Garret was away this weekend so I went to my Mum’s and had a lovely weekend crafting, ice cream eating, napping, snuggling with my nephew, chasing Brooklyn, organizing, laughing, reflecting and hanging out. Friday night my sister in law and nephew were there as well so we had some laughs, and girl time–was wonderful.
As always these weekends that I so look forward to fly by and my list of what I hope to accomplish doesn’t quite get crossed off. I tend to forget I am a mere mortal and like everyone else only have X amount of hours in the day. Aaaand like many other pregnant ladies I need to schedule “napping” somewhere in between crafting, movie watching and dog walking.
I do have a nice feeling of accomplishment from the weekend though, which I am hoping to use to push me through this week of things to do. My Mum and I went through some of my old boxes of “stuff” at her place, as well as a box that was my Dad’s. My boxes were fun, we got to laugh at old pictures, weird things that I just HAD to keep once upon a time (and I could finally at age 33 be convinced to throw out)
It is unsettling to try to take a step back and examine ones life based on the items that remain behind. As we were going through my father’s things I couldn’t help but wonder who will be the one going through my things one day when I am gone. There were so many random things that had obviously meant enough to the man to cart around with him for years and years, but held no meaning to me. Pictures of people I don’t know, matches for restaurants I have never been to. Memories that just don’t belong to me. I guess I felt a bit sad that there are those parts in his life I will never know anything about….and to be honest it also gave me a creepy sense of my own mortality. I thought of one day, my children, or Garret, going through boxes wondering why I kept some of the things I did, a Radiohead concert ticket from ’96, random childhood toys, my weird treasures that could only mean something to me. It is just interesting to see the physical manifestation of what is left behind when you are gone. Everyone has their own personal memories of you, but you will still have left a footprint, a mysterious paper trail of what once meant something to you.
Here is a picture of Brooklyn so I can end this on a more positive note: