Monday, April 13, 2009
There is very little stuff that remains from my childhood. This stems partly from my previously-mentioned tendency to purge when I feel overwhelmed by clutter, and partly because I've moved a lot. David and have moved 8 times (in 4 states) in the 16 (gasp!) years that we've lived together.
But lately I've become more sentimental. It's due in large part to the death of my dad, but I also think being a mom and hitting the 40-milestone both tie in as well.
When I was a kid, Wilbur sat on the passthrough between our postage-stamp-sized kitchen and our dining room, always there as a visible reminder that there just might be cookies to be had. Frankly, there usually weren't (a result of nonexistent baking skills and frequent calorie-counting on my mother's part).
On our most recent trip to Florida, I finally brought Wilbur home to Portland. Anna was so excited when the UPS truck arrived with the box he was in. As soon as I unpacked him, she was hugging and kissing him (despite the fact that he most certainly needed a bath!).
Wilbur was washed and filled the following day. For now, he's got some little, kid-friendly cookies from Trader Joe's in his belly, but soon he will be filled with yummy, homemade delights that Anna will grow up both loving and taking totally for granted. Wilbur and his belly of love and plenty will just be there throughout her childhood.
And many years from now, when Anna has a child of her own, I'll give her Wilbur and he will mean to her then what he means to me now. Home.
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When I was a kid I had a "magic Santa". As Wilbur, but only during the Christmas holidays, his belly was full of chocolate and cookies.
I am 32 years old now and when my mother came to see me for Christmas this year, she brought it with her.
By bringing with her this little part of my childhood she brought also with her the comfort of "home".
I loved it.
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