Stranded

There was one thing as a mother that I promised I would never do. At 3:12 p.m. on Monday I broke that promise to myself and ultimately to my oldest son.

I forgot to pick him up from school.

My mom was always really busy when I was younger. Between boutiques, PTA, church callings and caring for me and my three siblings, she had a lot on her plate. So we were used to her being late.

We often teased her when we were the last ones left at sporting events, dance lessons and school carpools.

But after sitting outside of singing lessons for the up-teenth time waiting for her in the foyer long after the other class had already started, I made a silent vow to myself to never be late or forget picking up my child. Ever.

Too bad I wasn’t being realistic.

I was checking my email for work Monday afternoon thinking, ”My son will be home any minute.” Then it hit me, the girl he usually rides home with didn’t go to school that day.

My computer clock said 3:12. I was already two minutes late. I raced into my 3-year-old’s room and woke him from his nap. I grabbed him, his coat and my purse and jumped into the car.

When I got to the school, my oldest wasn’t outside at the usual pick-up spot and the doors next to his classroom were locked. So, I carried my 3-year-old — we didn’t have a chance to put on his shoes — and we ran to the other side of the school and rushed to the office.

There was my son. Sitting comfortably in a chair next to the office door. He was perfectly safe and happy with his kindergarten teacher by his side.

He was fine. I felt horrible.

Not only had I broken a promise I made to myself in adolescence, I had forgotten one of my children.

I seriously think I took forgetting him at the school harder than he did. I am sure it won’t be the only time while I raise him that I will get a call from somewhere reminding me to pick him up.  Thank heavens for good teachers who truly care that each 5-year-old makes it home safely.

I think what hit me hardest was the fact that I never want any of my kids to think I don’t care about them. I don’t want them to think that they aren’t my top priority. They are my life. But I think it’s easy as a mother to have dozens of things on my mind fogging up what’s really important.

I know my mom didn’t ever intentionally pick us up late.  Sometimes it just happens that way. Hopefully it won’t happen to us very often.

A Trio of Victories

Usually I use my blog to vent about the stresses and annoyances that pop up in my life. Today I want to tout a few positives that have happened during the past couple of weeks.

First, my sons have started eating dinner. I don’t know what has happened to them and I doubt it will last long, but for the past seven or eight days they have not only finished their food, but they have finished it fast. They are probably going through growth spurts (cross your fingers), and it may be a fluke deal, but I’ll take it while I can.

Second, there were no fits while grocery shopping on our last trip. This is a major feat. I don’t know how we navigated all the way through Wal-Mart without any pinching or hitting but we did. Although I do have to admit that our visit wasn’t without incident.

The boys were so good while shopping I actually let them out of the cart while I was checking out. That’s when my 5-year-old crawled under the cart and laid on the metal rack above the wheels.

He got stuck.

Panic struck as we both tried to push and pull his little knees from out of the bars. I am sure if I had been watching my struggle from a distance I would have been busting up laughing. A lady waiting behind me in line had a little baby boy in a car seat riding in her cart. I had to fight the urge to tell her, “just you wait,” as I picked my oldest up off the ground.

It was crazy.

Last, Captain Hook has stayed away a few days this week. Sure, my three-year-old has dressed as something else instead – cowboy, army man, Santa- but at least we have been able to give our sword, hook, wig, hat, red jacket and more a break.

I am positive I will still be seen around town with a mini Hook in tow on occasion, but I don’t think I have to worry about my son actually believing he is Hook anymore. He is beginning to broaden his horizons.

I want to know what’s going on with you. What good things have happened to you lately? I’d love to hear about your parenting victories.

Suck My Spit

Am I the only one who thinks it is just plain wrong for parents to purposely infect their children with chicken pox?

I stumbled across an article Monday about parents who are too fearful to vaccinate their kids against the disease so they are using Facebook to get in touch with other parents whose children are contagious, asking the parents for spit or other items from their infected children. Then they use the items to expose their children.

