I have a mountain of sentimental items from my kids that I can’t seem to part with, like the handprints my youngest made at preschool, Griffin’s first Happy Meal toy, first clip-on tie he wore in my sister’s wedding, and you get the idea. Some things don’t make the save pile, like my oldest son’s science fair project on Skittles, for obvious reasons, or the nail clippings from my youngest son’s first trim.
I’m sentimental, not crazy.
And yesterday, I found myself adding another item to the save storage box, when my 8-year-old returned home from school saying he had written a poem for a class assignment to describe themselves. I’ve read it at least a dozen times:
The caring, nice, gentle big brother of Hayden.
Who likes to play, read, and rest.
Brings to the world his laughter and athletic skills.
Lover of caring people, playing football and Nerf gun fights.
Fears the dark and spiders.
Knows a whole lot about science, and sports, and math.
Who desperately wants to buy a cherry red Ferarri.
Wouldn’t be caught dead eating a chili cheese dog.
And needs lots of care.