Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Bad Part (excerpt 'Raising Nick' re: tearjerker moments)

I realize that my current state- set to extremely tired by-the-way, (thanks holidays and Chich + Mom's birthdays... not to mention the human growing inside of me) may contribute somewhat to my emotions but there's one parenting chore that always gets me in the back of my throat.

I procrastinate even though it's scheduled for the same times yearly- right after his birthday and right after the holidays. I plan for it but never take the appropriate action.

Then, when I have no choice but to tackle the issue, it overwhelms me. So much so that I let it dictate my mood. I hate, but I mean REALLY hate going through his things to donate them.

I admit to saving some special outfits in a bin I keep of his stuff, but the clothing isn't difficult. The nicer items are handed down to cousin's children or friends while everything else goes to the Goodwill (with a bonus tax deduction for good measure). Did I mention that Nick has no dilemma with tossing clothing?

His toys are a different animal altogether.

It won't matter that he never plays with them any longer- and by 'never' I mean 'not in over 6 months,' he pitches a fit. It won't matter if they are toys for a child considerably younger than him; he pitches a fit. It won't even matter if they are broken!

He pitches a fit.

We call him Nanta Claws because he jumps up and down, flailing his arms, wailing 'Noooohoho.' It's funny while simultaneously yanking my heart out of my chest. But you gotta do what you gotta do, so I put on my game face and exert my Momness. Besides, this kid has entirely way too much CRAP! So I sit down, with him Nanta Clawsing behind me, and begin to pick through his things.

I search for items he hasn't played with in months. They are always the items at the bottom of the toy chest and in the dark corners of his closet. Surely he can't miss these, right?



As I pick them out, memories of watching him play, or playing with him, flood my head. I remember what he was wearing, what was said, every last moment as if it was yesterday.

I smile.
I wonder where the time has gone.

As I explain the toys will be used by kids at the church who don't have toys, tears well in my eyes.

I hide them as Nick calms with every passing choice. He'll occasionally ask if he can keep a certain toy. I usually acquiesce but draw the line at fast food chain toys. By the end of the process, he's seemingly unconcerned and organizing newer items in the extra space. It is trying, though, so this year I asked my mom to take him so I could do it in his absence.

In true Suzy form, I'm procrastinating and writing this instead. This is the year I pass the obscenely large Thomas collection on. He loved Thomas so much...SO much. I have some awesome memories of helping other trains with mountainside derailments and what-nots. He was so creative and incredibly detailed with his stories that it was difficult to not enjoy yourself immensely when playing with him. I miss that. TONS...

I hope the next child and his mother enjoy playing with it as much as Nick and I have over the years. See ya Thomas.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

File this under: "I said that?"

Sometimes I take a step back and wonder when I became my mother.

This morning Nick was pushing Viv around in her new car.

Nick: Mimi and I are stopping for some gas.

(lifts up gas tank on car & pretends to pour gas in)

Me: You know, gas is projected to jump to $5/gallon by 2012. We're researching alternative forms of energy.

Nick: We're off!

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

The Quintessential Guy Question: Boxers or Briefs?

I often question my parenting skills. It's just that I'm so neurotic analytical that I second-guess everything in an attempt to make sure that I did the right thing.

Today Nick asked me what boxers are.

Boxers are a type of underwear- the shorts.

Not these?

No. Those are briefs.

They're not cool?

Underwear is underwear. What's cool about that?


But no one should be looking at your underwear while you're in school...

Maybe this was one of those questions I should have forwarded to my husband. And really, no one should be looking at his underwear at school.