|Once a cat lady, always a cat lady.|
My husband woke up Saturday morning, groggily stumbled out to the living room, saw me, and then promptly headed right back to bed.
Normally I'd be offended, but considering the mess I'd created, I couldn't blame him. It was probably quite a sight for him, seeing his 26 year old wife sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor surrounded by oodles of Barbies, Barbie clothes, and pink plastic doll furniture.
Recently my parents decided that now that I'm a homeowner, it's time for me to get the rest of my belongings out of their house. All that remained was a slew of boxes from my childhood, covered in cobwebs in the attic. To my surprise, more than 20 boxes and bags labeled with my name came out of the attic that fateful day. Each box contained infinite stories and memories. Each stuffed animal, notebook from school, old newspaper article, and of course, Barbie, had its own tale to tell.
As I spent this weekend sorting through the "time capsule" of my childhood, in an attempt to condense and compile it into something that wouldn't use up my entire basement, I found myself reminiscing about my past, but also thinking about my future.
As I carefully placed each Barbie, Cabbage Patch Kid and Beanie Baby into a tote, I thought about the possibility of someday sharing these items with children of my own. That's a fact of life that my husband and I are still discussing, but I did feel a flutter of excitement thinking that I could share these items with my own children, and that maybe they'd find at least some of them as interesting as I once did.
As I read notes from friends and flames from high school, I found myself rolling my eyes and laughing to myself. It's funny to think how seriously I took myself back in high school, and how everything seemed so important. These days, high school seems like a walk in the park, especially compared to some tasks in adulthood.
And finally, I found so many bits and pieces of my personality in those boxes. Seeing books that I had written for "Young Author" contests, and diaries of stories and ramblings inspired me, as my love of writing has never wavered throughout my life. Finding old copies of my high school paper, the "Spartan Voice," brought back so many crisp memories of the founding days of my career as a journalist.
In one of my "baby books," my mom wrote that she thinks my grandmother's cats may have helped me learn to crawl and walk. I wouldn't have my own pet cats until about three years ago, but I immediately felt a connection to my furry friends. Another baby book said early on, I loved "kitties, Alan Jackson, and McDonald's."
Some things will never change.