boxed in

I've been dreading this day.

This morning:

"Mommy, where are the boxes that the jewel cases come in?"

"Um, what boxes?"

"The boxes. That the jewel cases. Come in."

It took a while, but he finally explained. He wanted the boxes to his computer games. He likes to look at the illustrations.

"I packed them this weekend, along with the computer games you didn't want to take with us."

Thus ensued much gnashing of teeth and cries of "You MUST unpack them! I NEED them!" and no patient reiteration of "have you seen the mountain of boxes in the guest room? I can't unpack anything anymore. You know that. We've talked about it," none of that made much of a dent. The rage machine had to run down on its own, interspersed with many "Don't EVER do that again!"s.

Late this afternoon:

"Mommy, have you seen my Simon Sticks?"

"I packed them."

See above.

Two weeks ago, when I first tackled Damian's room, I asked him which toys he wanted to donate, which pack and which keep for now. While explaining that nearly everything he earmarked to keep would only be around and available for two weeks (ie: until now), with the exception of the few toys we'd take in the car. He understood. He accepted.

Theory is different from practice.

I understand. I do. It's hard to part with your stuff even though you know you'll see it on the other side. In a way, it's hard to conceive of the other side even though it's coming soon, sooner, soonest with the inevitable inexorable and yes, exhilarating march of minutes. Damian is committed to this move. He admits it all feels weird but also acts and seems and says he's excited about it all. But this in-between, when our stuff is inaccessible, sealed up inside a hundred boxes, here but not, this is the hard part.

Edited to add:

Tonight, as Dan was kissing Damian goodnight after telling him a bedtime story, Damian commented, "I know one thing that won't get packed."

"What's that?"

"Your stories."

Posted by Tamar at August 24, 2005 09:12 PM | TrackBack