the fridge

the great baptism into parenthood is not the act of birth itself…however this, along with a parent’s first supermarket tantrum/meltdown whereby one must abandon brimming cart at the farther most depths of the dairy aisle with child in tow is a close second…..is when the icebox door transforms into the canvas of childhood picassos and matisses.


and though i admire the heart, soul, sweat and tears that both scarletsparks pour into their creations, there comes a time in every mother’s reality where you have to make a choice.

there is no possible way we can keep all of their works of art. from the tempera jackson pollocks crafted at school to skillfully ripped out my little pony coloring book pages, i must decide which ones will stay and which ones will go.

these moments tap into one of the most difficult aspects of being a mother. everytime i have to make a choice between the recycling container and the rubbermaid which holds the items that have made the “cut”, it’s as if i’m letting go of a piece of their childhood. a piece i will never get back.

and i know if the girls were a part of the decision making process that ALL pieces would find their final resting place in the rubbermaid or that the frigidaire would be plastered so thick that the handle couldn’t be found. art versus pragmatics.

for the moment i must revel in the fact that the first of the bimonthly cuts have been made. still with pain….because after doing this for almost 7 years, it doesn’t get any easier…but with more room. a new canvas for inspiration.