I feel like the worst mommy in the world.

I did an awful, miserable, tortuous, slimy thing tonight that I may never, ever forgive myself for... and could, quite possibly, need years of therapy to recover from.


I cleaned out the "Art" box.

Yes. It was there - unassumingly gathering dust on the tippy top of the basement shelves. She was there - in all her protective Rubbermaid glory - holding on to SB's entire artistic existence, from Kindergarten till yesterday. She's so full her top barely fits, but she doesn't mind.

So, of course I have decided to go in a "cleaning out" streak. And naturally, the first box I choose must be the one in the highest possible location that will cause the most emotional trauma when things are discarded from.

I sat in the floor of the basement for two hours - looking back over my sweet little girls' creations - from her drawing on the first day of school to the plastic cup angel, to the self portrait. Tempra paint hands, plastic plate creations, bits of construction paper, stories, and coloring sheets. They were all tucked safely away... until I messed with their sweet, little unassuming perfection.

The box itself was stuffed to the top. Since Kindergarten, I have saved every piece of paper the child brings home. The evolution of her style goes from bottom to top - the simple, primitive stick people drawings with floating heads - to the spelling tests, the monthly journals.... it's become an insane mess of papers - and knowing that Jordin starts next year - and that we're moving to the new (old) house in about a month - I just can't take it all with me. I can't.

I wouldn't let SB help... sweetly sent her outside to play. She takes great pride in the things I save that she makes.... it would have killed both of us to have her standing there while I weeded through everything. Thankfully - the job was a little easier than I anticipated... there was a lot of "junk" in there that could be afforded to the trash can - and plenty left for mommy to hold onto.

So - I threw away the now crumpled coloring sheets and random drawings.... threw away a majority of her spelling tests, trashed the faded, falling apart construction paper cowboy who lost a boot somewhere along the way, tossed the paper plate that was Santa's body at one time, and a few collages of magazine clippings. I felt like I was throwing away priceless art - like some curator might show up at any minute and dig my baby's Picassos out of the trash for his private collections. I felt dirty. ... then it got worse ... SB busted me.

She immediately sat down and demanded to know what I was doing - my eight year old protecting her six year old artwork like it was a sibling. I really tried to explain the grown up we-just-don't-have-room-for-everything-at-the-new-house mantra- something she could never comprehend. So instead, she sat with me while we sorted through the end... directing me as to what pieces to save - and what to trash.

So - we save some cool things - the construction paper lion (L is for Lion), the hand made "Mothers Day Tea" invitation, the portrait of mommy (damn, she makes me look good), the Father's Day card, some Christmas decorations, two monthly journals, several stories, some laminated placemats (one for Fall, one for Christmas), the construction paper fish bowl with the orange goldfish (my personal favorite, F is for Fish) and... the decaying Qtip skeleton... he's missing a QTip leg.... but still looks just as happy dancing on that piece of black construction paper as the day she brought him home.

We're going to frame some things and make a mini gallery in the new laundry room... it has high ceilings and empty walls - crying out for some life. I put a folder in my car of the pieces we need frames for - Sarah Beth couldn't be happier. And while we've "finished" the project - it's killing me not to run out to the trash cans and pull it all back out for safekeeping. Now - Jordin's Kindergarten year looms in the wings - I better buy a new box.

I'm even thinking about doing a little surgery on Mr. Skeleton, and giving him a new leg.... just so he'll keep dancing.