So these parents don’t want to give their children a shot that will produce minimal effects on their little ones, but they are willing to accept a spit-laden chicken pox-infested package in the mail in order to expose their child to the disease?

Have these parents had chicken pox? It’s a miserable disease. When I had it I laid around on the couch for days in a Hawaiian moo moo dousing my skin with soothing anti-itch lotion. I couldn’t help scratching, so my bumps turned into scab-topped sores. It was horrible.

I can’t imagine subjecting my children to that.

According to the article I read, one of the Facebook posts from Nashville was selling pox-infested suckers, spit and Q-tips for $50. Seriously? How low can you go? You are willing to sell your child’s germs?

I’ve heard of parents having “pox parties” where they expose their children face-to-face with other chicken pox-infected kids. The pox parties are bad enough. It’s extremely unsettling that they are willing to accept random specimens from strangers in order to make their kids experience the disease.

Not to mention the fact that it is a federal crime to send diseases or viruses across state lines.

I know some people are nervous about vaccinations. But recent reports dispute the arguments that childhood vaccinations have been linked to autism. I even heard a news story lately that the researcher who came out with early discoveries linking vaccinations to autism falsified his information.

I can’t imagine anything worse than knowing I made my child sick by buying someone else’s disease. Come on people.

Here’s a link to the article I read this week about sharing chicken pox germs:

* Vaccine-wary parents warned against sending ‘chicken pox lollipops’ through the mail

http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/health/vaccine-wary-parents-warned-sending-chicken-pox-lollipops-mail-article-1.973738

Here’s a link to an article about research regarding vaccinations and autism:

* Medical journal: Study linking autism, vaccines is ‘elaborate fraud’

http://www.cnn.com/2011/HEALTH/01/06/autism.vaccines/index.html

My Hate of Grocery Shopping

If I didn’t have to eat to live, I would never go grocery shopping.

The grocery store and I do not mix. Add children to the equation and the combination is lethal. Normally I come home and want to cry, take a nap or start ordering all of my food from Schwans.

No matter how much I plan and how many coupons I clip, our trip always takes twice as long as I want it to and I spend twice as much as I planned.

I don’t know what it is about buying food for our family, but it brings out the worst in my boys and me.

Heaven help me if I have to go to a store with car carts. It never fails that the seatbelts have been broken off so my kids can climb out of the car’s doors freely. Usually they try to make a break for it while I’m rolling them quickly and I nearly run over one of their arms.

Then there’s shopping with the extended double-seated carts.  I have a serious love-hate relationship with those things.

One week I drove around the entire parking lot looking for an extended double-seated grocery cart.  I normally start our grocery trips hunting up and down the aisles looking for them. Because when we don’t have them, half of my food ends up smashed or broken as the boys fight while riding in the back of the cart. And I refuse to let them walk beside me.

Our favorite grocery store parks the giant haulers outside, which I think is totally stupid. Year round it causes a problem.

In the winter the door greeters have to help me push inches of snow off of the cart’s seats, then they get upset that the snow dripped inside the store. In the summer the seats are roasting hot and my boys don’t want to go anywhere near them.

Can’t they just park them inside?

This summer after hunting down a cart then draping it with my reusable shopping bags to keep it from burning my little boys’ bums, I pushed it on inside. Only to be totally floored when the door greeter cautioned me to not let my kids fall off of it.  Seriously?

I’m sorry that I improvised making a buffer between my boys’ bottoms and the blistering-hot plastic. Oh, and I didn’t want to strap scalding-hot seat belts across their poor little tummies in order to secure them in tightly. Rest assured door greeter man, their safety is my prime concern.

Maybe if you didn’t park the carts outside they wouldn’t be so hot and I wouldn’t worry about their under thighs blistering on contact.

All of this before we even buy a thing.

