Real Life Confession - My Kids are Junkies
I have a parenting confession to make-my kids are junkies.
No, not the kind of junkie that hangs out in dark alleys with unsavory characters looking for their next fix-the other kind of junkie. Despite my best attempts, I appear to be raising a houseful of hoarders. (Please note that the word was "hoarders" not "whores," which would be an altogether different issue.)
While it's true that my children have never had the honor of trodding upon sacred Disney soil, they are not lacking much when it comes to material goods. There's a Wii in the basement and a barefoot walk will painfully uncover enough Legos to build a replica of the Titanic; the shelves in our home are stocked with books on every subject the kids have ever shown an interest in as well as a bunch they could/would/should down the road. (You know, classics like Grey's Anatomy for Med School, and "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Getting Into Law School".) We have K'Nex, Pokemon, Ugly Dolls, wooden toys, recalled stuff, and likely, loads and loads of lead. We have kid crappe galore!
Which is why I find it so peculiar to come across a stash of empty gum wrappers in a dresser drawer. It's not even the cute comics that come wrapped around Bazooka chewing gum or an assortment of different kinds of gum wrappers -- I can see the logic in keeping that sort of thing. No, this was nothing at all that could be considered the start of a collection -- just a pile of empty Trident paper wraps that never made it to the trash can.
Under the bed I've discovered mounds of used tissues, flattened cereal boxes from the recycle bin, and the round plastic rings off milk jugs. If I didn't know better, I'd assume a cat got into the garbage, but we don't have a house cat. It's just sort of ... Sanford & Son.
Another thing that made me realize that the shorter members of our house have gotten a little to fond of stuff was when our stove died. As I was holding the door open for the delivery guy to haul it off, I noticed that one son had tears in his eyes. He had an emotional attachment TO THE NON-WORKING STOVE AND WAS CRUSHED WE WERE GIVING AWAY HIS HOT LITTLE FRIEND.
Every one of the kids had a special lovey when they were little, a treasured blanket or stuffed animal that they'd hug and snuggle. I understood the importance of these items. I don't understand the significance of gathering and storing used tissues (Science project? Forensic evidence? Analyzing blow patterns?) or empty tin cans (Assessing mold growth? Testing tetanus immunity? Breeding baby robots?). Hoarding food makes sense, we could run out, and animals are said to stockpile more when it's going to be hard winter, but storing up rubbish?!?
I wonder is there a twelve step program for parents of this sort of junkie?
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