The other day, Gregg and the girls were busy out in the yard. And, in my attempt to NOT* to be in the yard, I decided to organize the playroom. Go through every basket, drawer and bin and make sure everything is in the right place. Throw away old Happy Meal toys, broken toys, and I even threw away the ginormous Barbie head stylin' thing Macy got for Christmas. It's one of those things where you style Barbie's head and do her makeup. Well, Barbie didn't come with makeup remover and when a four year old decides that lip gloss is a good eyeshadow (apply and reapply daily for 5 months), that is a whole bunch of funk. It's been at least 10 days and she hasn't even asked about it.
I got really crazy and grabbed my beloved black Sharpie Ultra Fine Point marker. I decided to go through the girl's Barbies and label whose is whose. Because I remember such details. On all 18 Barbies. And then I moved onto the baby dolls. If they had a tag, I wrote on the tag the baby's "given name" and which daughter it belongs to. If the baby does not have a tag, I wrote the name on the back of the head, under the hair. The whole process really brought me alot of joy and satisfaction. I roll like that.
When my daughters are grown, I want them to have what is theirs. My sister and I always fought over our Christmas stockings every year. I said mine was the one with the Christmas tree on it. Susan said that it was HERS and mine was the one with the red plaid ribbon. My mom never remembered so there you have it. When the "stuff" was divied up several years ago, Susan got the tree stocking. We had to rack our brains over who had Papa Smurf and who had Smurfette, who had the boy Munchie-chi, and who had the girl. (I had Smurfette and the girl :-)
I got really crazy and grabbed my beloved black Sharpie Ultra Fine Point marker. I decided to go through the girl's Barbies and label whose is whose. Because I remember such details. On all 18 Barbies. And then I moved onto the baby dolls. If they had a tag, I wrote on the tag the baby's "given name" and which daughter it belongs to. If the baby does not have a tag, I wrote the name on the back of the head, under the hair. The whole process really brought me alot of joy and satisfaction. I roll like that.
When my daughters are grown, I want them to have what is theirs. My sister and I always fought over our Christmas stockings every year. I said mine was the one with the Christmas tree on it. Susan said that it was HERS and mine was the one with the red plaid ribbon. My mom never remembered so there you have it. When the "stuff" was divied up several years ago, Susan got the tree stocking. We had to rack our brains over who had Papa Smurf and who had Smurfette, who had the boy Munchie-chi, and who had the girl. (I had Smurfette and the girl :-)
Christmas 2001
My mother always told me that when "you're the mother, you can do things my way." Well, I guess "labeling" is one of my many, neurotic ways.
*I hate doing yard work or really anything much outside where I might get dirty (even picnics). I've made it 31 years and have never operated any piece of lawn equipment. My hands start getting itchy, the eczema flares, the eyes itch, the snot starts flying, the sweat starts seeping and I become a big, helpless mess. Not a good combo for me. So, I go inside and find me the biggest project I can and "busy myself". "Yes, husband, I'll bring y'all some water but you and the kids - y'all just stay outside b/c I've got a mess I'm going through in here..."
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