very excited about it staring at him from any vantage point in the apartment. Truth be told, I was a bit leery of that very thing myself . . . The poster was one of the first purchases we made when moving in because evidently the person who packed The Affectionate One's old JB poster, wasn't as careful as his daughter would have liked. We won't name any names though -- ahem.
So, up the poster went. At the back of the closet. Even before any clothes were hung. Before any totes were emptied and stashed in the closet. Before new beds were purchased and the air beds were still residing on bedroom floors. Before that gigantic blue suitcase was shoved in (and never taken back out) at the last minute when company happened by.
I couldn't help teasing The Affectionate One just a little bit once Justin was ensconced in his new home. I even told my daughter that I had a life sized poster of Shaun Cassidy.
I had no idea who he was, but boy was he cute in a white jump suit studded with rhinestones and he listened very well -- for a guy. He was also my first "boyfriend" and as a result, my first kiss. Um, yes, I did just admit to kissing a very large piece of paper when I was my daughter's age. I was nearly ten and needed the practice, I thought. In the first decade of my life I was deprived of any lip action and I was hoping that the second decade would be different. It wasn't much different. Unless you count the one kiss from a guy who had just eaten Doritos while watching the Ohio State game in a friend's basement family room. Good times. Doritos and sports. Tasty.
Anyway . . .
The Affectionate One was horrified at my stories of poster kissing (read as she was filing the information away for usage at a later date). Her younger brother reports on a regular basis, though, a different story. A story that I just cannot believe is true -- even though it would be, in her defense, a hereditary kind of thing. I mean, there is just no way, right? After all, she can't even reach Justin. I can barely get to my clothes with all the junk stored up in there.
On the other hand, I would have climbed mountains for Shaun . . .
Counting it all pre-adolescent joy,