Kids at school and dogs at groomers, I am invigorated in yet another attempt to master the The Magical Art of Tidying Up mindset. I enter the tidying up zone energized by the promise of the promised zen I will experience if I can just stick to the de-clutter challenge of the day: the kids' bookshelves.
Coffee in hand, I vow not to be distracted by the old board books, Spot's First Words, Carl's Day Out, Paper Bag Princesses. I will accept the reality that Chicka-Chicka Boom Boom is better served by donation to a used bookstore where the alphabet come alive, might continue to get to the tops of coconut trees without me. I'm justified, after all. My kids are no longer kids - I'm raising a 20 something, a 16+ something and a soon to be 12 year old something. It's time to let go.
Boxes are taped and their mouths open, greedy for the stories on the shelves. I consider grabbing the books in armloads and bravely tossing them in the wide mouth boxes (wasn't there a story about a wide mouth frog?). I can clear these shelves in 10 minutes if I just refuse to look at the books. An hour later, the coffee is cold (I can never seem to find the lids to those Tervis cups) and I'm on my butt, on the floor. I am stuck deciding the fate of Where the Wild Things are and Harold and the Purple Crayon. Either Max or Harold have to go. Keeping both seems ridiculous. I keep Max beside me and weigh Harold and his purple crayon's fate in my hands. I make a really big mistake. I reject my own self imposed rules. I open Harold and the Purple Crayon. I read.
I love Harold and his crayon. He makes life so easy as he draws his way in and out of adventure. His crayon maps his board book world and little Harold wields that crayon like a wand mapping his own way through the pages. Harold is a rebel, a genius dictating his own destiny. Such a simple story with so many lessons to learn.
I want a purple crayon. I want blank pages to map my way to adventure and discovery. I want to draw my roads. And I want to draw buildings full of windows. I want to draw scary monsters and then make them nice just by drawing them a smile. At the end of the day I want to draw my own blankets up over me in my own drawn little bed. Harold was one smart kid. He drew his own story.
Coffee even colder, I put all the stories back on the bookshelf. I'm justified after all - these pages have lessons to offer. Plus I can always save them for grandkids. I wouldn't have to buy them again. I'm saving money. With a bit of organization, the bookshelves don't appear to be bursting at the seams with random pages sticking out ( I used the shipping tape from the wide mouth boxes to make a few repairs).
Could it be that simple? Just a purple crayon and the imagination to control our own stories? I think so. Find your purple crayon. Where do you want to go today?
P.S. Be patient with me I'm de- cluttering my way through this blog. Tags and Categories. Search engines and coding. I need more purple crayons.