As far back as I can remember, I've been a saver (collector). I would call most of my stuff a "collection" of some sort. For instance, my mom took a picture of me sitting next to my first collection of dolls when I was about two. I held on to all the dolls I ever owned until it was suggested that I share some of my dolls with those less fortunate.
I shared my Barbies, their hand-made prom dresses, the doll case and everything else with a younger friend down the street. At the time, I felt good about giving them away as I no longer played with them. Today, I want to puke every time I think about it!
My mom saved my favorites dolls in a cardboard box and gave them to me when I moved out. Some of them are still with me. My favorite stuffed Teddy had been in the box for 10 years and then I read about all the bugs that crawl into stuffed animals after a long time. I bit the bullet and threw Teddy out. My Raggedy Ann was the one doll that I took to bed with me and on trips and sleepovers. Some would say that she was "well loved". When I was 30, I put her in the washing machine to clean her up a little. Her face exploded. I was devastated! A good friend knew how much I loved my Raggedy, so she bought me a new one. I still keep it in my nightstand.
Tiny Tears is still with me, but her plastic is getting old and beginning to crack. I keep her wrapped in a blanket inside a plastic bag, and away from the elements. Do you think she can breathe? I also had a baby doll that would move her legs and arms when you wound up the musical knob on her back. My brothers broke the knob on this doll's back when I was 10. I was devastated! But I still love to look at her.
When there are four children running around ones house playing "Fire Drill", "Hide and Seek" or "Catch Me, Catch Me" one often tries to detach oneself for a brief moment. One would steal away to ones bedroom, lock the door, and immerse oneself in ones collection of books that one never had time to read, but would someday. One would pick out the book that one wanted to read first and set it on ones nightstand, just in case one had five minutes sometime during the next year.
One's brief moment of detachment was over..."Moooooooooommmmmm!" cried the wee one, "he's hitting me!"
"I am not hitting" yelled the big one, "I'm tickling!"
"No, you're not tickling" squealed the middle ones,"you are hitting and pushing and licking!"
"Ewwwwwwwww", one thought. "How delightful is that?"
One loves her mom job! One could read anytime for the rest of ones life. But how often could one experience the sounds of joy showered upon one by ones precious little cherubs?
