There comes a time in every good veteran mother’s life when she must embark upon an arduous and difficult task. One that will be laden with bountiful tears and untold heartache. A bittersweet moment lavished in tender memories of days gone by; days that passed much more quickly than she anticipated for her grown children, who. were once small. A time to give away, throw away, pack away or sell the toys that were not only a part of her children’s lives, but also hers. A day she may not necessarily be prepared for: The Toy Retirement.
Though many toys have already been given away, a few stragglers are left in my attic. The big brown bear with one eye missing, the doll with matted blonde hair from submerging her one too many times in the bath tub, the multitudes of Barbie dolls with every hair color under the sun. The talking Buzz Lightyear from the movie Toy Story with all of the adjustable parts that announces clearly when the button is pushed, “To infinity and beyond!” The stuffed purple Barney that sang the song the whole family sang in carefree merriment, “I love you, you love me, we’re a happy family, with a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won’t you say you love me too?”
The neon colored sand toys in the green Rubbermaid container are tucked neatly behind the white wooden playhouse with black shutters in the backyard. They are faded and worn and have seen years of sand play beside the blue swing set long since sold at a garage sale. The barbie plates and cups that were often filled with imaginary food and drink, and sometimes a tiny peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a bit of lemonade… They’ve all faded along with the brightly colored flowers and barbies that are barely recognizable.
As I sit in my wrought iron lawn chair and gaze across the lush green grass at the play house, I think about the cement block patio I had longed to add to the perimeter of the white playhouse along with a sidewalk with edging. I reminisce and lament over the sign I had wanted to paint for the entrance, and the other projects that didn’t transpire because three kids meant crazy scheduled: Baseball, softball, soccer, roller hockey, ballet, gymnastics, swim lessons, church, field trips, friends, and sleepovers. Playing taxi was just something I did back then.
I’ve been washing a menagerie of stuffed animals I brought down from the attic to pack away securely for grandkids. There are multitudes of colorful beanie babies, stuffed ducks, bunnies, and bears. I stop and reminisce about each one as I go, pondering where they came from as they disappear one by one into the clear plastic container for safe keeping. Some were treasured and favorites to sleep with, while others adorned the crocheted netting in the corner of each of their bedrooms near the ceiling suspended by three white hooks. They were left to peer over the edges as if to guard their rooms each night.
If toys could talk, what would they say? Would they cry too?
Toy retirement has been just one facet of the task I have set out to accomplish during this phase of my life. Yet another sentimentality was going through old school papers. It has been time consuming and heart wrenching all at the same time. I couldn’t help but smile when I found the infamous cat or dog portrait my oldest son Shawn drew, who admittedly wasn’t an artist, but nevertheless, it was his own and special to me. My daughter Michaeli was notorious for coloring beautiful colorful collages. And then there was my youngest son’s notes to mommy and daddy. They each hold a special place in my heart.
The most recent note I ran across was penned on yellow construction paper by my youngest son Chad. It stole my heart when he gave it to me as a young boy, Reading his words brought back a vivid memory of that day: “I love you mommy. From your secret “mirror” (admirer)!”
Oh,…the memories! Not to mention the yearning to turn back the clocks for only a day. One day of the 1-year-old birthday parties and the cake-smeared faces, the sticky fingers, the “I love you mommy’s,” the sweet and gentle kisses. The dandelion bouquets hidden inconspicuously behind their backs, the knee and elbow scrapes and boo-boos that magically disappeared with a gentle kiss and mommy’s words of comfort. The little arms reaching up to me begging to be held. “Mommy, hold me,” “Tell me a story,” or “Will you rock me Mommy?”
Yes, Yes, a thousand times, yes…” for you won’t be little long, my love. I know that full well.
Cleaning and scrubbing
Can wait ’til tomorrow
For babies grow up we’ve learned
To our sorrow
So quiet down cobwebs,
Dust, go to sleep
I’m rocking my baby,
And babies don’t keep.
