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My Life

As I hurried to start dinner for weekend guests, I dismissed my (3-year-old) son’s request to assist me with the chopping. Instead I suggested he clean toys up off the living room floor.

But mom, you’re just… my life.

I paused after he said this. His life! Indeed, I am. Many thoughts rushed into my head about how I facilitate all his exploration. It was like he was telling me he couldn’t do any thing without me. He couldn’t chop any vegetables without me.

You’re my life, too, son.

It didn’t take me any longer to get the meal started with him helping.

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Tackling the Hoard

I didn’t even know there was a term for this.  Until my sister-in-law mentioned “goo hoarding” over a holiday dinner, I sort of felt like I had a personal problem.  I wasn’t ashamed of myself, but I had no idea how to describe “it”. When we moved into our home last July I became aware of a situation.  Once I recognized that this situation was an issue, I began dealing with it.  With no knowledge of my five-month-long project, my husband’s sister just mentioned this phenomena; I don’t even remember what was said to remind her of this.  Almost daily I had felt compelled to put this project into words, but something was missing: the words.  At last she said, “goo hoarding” and tiny sparks ignited in my brain and I felt honorable for combating this issue that concerned me.  I wasn’t just being frugal; I was tackling the hoard.

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