Sometimes while shopping my boys get what I call “grabby hands.” They stick their hands straight out from the cart grabbing and hitting everything they come in contact with on the shelves. That’s especially fun while rolling down the canned-food aisle.

Other times it’s a constant, “he hit me”/ “he pinched me” whine-a-thon. Yet another reason why I both love and hate the giant double-seated carts. I guess the urge to pinch, hit or bite your brother amplifies tremendously when you are in close proximity. Riding side-by-side, they just can’t help it.

I started buying a $2 cup of popcorn chicken for them to share while we shopped so they could keep their minds and fingers off of each other. That worked out well for a while. Until it got to the point where they started fighting over that too.

Every once and a while, my children surprise me by actually behaving when we stroll through the store. Then all heck breaks loose as we hit the checkout line. They must sense that freedom is near and all of their pent-up energy bursts through.

I have a particularly fond memory of my oldest kicking, hitting and biting me while we were checking out one day. I wouldn’t let him have a toy at the end of our trip and so he was taking his wrath out on me. I’ll never forget the older lady in line behind me. She helped me strap his tantrum-throwing body back in the cart so he couldn’t get to me to hurt me.

All she could say was, “I promise you it gets better.”

What am I supposed to do when they throw fits like that at the finish line? I’m not about to abandon a chuck-full cart by the side of the cash register and go home empty-handed.

I am sure it would be less stressful to shop alone. But I don’t always have the luxury or energy to go in the evenings or on the weekend.

Ironically, sometimes I think that it will be faster if I go shopping alone. Not true. I have been able to go alone a few times and it has taken me much longer. I guess something about pushing two little boys who are beating the crap out of each other makes you bust a move through the store and grab only the necessities. When I go by myself I pause to window shop. I get distracted. And I take twice as long.

But I can’t blame them for all of my grocery store blunders. I have problems when I am by myself too.

One night before their birthdays I went shopping by myself to get groceries and one of their presents – spin-brush toothbrushes.  Early on in my trip I dropped one of the stupid brushes on the ground and it started spinning. It spun and vibrated in my cart for more than an hour while I did my shopping. I’m sure the other customers walking around the store at 10 p.m. wondered what on earth the humming sound was coming from underneath my purse.

It seems as if I can’t win. And yet I can’t very well let me and my family starve because of a little chaotic grocery shopping.

Every once and a while shopping, I run into a mother just like me. She’s rushing through the store pushing a cart that is bursting at the seams and chastising her fighting, unruly children as her coupons and list fall to the floor. I have to fight the urge to give her a hug or a piece of candy. She has done something for me I can never repay. She has made me feel normal.

Luckily I only go shopping every two weeks. That way I have 14 days to forget about the pain. I am hoping that lady at the checkout stand is right. That it really does get better. But for now, I’m not holding my breath.

Problems Getting Pregnant

What has been harder for me lately than giving birth to a full-term stillborn baby? Finally feeling ready to try being pregnant again and then facing nearly a year’s worth of infertility.

Talk about feeling lonely, helpless and discouraged.

Most people who know about Luca probably wouldn’t dare ask if we were ever going to have another baby. Some probably assume we’re done. But we’re trying not to be done.

I’ve even signed up for a research study on fertility/pregnancy loss to try to better understand my body and what I can do to ensure a healthy pregnancy. Each morning for the study I go through what I have nicknamed my “lab rat” routine – testing my urine and popping a mouthful of vitamins.

But despite my countless visits to the hospital as part of the research study as well as consultations with my doctor, I have yet to become pregnant.

Now I know some people have tried for much longer than a year to conceive with no results. I know I should sit back and let nature run its course. But a year is a really long time when you desperately want a baby. It seems even longer after your last baby was stillborn.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m not meant to raise more than two kids on earth. Other times I feel bitter and angry and don’t understand what is going wrong.

