Marty Boyle You know those personal handy dandy storage vaults that have sprung up around the country on practically every street corner? I used to wonder what people stored in them. Now that I have children in school, I know. These vaults were designed to store all the papers, odds and ends and stuff that kids collect throughout their school years, because, as heaven knows, there is certainly not enough room in one house. When Katie, my oldest child, now a third-grader, was in nursery school and kindergarten, I saved everything, carefully placing it all in a big box with her name emblazoned on the front. Meg, our second child, a first grader has, naturally, asked me to save all her papers, as well, in a similarly emblazoned box. The amount of papers in boxes is piling up, but this is only the beginning because Emily and Michael, our twins, are in their second year of nursery school. Realistically, I know there won’t be a problem for several years, but eventually I must take a stand on this important moral issue: which papers and odds and ends do I save and which get tossed? I rummaged for a pad of paper and pencil, and then sat down. 180 (school days) x 5 (papers @ day) = 900 pieces @ year. This product times 12 (number of school years) x 4 (number of children) = 43,200 pieces of paper and artwork brought lovingly and proudly home to this mother figure, who undoubtedly, will want to keep them all close to her heart in a dusty corner of the attic. And let us not forget those report cards (12 years x 4 children = 48) and a handful of old PTA newsletters. But, the above reckoning doesn’t include nursery school or kindergarten. So, the stalwart mother must add 72 (2 classes and papers per week the first year of nursery school) and 108 (3 classes and papers per week the second year), multiplying that sum by 4 (number of children still hanging around). That makes her preschool paper sum approximately 720. [NOTE: This figure does not reflect the 2+ weeks of chicken pox and/or other communicable diseases running rampant amongst the two/three-year old set.] As far as kindergarten, there are 180 schools days x 3 (papers @ day) x 4 (no one has moved out), giving her 2,160 kindergarten career memorabilia to toss in the basement or dusty attic corner box now simply scribbled: School Stuff. And what conscientious mother would send her children to Sunday School [35 (number of Sundays) x 4 (still there) x 12 (attendance years forced upon them) and religiously dispose of the 2400 additional pieces of paper? And, if she’s going to instill in them a strong, moral background by sending them off each Sunday, you know Vacation Bible School is just around the corner with 5 (days per summer session) x 4 (No one’s moved out.) x 6 (number of gloriously possible years) or 120 pieces of artwork and assorted projects, worthy of Vatican display. If this mother-type person is smart, however, college and grad school papers will not be included in the math or the dusty attic boxes, which are growing yearly in both size, number and dust. The responsibility of these papers really should be left up to the individual. If the child has advanced that far academically, surely locating places for these papers will be no more difficult than Logistics/Statistics 101. All righty rooty, let’s see what we have so far: # of Papers Collection Category 720 Nursery School 2,160 Kindergarten 43,200 Grades 1 through 12 2,400 Sunday School 120 Vacation Bible School 48 Final Report Cards + 16 PTA Newsletters 48,664 ACH! Of course, this awesome figure does not include the bird mobile made for Mother’s Day, the clay ashtray made in seventh grade art class for nonsmoking parents, or the woodworking project in high school that yet remains unidentified as to its exact function in life. Nor does this number reflect the amount of stuff kids bring home and demand be saved for posterity, such as pine cones, snake skins (with or without the owners still inside), and prized acorn, marble or baseball card collections. [NOTE: This list also does not include the dirty sock collection under the beds.] Don’t forget all those ribbons and certificates kids are awarded during childhood for having perfect vision, the best (or worst, depending on the teachers’ mental health) school attendance record, and all those Science Fair projects. Hopefully, the erupting volcano still carefully preserved in that dusty attic remains dormant. Let’s not forget other precious mementos of childhood: class pictures, love letters written by smitten second, seventh and eleventh-graders, baby teeth (20 teeth x 4 = 80), and the plethora of programs from school and church events like Christmas pageants, basketball playoffs and spelling bees to name a few. Before the calculations for this problem can be completed, crucial questions must be answered: Are her kids athletic? Are any of them planning baton-twirling careers? The number of certificates, medals, ribbons, school letters and trophies for varying degrees of excellence/participation must be taken into account here. Are they involved in 4-H, craft clubs or scouting? If so, she can expect to save dozens of badges, knotted ropes, old packets of seeds and clothes hangers made into surrealistic sculptures (at ten bucks a crack). I reread the story problem, checked my computations and confidently penciled in, Answer beyond comprehension and computation. I suggest the following steps: 1) Rent one of those afore-mentioned handy-dandy storage vaults; 2) Lovingly gather all your kids’ stuff together; 3) Place them in the storage vault (the stuff, not kids); and, 4) Distribute keys to all the kids so they can visit their belongings as often as they wish. Having solved her problem, I faced mine. Thinking of my children’s precious, trusting faces, I opted for yet another solution. I couldn’t possibly save all their papers, but neither could I cold-heartedly toss them. Only the best or most interesting of the bunch (papers, not kids) would remain each year. Unfortunately, it would definitely limit the number of documents in the Presidential Library, but what the heck? Besides me, who else needs to know that occasionally one of my dumplings missed a number in Connect the Dots in nursery school, misspelled Mississippi in fifth grade, could not recall the capitol of Outer Mongolia in ninth grade, or barely eked by with a passing grade in Algebra in high school? I will have all that information stored in my head (in a dusty corner), and if my grandchildren are ever given the line, “Well, when I was in school, ...” I’ll be able to recall the way it really was and set the record straight. So to speak. After all, it will be my word against my children’s, and hopefully, my word as a grandmother will carry more clout than it does as a mother. On the other hand, however, I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that very special trusting relationship my children and I share. Besides, I want to be invited to the White House for dinner. (Excerpt from This, Two, Shall Pass: The Ultimate Survival Handbook for Mothers of Twins, Triplets and Quads – mjboyle607@aol.com) |
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