Well Loved

Child 2 has an emotional relationship with nearly everything. With its close (and dearly beloved) family it's often a rather grumpy emotional relationship, but given how much button-pushing it puts up with I feel that's only to be expected. It's the inanimate things that are a little more problematic.

Child 2 is a hoarder and collector from a long and distinguished line of such beings. In fact it has a double dose because there's the genetic link (from my side definitely, less certainly on Kirk's) as well as the behavioral link since its paternal grandfather is the Hoarder Grand Poobah and High Mucketty Muck. With an emphasis on the muck.

Child 2 has a fine even handed approach to its hoards; currently its dresser top is strewn with small plastic toys from a friend's brother's recent birthday, several DVDs brought in apparently simply to gently pat the covers, an inevitable stack of books and a general dusting of papers etc that refuse category. When told that "clean your room" needs to include such surfaces it looks at me in blank confusion and wonders how I cannot see that all of these objects are fabulous and utterly desirable and must be in plain sight (or semi-obscured sight) at all times to be truly appreciated.

It also owns an enormous number of stuffed animals. It was banned from acquiring any more several years ago when the population overflowed its bed and seemed to be planning an invasion of the rest of the house, but that left the dozens of "best friend" cuddly toys that already had burrowed their plastic-eyed way into its heart. When we moved after Kirk's disappearance we had to cram our not-too-large household into a considerably smaller space and so, with much difficulty, Child 2 was forced to decide exactly which among the many would become the chosen few allowed to remain out and about. The others were tucked carefully into plastic garbage bags and interred in bins in the garage. They have remained there for well over a year now, but Child 2 refuses to hear gentle (loud and continuous) hints about thinning the herd.

Then there are its clothes. Child 2 was one of those children who seemed to stay the same size for ever. It was petite - to say the least - for most of its young life and so could wear the same grubby, worn out sweaters and jeans for two, sometimes three years running. Maybe that's why emotional attachment to clothes, for Child 2, is enormous, what with having invested years of sweat and grass stains and all. Even more beloved are things handed down by friends - doubly valuable and impossible to relinquish.

Yesterday Child 2 took out a shirt I had washed and pointed out to it as probably no longer wearable. It was a magical shirt, I admit, bought just for Child 2 all itself, bought because it was clear Child 2 would love it (new clothes were and are much more now extremely rare in our family). It was, however, bought five years ago. Child 2, after squeezing into the shirt with much effort, glanced down at the exposed bits of flesh and admitted, reluctantly, that just maybe the shirt is on the small side. It has agreed that the shirt can be handed down, probably with ceremony and a solemn promise that Child 2 can visit the shirt when necessary.

It will be missed.