One of my church’s leaders, Dieter F. Uctdorf – second counselor in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints first presidency, gave an incredible talk last month that completely touched my heart. In his talk he referenced “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” by one of my favorite authors, Roald Dahl.

He talked about the quest in that book to find a “golden ticket” that was sure to bring happiness. The tickets were wrapped in Willy Wonka chocolate bars and shipped throughout the world. People went crazy looking for the tickets. Some became so obsessed with finding the ticket that they no longer took satisfaction in the chocolate candy bar that they used to love. If it wasn’t wrapped in golden lining, they had no use for it. All they could focus on was that golden ticket and how their lives would be infinitely happier finding it.

I think getting pregnant and delivering a healthy baby has become my golden ticket. I have become bitter, angry and ornery in my quest to get pregnant.

I have stayed far away from pregnant friends and even farther away from their newborn babies because unlike them my quest for another child has not come as easily.

At times I have been so preoccupied with my golden-ticket search that I have been unable to enjoy the “chocolate.” I’ve forgotten to enjoy the two beautiful boys I do have here on earth.

One morning after my dreaded cycle started again, I looked at my little guys while they were eating breakfast and thought, “These guys are pretty special. If that’s all I get, so be it.”

Don’t get me wrong, I still long for another baby to have, hold and cuddle. And I still feel anxious and uneasy near pregnant women and little babies – for a number of reasons. But I’m trying not to wait for my golden ticket to be happy. I’m trying to enjoy the chocolate now.

I don’t know how much longer it will take for me to conceive, or why it’s taken this long so far, but I do know I can’t keep driving myself crazy waiting for a positive pregnancy test. Heaven knows another pregnancy will probably stress me out to the max anyway.

Last week I went and got a second opinion from a new doctor who is very proactive in helping me. I am optimistic that I will get pregnant soon. Meanwhile, when my infertility is getting me down, I’m going to try to take a step back, take a deep breath and live in the now.

Was I Meant to be a Stay-at-Home-Mom?

Several months ago I got offered the work-at-home opportunity of a lifetime with a local outsourcing sales and marketing company. They asked if I wanted to work part-time from home as a digital/social media specialist.

I jumped at the opportunity knowing it would be a great chance to use my college education, feel like I am once again contributing to the outside world and give me something to do on days when I am bored out of my mind.

Not only that, but they offered me really good pay too.

But I’ll be honest with you. It’s hard to squeeze an extra 20 hours each week into an already packed stay-at-home mom schedule.

In order to minimize the effect my work has on my children, I have started waking up really early in the mornings so I can get a couple of hours of work in before they get out of bed.

I know what you’re thinking, “Early to bed, early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise.” I totally agree. But it’s been hard for me to convert myself from a night owl into an early bird.

Starting this job has also put a huge damper on my crafting life. I used to dream up all kinds of crazy crafts to do while my kids were having resting time. Now while they rest I’m sending emails, posting stuff to social networks and writing new content for my company.

It’s probably a good thing. I am running out of craft-display space in my modest home anyway. Not to mention I love writing and the challenge of researching new social media strategies.

But more than missing out on a few extra zzzs or some unnecessary crafting projects, this job has really made me stop and think about my stay-at-home-mom lifestyle.

I had the stay-at-home mom thing down pat. Now I have been recreating my identity as a work-at-home-mom and reconsidering my decision to leave the workplace.

Could I keep myself at home even though my foot had been placed inside the door to the working world again?

A few months ago I was thinking about being a work-at-home-mom, my career, my new job and what it meant for my family, while I was driving down to a social media seminar in Salt Lake City.

When I stepped into the college auditorium I felt the rush and excitement of learning, growing and working come flooding back to me. It reminded me of when I used to cover events as a reporter. I loved being a reporter. I loved meeting new people and writing about all kinds of interesting things.

In my mind a mental battle was brewing. I was kicking myself for my stay-at-home-mom predicament. I have always enjoyed working and feel like I am a good, hard-working employee.

