I am so sentimental! One of the problems of downscaling and moving house, has always been my dogged commitment to keeping every little piece of my children’s years; their early ‘interesting’ art, scribbled phonetical lines. Their letters to Santa (which of course were posted), reports on poems said, galas swum and of course the birthday cards, inoculation cards, dance cards and then there are the photographs. These tangible pieces of their lives are lugged around from country to country, home to home, at times in lieu of furniture or favourite pieces, for these are the days of their lives (literally)
‘Grown don’t mean a thing to a mother. A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown. In my heart, it doesn’t mean a thing.’
Today I dipped back into the boxes. Old friends. Laughs and giggles and in a way, a reminder that I did good. I am the keeper of childhood, the maker of the King and Queens and overall, in the large scheme of things, as life as it throws us like surf on the highest wave, I did good.
I am a sentimental mother. Guilty and giddy with the thought.