Fun with Packing

As I have now been off work for 2.5 (week) days, I find myself to be enjoying packing more and more. Strange, yes, but nonetheless true.

First, and most obviously, I like things to be organized and clean--a true shock to anyone who knows my OCD-like tendencies, I know. I hate junk--a trait I get from my mother, for sure. Moving is a perfect excuse for getting rid of . . . well . . . anything and everything. Ask yourself this and answer honestly--do you even remember getting rid of specific items during a move and regretting it after one or more years has gone by? Truth be told, I know we got rid of a lot when we moved from State College to Canonsburg. What that "a lot" was, I couldn't even tell you.

I, however, sincerely enjoy going through cabinets and old boxes, determining what I should keep, donate or throw away. I get a rush thinking that someone else could use some of the things we can't or don't use anymore. I like going through clothes and wondering what the heck I was thinking at ages 18-20 or so with my wardrobe choices. I have fun checking out what I saved because I thought it meant a lot, but now I have no idea what it is, let alone why I kept it, for the past 4 years.

It's not that I'm not sentimental--I definitely am. I have a throw that my Grammy made for me when I was about a year old. I don't think I have ever used it, but I'm certainly not getting rid of it. I have a picture that my mom cross-stitched for me that my little Peanut will have in his/her room one day. I have multiple Willow Tree statues that, though I generally don't like kitsch, I will keep because my mother-in-law gave them to me to represent different times in my life. We have a quilt that Adam's great-grandmother made for us that's too big for our bed, but we are never getting rid of that, either.

I also found some silly things from elementary school--including some laminated hand-written and illustrated"books" that I remember being so proud of when I was little. (These books also remind me that my handwriting was actually pretty darn good when I was 7-9 years old and has since gone downhill after having to write "Katrina Johnstonbaugh, CRNP" 165 times a day.) I found some of my favorite stuffed animals, including and orangutang that I stole from my baby brother named "Monkey Monkey," and my favorite childhood doll, "Foosta." (I'm not sure the origin of this name or how the heck I came up with it, but I like to think it was my creative genius just beginning around age 2).

All in all, I like moving because it allows me to remember what's truly important in my life. It allows me to see how I have grown and changed, but also shows me just how much I've stayed the same. I'm sure that our Peanut(s) will throw most of these things away when we're gone, and that's ok. They aren't Peanut's memories, they're my memories and Adam's memories. We'll have a box (or two or twenty-five) that will contain memories that are significant to Peanut, too. One day, probably 20+ years from now, Peanut will look through a box and find clothes that he/she was ashamed to admit he/she actually wore and liked. Peanut will find drawings that Mom and Dad kept, even though they look like a pile of squiggles. Peanut will find his/her first blanket and his/her first ultrasound picture. Peanut may choose to keep some of these memories, but may choose to get rid of more--especially if the poor little babe takes after Mama and can't stand clutter. That's ok. They will no longer be my memories to keep or toss.