Last week I was over at our storage unit trying to find Kiki’s winter jacket for her weekend trip to the mountains full of snow. Just so you don’t get the idea that we are the sort that have such an overabundance of stuff that we have an extra place for that excess, (which, sadly, is a rather American thing, I think) let me remind you that we don’t have a home. Wait, I’ll rephrase that… we have a “home”; that is, a place to live, beds to sleep in… what we don’t have is a house of our own. We are living with my parents while we try to start a business and recover from the economic crisis in the US that drug us across the country for a time. So. Everything we own is stuffed in a garage-like space until one glorious day when we finally are able to have our own space again. What’s hard is that we also had all this stuff in storage while we lived on the East coast, as we had the tiniest apartment with zero storage… so, I haven’t seen the better part of my belongings for over a year and a half now. I know it’s just stuff. I miss my stuff.
Well, I was standing amidst the boxes which now represent the whole of my (financial) worth, wondering where the wardrobe box might be which would have the coats in it, when my eyes stopped on one of the boxes of Kiki’s toys. Right in that spot I began to cry. Not little tears running down my cheeks, but huge, racking sobs. Because, you see, Kiki is 13 now. She spent the whole of 12 living without the majority of her toys because we had no room for them. I kept thinking we’d get a bigger place and she’d have them again, but it didn’t happen. What did happen is that in the final months of the age of 12, she grew up. No longer the little girl who wanted her dolls and stuffies and her playmobil, but more a young lady who wants fashionable clothes and is more than a little boy crazy. In fact, I’d spent the late fall and most of last summer trying to book a trip to New York City to take her to the American Girl Store, something she’d longed to do… but by the time we finally were able to go, in August, she was already past that doll stage. I mean, sure, we had a trip to NYC and we made the most of it, but it was not that ‘highlight’ it would have been just a month or so earlier. I looked at those boxes of toys and mourned for that last year of her childhood when she didn’t have her toys to play with, and for the fact that by the time we do get a house, she won’t want them. I mourned the playtimes we missed, that won’t come again. I wish I could go back in time and do things differently. (not the first time I’ve wished that) I wonder how long it will be until she has a space of her own, and what she will actually want in it then.
Time marches on and you can’t stop it. I will have to find a way to embrace the change; to find something meaningful in my life as it is now.
she’s no longer a pony…..