While wondering if I really should have been a stay-at-home-mom, the thought came to me, “You chose to stay at home with your kids.”

It was like a light bulb turned on in my mind. No one forced me to give up my reporting career. No one fired me or told me I couldn’t do it anymore. No one kicked me out of the Deseret News building and told me to turn in my badge. I left voluntarily.

I know everyone is different and has different lifestyles, but for me staying home was my ultimate goal.

I love my new job. It’s hard to find time to do it all, but my boss is extremely flexible and understanding. She lets me work when I can — whether it’s 5 a.m. or midnight. I wouldn’t work right now if I couldn’t stay at home with my children. And it’s also very important to me that my money is just extra. I make certain we can still live on my husband’s means.

Even though it’s hard to realize sometimes, I honestly love staying at home with my boys. When I feel down about my place in the “world” and where I am in my career, I remind myself of my decision to stay at home with my children.

I consciously decided long before I married, graduated college and had my first baby, that I was going to be home with my kids no matter the cost. My mom was home with me when I was little and I wanted to be able to do that for my children.

I look at some of my colleagues who have successful and productive careers and get jealous at times. That’s when I remind myself that my little boys are only little once. No matter how many hours I were to put in at an office, it would never be able to replace the time I have been able to have with my babies at home.

Am I giving up on my career? Definitely not. For now I plan on working as the best part-time social media specialist my company could ever hope for. As the years go by and my house gets quieter I may take on more work if possible.

Do I regret leaving my reporter post to stay at home with my first son five years ago? Sometimes I think I do; it’s hard to be shut out away from the world while building blocks, coloring pictures and blowing bubbles. But then I look at my scrapbook of all of the fun things I have been able to do, see and experience with my boys and I know that my staying home has been the best thing for all of us.

Lucky Gems

Some people are born lucky. We make our own luck around here. Or at least we did a couple of weeks ago. We made “lucky gems” to help my son deal with his stressful kindergarten life.

My oldest started school the last week in August and was super excited for his first day. But after a couple of days, he started complaining of a tummy ache.

I am pretty sure that tummy ache was a direct result of him being thrown off by a new schedule and new surroundings. He was getting nervous and anxious and that not only made him sick to his stomach, but it broke my heart as well.

One day he said he needed something lucky to take with him. We were rushing to get out the door and all I could find was a shark-imprinted penny that we made at Sea World. He  popped it into his pocket and we rushed him to class.

But I was nervous all day that he was going to come home empty handed and we wouldn’t be able to replace the coin we got on vacation earlier this year. That’s when I decided to help him make some “lucky gems.”

When he got home from school, we gathered up small, pocket-sized stones and put them in one of his collection boxes. A couple of days later we transformed those “stones” into “gems” by decorating them with craft paint.

He was so excited.

I told him that he could pick one out each day to take to school with him. And, because they are just stones from our flowerbed, if he accidentally loses one, it won’t be the end of the world.

For some reason the stones make him feel less stressed. He honestly believes they make him lucky. It reminds me of when Ron drinks “liquid luck” in Harry Potter 6.

Since we painted the stones, I haven’t heard one complaint from my son about his tummy. Who knew that having a hand-painted stone resting inside your pocket would mean all the difference in the world? It’s amazing what a little “luck” can do.

Fishing Up Some Fun

Here are the six beauties we caught at the trout farm.

I have been fishing more times this year than I have ever been in my entire life. Not because I have found a new love for the hobby that lets you bait innocent swimmers hook line and sinker, but because my boys have.

They have asked me to take them fishing more times than I can count this summer. And although I was reluctant at first to take them on my own, my feelings have changed.

We absolutely love fishing. Who wouldn’t love spending time with her little boys enjoying nature and doing something they enjoy?

Most of the time we stay close by, fishing in a local community pond. When we do actually catch something, I rely on the mercy of nearby fishermen who help us scoop up and unhook our kill. I think they take pity on the helpless housewife who is trying to support her sons.

