Our daughter, The Affectionate One, loves pulling things apart. She is eight years old and still pulls the crusts off of her sandwiches. Toast in the morning and off comes the crust. Chicken nuggets for dinner and off comes the breading. She will take Kleenex out of the box and pull them apart if I am not in the room with her. Give her a pair of scissors and she will cut an entire page in the tiniest pieces you could ever imagine.
She is the joy of my heart -- Mama's little helper. I am sure she believes she is helping. Right?
We have gone from living in a 2200 sq ft home to a 756 sq ft apartment. It has been interesting. Selling almost everything we owned helped a lot. But we still brought with us more than our teeny place can truly hold. I am constantly finding things to throw away.
No school papers are kept because we don't have the room to store them. Instead I take digital pictures of their artwork and favorite pieces to one day put into a scrapbook.
Extraneous objects like Happy Meal toys and Hot Wheel cars are tossed as soon as the kids leave them lying on the floor and my feet find them.
Oh, yes, we are brutal here at the Jubilant household.
Don't even get me started on the Lego guys and junk mail . . . the only thing that gets a second thought is anything that has sensitive information on it. I pause long enough to rip them to shreds. I may have just discovered that The Affectionate One comes by her compulsive activity honestly.
Our close living conditions means we have totes in every closet. We also have totes lining each bedroom wall. The largest tote resides in our living room acting as an ottoman. It houses all our electronics and games that we didn't know what to do with when we left Ohio. And we still didn't have any ideas as to what to do with them when we arrived in Texas. It wasn't exactly what I imagined when I was thinking about decorating schemes, but hey, it works. Kinda.
The Affectionate One was going through this box tonight. I think she was bored. She asked why there was paint all over the lid. It brought back to mind the many days I spent painting our garage and finished basement. Oh, the angst. If I never paint another wall or ceiling it will be too soon. Our deal is that I paint and The Calm One cleans up the paint paraphernalia.
You can see where this is going, can't you?
I was especially delighted, as you can imagine, to remember why there was paint all over the lid of the tote. My better half thought it was an appropriate resting place for brushes and rollers that had yet to be cleaned. The brushes and rollers he eventually took care of (probably tossed), but alas the lid did not.
To my surprise, The Affectionate One was able to peel most of the paint right off the lid. As she pulled off a particularly large patch of dried paint and waved it in my face, she made the humorous announcement, "Mama -- this is your lucky day!"
I am slightly chagrined at the fact that I was truly delighted as she was that the lid was getting a much needed makeover. Or make under as the case may be.
I am not so chagrined that her little habit has finally come into use. Maybe I can cross that paper shredded off my list after all . . .
Counting it all little pieces of joy (where ever I can get it),