Who Knows?

It's hard to predict how I'll emotionally react to things.  It doesn't seem to make sense.

Toy Story 3?

I cried.

And didn't sleep well because I couldn't get it out of my head (and at three in the morning, I'm certifiably insane).  When Andy's mom surveyed his bedroom before he left for college, something came loose inside of me.

I don't think you want to be in the same hemisphere as me when Braeden goes to college.

Unless you have flood insurance.

Emma is going to public school next year--or "real" school as some of her cousins call it (and they seem a little relieved to not have such strange family members now).  When I taught her last math lesson of the year?

I cried.

I had a bad day altogether.  My heart was a little broken.

And I don't even like teaching math all that much.

Today in the ongoing and soul killing pursuit of deep cleaning the boys' room (cue ominous music), they both wanted to make room for books by getting rid of the assortment of vehicles (mostly matchbox cars but a few boats and airplanes) and Mr. Potato Head in all his incarnations...most of them Star Wars in nature.  We packed them in a box for "the grandchildren" to contemplate.  (Because Darth Tater?  Artoo-Patatoo?  Spud trooper complete with a potato masher weapon? You can't put a price on that stuff.)

Did I cry?

Did I even feel like crying?  Not at all.  Not even a little wistful.  When my children value books over plastic, I feel like the world is a good place.

It doesn't make that much sense that I should be OK with this rite-of-passage-getting-rid-of-toys.

But I am.

(And my boys still have plENty of toys...that's what makes me want to cry.)