I love to support them and do things that they enjoy, but don’t get me wrong. I am not always the perfectly patient fisherman’s mother.

Sometimes I am stressed out of my mind trying to keep my little one from wading in as well as sending every fish within a 50-foot radius scrambling as he chucks giant pebbles into the pond from the shore. It’s hard to watch him from the corner of my eye while trying to help my oldest cast without hooking any live objects on its way into the water.
There have been some memorable trips this summer.

Like the time we brought a box of Legos along for my 3-year-old to play with on the shore while my oldest cast out his line. A couple of the Lego instruction sheets caught air as the wind blew by and they ended up floating several yards away in the pond. There was no way I was wading through the fish-infested murky water to save a couple of Lego design sheets.

But my boys were devastated so I tried my best. I was able to scoop a couple of the sheets up with our fish net, but one page drifted to the pond’s center island and is probably still sitting there, waiting for the seagulls to build something amazing.

Then there’s the time we invited the neighbors to go to the trout farm in North Ogden. I don’t know what possessed me to think I was brave enough to go there by myself, without my husband. Not only did I think it was a good idea, I thought it was a good idea to take three neighbors who had never been fishing along.

I had to unhook each fish – and after the first one was hooked in the eye, I nearly gave up. But we did it. Luckily a couple of the fighters actually flung off the hook on their own. Then all we had to do was grab their slippery, slimy bodies with our bare hands and chuck them back into our water bucket. It was an adventure. We caught 11 fish between the two families that day and the kids had a blast. I was splashed with fish pooh and blood, but I wouldn’t trade that day for anything.

And I don’t think any of us will forget the day the Department of Natural Resources planted 1,000 albino rainbow trout on the bank next to where we were fishing. We all stood mesmerized as the fish flew from the back of the truck down into the pond.

My boys still talk about those albinos.
Last week was another highlight. I made my husband and boys go with me to the Utah State Fair. I love the fair, having worked there during a public relations internship in college. I thought I knew everything there was to see and do at the fair. But I didn’t know there was a fishing pond south of the DNR building.

You should have seen my oldest son run around in circles when the DNR representative told him he got to catch and release a catfish. He has dreamed of catching a catfish for nearly his whole life.

I never knew that I myself would be so excited to see an ugly slimy, slippery fish with facial whiskers. And although we didn’t get to take the nasty-looking guy home (my boys don’t like eating the fish we catch anyway) it was awesome.

We’ve had a lot of awesome moments fishing this year and we have a lot of stories to tell. We aren’t pro fishermen by any means, many times we go and we don’t catch anything, (I wish we could find more of those planted albinos,) but fishing has become something we all love.

Yes I said “we.” I can honestly say that I love it too. Not because I love catching the “big one” but because I love being with my boys and doing something they love.

I hope we get to go on many more fishing trips, and that one day my boys get old enough to unhook their own fish.

Too Much TV!?

They call me the TV Nazi at our house. I refuse to let my boys sit for hours like zombies planted in front of the boob tube. Therefore I am the bad guy a lot around here.

I’ve had a number of fights with my oldest that have ended with me literally pulling the plug on our old living room set. He would sit and watch TV all day long if I let him. And he would be perfectly happy doing so.

But I want him to get up and live. In my opinion, TV should not be used as a baby sitter or replacement for physical activity or cognitive stimulation.

Yet even I was surprised by a handout the doctor gave me at my 3-year-old’s annual check-up. It said he should view no more than one hour of TV each day.

One hour? That’s not even enough time to sit through an entire Disney cartoon movie. So what do you do? Pop in Tangled and just when Rapunzel’s about to discover she’s the lost princess, you shut it off? Do you tell your kids, “Sorry, your hour’s up?”

I don’t know who much TV is too much and how they determine what is enough. I’m sure that every family has different boundaries set up for their household, but 60 minutes seems a little low to me.

