There is a pile of pictures taunting me and it’s doing it in a nanny-nanny-boo-boo whiny kid kind of way. You know the kid I’m talking about – the playground bully with the really big head who thinks he’s king of the jungle gym. The one who wipes his runny nose all over innocent bystanders, including my son, just before shoving him down so he can slither down the slide first. The kid who annoyingly keeps asking what you’re doing, what you’re doing, what you’re doing, and whose mom could care less since she is obviously too busy talking and texting her friends about what a jerk she married.
The pictures have been sitting on my bedroom dresser for months and I put them there on purpose. I’m the first one to admit that I’m a neat freak. I’m a fan of the philosophy: there’s a place for everything and everything in its place. I knew if I set the pictures in a prominent spot, they would be in an album lickity split. But then I keep snapping and printing, and snapping and printing more and more memories of my little men which means instead of putting the pile away, I add to it.
I really think I have an undiagnosed disorder – one where I am driven to print every, single, solitary picture of my two toddlers, even the ones some might consider unflattering such as the one of Reichen squeezing his eyes really tight while trying to show momma he can toot, or the one of Latham stumbling into the diaper genie while trying to toddle. I even printed the one of the boys where Reichen is quite literally trying to smother Latham with his own little hands. I must print them all. I must.
I just hope I can get some kind of help for my undiagnosed disorder before the pile grows to be 15 years old. I’m not even kidding when tell you my mother-in-law did not put one single picture in an album for that many years. When I met her, she had an entire dresser full of photos. She would cut me off at at this point in the story to tell you they were all dated and in somewhat of an order, of course, but even she would admit not one of those photos had a home.
I see how it happens though. You’re so busy living your crazy life that it’s hard to document it. All I know is I’m tired of those photos taunting me and if I have to stuff them in a dresser to stop that nasty nanny-nanny-boo-boo business, I will. In fact, that sounds like a really good solution for that crappy kid at the park, too. I’m sure his mom wouldn’t even notice.
Great article. I wish I was there to help you get your albums together! We would have a lot of fun.