With Zachary out of town, I’m trying to complete a project I’ve had on my list for quite awhile. You see, for the first four-and-a-half years I kept a blog, I wrote each entry in a separate Word document. I have all those documents, but they’re cumbersome to print up and bind – in triplicate – so that someday I can give it to my kids. I don’t trust that we’ll be able to read these electronic files in years to come, so I want it in hard copy of the little things I’ve recorded about their lives. I know I can pay someone to mine my blog – at least the archives that are left on my old blog – to create the book, but it’s super-ass expensive.
Anyway, awhile back I did combine all of 2007-8 into one big Word document and print it up – in triplicate – which I intend to distribute to different people for safekeeping because there could be a fire or a tornado or a plague of locusts and then my kids wouldn’t have physical, written proof of their childhoods. Did I mention I also print up most pictures and put them in albums so the kids will have documentation of their childhoods? I never said my own lack of childhood didn’t leave a few scars, people; I’m just trying to channel it all in an only somewhat unhealthy way.
Benjamin is in one of those I-can’t-fall-asleep-without-someone-in-the-room-because-of-monsters kinds of phases, so I sit in his room for quite some time every night. And since August is a Facebook-free month for me, I’m using that time to combine all the 2009-10 entries into one Word document, which might be the most boring task to which I’ve ever set myself. Thank god that by 2012, I wised up and started writing this shit all in one place.
I’ve also got another project I’m working on in Zachary’s absence. I’m cleaning up his godforsaken bedroom. The child keeps everything, including labels off bottles, paper airplane collections, and broken popsicle sticks, not to mention the stories, essays, and poems that are piled EVERYWHERE in his room. He has folders and notebooks that he uses, but he writes it faster than he can organize it. The boy is obsessed with preserving every moment in history. I have no idea where he gets such a trait.
I am throwing out, recycling, organizing, and dusting. I am also putting all the books BACK ON THE SHELVES and reclaiming the communal toys he’s absconded with. I know that all you superior parents out there probably make your kids clean their own rooms, and we do on a bi-weekly basis. Unfortunately, for him that seems to mean moving piles off the floor. He needs someone to simply make some of this shit disappear. Don’t worry; I kept all of the writing, but I put it all in one place. In a drawer. So that we can get the dust up.
I’m afraid I’ll be in deep shit when he comes home, although there’s a good chance he won’t even notice. Of course, when he’s an adult, he’ll read his copy of the 2012 bound blog posts and realize what I did. That is if the 15 volumes of the Collected Lives of the Rosenbaum Children aren’t destroyed by rising sea levels or torn apart by rampaging red panda bears.