On a “normal” day, I let my children watch about 30-60 minutes of television each morning and then up to another hour of their “favorite” shows after my oldest gets home from school.  That’s it. Every once in a while we’ll have a movie afternoon or there will be a special on in the evening that we will watch, but that’s the exception not the rule.

Keep in mind that’s what I let them watch. If they got their hands on the remote, they would watch much more.

I honestly don’t know what has happened to me. I’ve gone from the teenager who used to sit in her parent’s recliner watching soap operas while doing high school homework, to the mother who can’t stand to have her children’s brains turned to mush while watching too much TV.

My friend posted recently on her blog how she and her husband basically gave up watching television. They hardly watch television anymore. (Read about her experience here.) I feel the same way. If I were to have an hour to sit down one evening and do anything I wanted, it wouldn’t be turning on the tube.

So now I’m curious…

What are the restrictions at your house? Do you let your children watch TV whenever they want? Do you make them turn it off at specific times of day? Do they sit like spaced-out zombies, tuning everything and anything else out or is it a background feature at your house that they listen to while playing and doing other things? How much is too much?

“Mom, Take A Picture!”

Something he drew on his drawing board but didn't want to erase.

The popcorn tin from last Christmas.

Normally when a child yells, “Mom, take a picture!” It means he or she is about to do something amazing. Not when my 5-year-old yells it. When I hear that phrase I know he’s about to ask me to document the final moments of some piece of trash I’m going to make him throw away.

My oldest is a hoarder/collector who would save his nose-wiping tissue if I let him. He has the unique ability to fall in love with the most random objects and then desperately want to keep them forever.

We’ve had a lot of conflict recently when it comes to his collections. Honestly we are running out of room in his bursting closet and my husband and I need some relief. So we struck a deal with him. Whenever he wants to keep something that we don’t approve of, we’ll take a picture of it and print it off.

The cup of bugs he caught at a family party at a park.

Now I’ll admit he gets some of his saver style from his mother. I like to keep items of sentimental value. But so far

most of the stuff he wants to keep is junk. Like the chocolate milk bottle he drank empty at McDonald’s, or the bone-dry bubbles container

he finished off in the backyard. Two of my favorite “keepsake” pictures we have taken recently are of the metal popcorn tin we got for

A beetle on our side porch.

Christmas last

year that had caramel popcorn melted to its insides and the Styrofoam cup filled with a spider, ant and two beetles that he collected at a family gathering at a park.

Growing up we loved when my mom drove us by a house in town that was loaded with junk. We nicknamed it the junkyard – think the beast’s yard

A dragonfly he caught at his great-grandpa's 80th birthday party.

from The Sandlot times 20. It was disgusting yet mesmerizing. Piles of old broken down machinery layered the lawn. I always wondered about the man who collected all of the junk. I heard they made him clean it up after a bomb scare in

A giant butterfly he caught at grandma's house.

his yard when I was a late teen. I think my oldest may turn into that man.

Now I’m sure you’re envisioning giant mountains of garbage piled throughout his bedroom. Trust me, it isn’t that bad. But that’s because I don’t let him keep everything he wants. What happens when he moves out? I’ll have to hire him a housekeeper to keep him from swimming in trash.

I know what you’re thinking. It’s not that big of a deal. I have to clean my kid’s room all the time. But it’s emotional every

time my hand goes to place something of his in the garbage and I hear “That’s my special ________ (fill in the blank).” It’s hard to tell what’s special and what’s just plain garbage. Sometimes I have to sneak stuff into the outside garbage when he’s not looking only to worry that he’ll ask for it later.

The picture-taking strategy is starting to help. I’ll probably end up with dozens of photos of pieces of trash. But it’s worth it if he’ll finally let me throw some of it away. Maybe he’ll grow out of his hoarding habits someday and I’ll look back at those pictures and laugh.

A baby pine cone he found in the mountains.

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