Plastic Crates & Precious Childhood

 

Every year, when putting away our Christmas crates, I feel the intense stares from the “other” plastic crates sitting sedentary, slightly dusty and very impatient on their shelves in our basement storage room. They glare at me. Call to me. Cry out— “It’s our turn! Open us up! Organize our contents! Purge our papers! Whittle down our detritus!”

I know plastic crates can’t really talk. But if you store up enough of them over multiple decades of marriage and parenthood, trust me, they begin to become a bit sassy, if not a little snide and sinister. 

So this was the year. This was the January where I was going to face the music and bring some real order to the mess and mayhem in our storage area. 

It was high time. Three of the children are all the way through school and completely out of the house. The fourth is about to graduate college and the youngest is scheduled to start her senior year of high school in 2025. We are getting close to wrapping up these busy and crate-busting educational years with a big bow. Not quite there, but close enough for this project to feel right in its timing.

I’ve always tried to keep things under control. The crates had labels. There were some paltry attempts at order, but, nonetheless, when multiplied by five kids and, what seems, a thousand moves the contents of these crates had become decidedly overwhelming. 

Even with these formidable feelings, I still somehow became motivated. I want to be the one to go through these things. I don’t want to leave it all for my kids to figure out. I don’t mean that to sound morbid, but there’s truly no time like the present. We just don’t know. Gosh, that’s one lesson I’ve learned lately. Right now I feel good and clear-headed and quite capable. Now is the time. 

And so I began. One child, one crate, one crumbly art project at a time. I spent most of my week buried in our basement pouring out the contents of plastic crates and pouring over my kids’ words and pictures and notes and school projects. Yes, it was a monumental task, but more than anything it was an act of joy walking down this particular memory lane. We’ve been collecting bits and pieces of our children for almost three decades. Again, multiply that by five and it added up to a lot of stuff. A lot of heavily glued macaroni noodle masterpieces!

I had oodles of fun sending to our family group text photos of their artwork, their silly notes, their poems and projects and pictures. I think they all had a few good laughs as well. It was entertaining for them to see each other’s funny spellings and awkward writings and drawings. There was lots of laughter and teasing back and forth in our text thread this week. 

It also brought a renewed sense of perspective. Each one has come so far. The child who couldn’t hardly spell her name in Kindergarten. The kid who couldn’t color inside the lines or finish his math facts fast enough. The one who wrote me literally endless letters of apology because that was how she processed after getting herself in trouble. I remember those moments. I remember wondering if my son or daughter would ever get it. Get their act together. Get their ducks in a row. Learn to count the ducks in a row. 

If you’ve parented even one child, you know what it is I mean. We just naturally have some worries as we watch them learn and grow. Leap and … sometimes fall or fail or crash or never seem to catch on. We’ve all been there. It’s such a process. Each child on their own timeline. In their own way figuring it out. Each child with their own strengths and weaknesses which so often lead to our worries and what ifs. And our job to keep on correcting, coaching, cheering, challenging. Definitely to keep praying. It’s exhausting. And yet, it’s exhilarating. Because life and love are both things most always. 

Several times this week I found myself in tears as I remembered their frustrations and my own failures as a parent. There are so many. The path is strewn wide and deep with them. The crates told the stories and reminded me of long forgotten lessons. There were also sweet joyful tears and deep gratitude to read the beautiful handmade cards, poems and love notes from our children. Funny drawn pictures from when they were so small to their thoughtful notes and letters in more recent years. I treasure them all. I made one box for me and one for Rick which included all of their love offerings to each of us. 

What a gift it is to (sometimes) save things.

My goal was to get each child down to two big plastic crates a piece. Two crates from birth to college which would hold all of the important or precious items of these years. I wasn’t entirely successful. The girls were especially hard. So I did my best and decided not to worry if it took an extra crate or two to contain their lives. 

These crates all lined up are only a tiny part of the story. There’s absolutely no way to capture all of these bursting years of childhood in four walls of plastic with a lid. Not possible. Not even close. These are nothing more than a snapshot or a hint of who they were and what they’ve become. I might have been able to whittle down the detritus a bit, but there’s no whittling down of our lives together. It is really for them to have and go through some day perhaps with their spouse or children. 

I’m so glad I saved what I did.

I’m actually a purger by nature. I don’t love clutter. I don’t love things sitting around which someone else might be able to better use. Ask my kids how many trips they have taken to Goodwill or some other donation location. Just this past Christmas Connor hauled off another load in the back of his pick up truck. It’s never ending. 

We are always getting rid of stuff or giving it away. But I’m so glad I saved the things I did. Even though I tossed a lot this week, it was wonderful having the chance to hold their little selves in my hands again for a few brief moments of motherhood. Strangely, as emotional as some of that was, I felt no desire to go back. I mean sure I’d love to redo a few things or revisit a day or a special moment with young kids, but the truth is, I love having my older kids now. I love having this chance to see the full scope. I know there’s more ahead. I pray there’s much more ahead that I get to experience with them. But I’m so grateful for these amazing few decades of motherhood which aren’t only contained in a good number of plastic crates, but which are much more so captured in my heart. What a gift to watch our children grow. To watch them grow up and go on and go forth. 

To know things like that little girl who couldn’t seem to learn to write her name graduated with high honors from college and is killing it in the work world right now. That boy who so often had to be dragged out of his bed each morning is now up early and at the gym before he heads into his office. I could go on, but you get it. They grow up. They figure it out. And all those challenges and failures actually help make them stronger in their futures. Even if right now it doesn’t seem that way, I encourage you young parents, keep collecting the bits and pieces and watch it happen. Keep praying. Keep believing. Keep encouraging your children. They are never too old or too far away to cherish what was and celebrate what is to be. 

the final product. ready to be put back in storage.