After 14 years of toasting my buns, my beloved hand me down toaster died on me on Sunday. It was so old that the slots were too skinny for bagels or any thing wider than paper thin bread. This toaster might even be 20 years old for all I know. I retrieved it from a college friend who was moving back to Turkey when I was 20 years old.
After coming to terms that my toaster was truly dead, Kobus begrudgingly took me to the madhouse we call Target. When Kobus and I go into Target, we make sure we have blinders on. We do not stray from our mission. He picked up the toaster, grabbed my hand while toting the shopping cart with Anais in it and only let me linger at the $1 bin for a “splurge”. For our splurge item, we bought 90 stick on gems for Anais and a 2009 Cat Calendar.
So now, I have a new toaster. It’s very odd to not have to pry out my toast with a pair of pliers. Like I said before, my old toaster slots could only fit paper thin toast. Anything thicker than paper proved to be a mission to retrieve.
As I look around my house, I see things from 20 and even 30 years ago. I keep my things for a looonnnng time. I haven’t always been an anti-consumer. Admittedly, I went through a stage of being a shopholic from age 18 to 20 years old, but was promptly cured when I was bogged down my scary credit card statements in college. Thankfully, I learned that the best things in life are rarely situated at the mall.
Kobus and I have also been accused of being hippy parents. Admittedly, we let Anais roam around our house naked save for a pair of hot pink cowboy boots that she inherited from her cousin. I’d like to think that we have a reverence for children being young and free.
The truth is she’s getting potty trained and it’s much easier for her to feel her pee when she’s unencumbered by clothes.
Anais’ hair is usually in some wild state. Her knees are covered in stickers and she can usually be seen singing and terrorizing the cat simultaneously. We buy her wooden toys. She rarely watches TV- if ever. Her snacks include goji berries and organic apples.
As I type, she is sitting next to me flipping through the cat calendar we bought at Target for a cool dollar.
I’m cherishing her while she’s all mine. Next September, I’m setting her free. Like a butterfly, she will be morphed from a tot to a pre-schooler. It’s been some crazy trend to start your kid off at school at the tender age of 2. My take on this is that I’m not sending my kid anywhere until she can clearly articulate she’s had a crappy day. Anais will be starting school at the ripe age of 3 1/2.
It’s raining today and I feel utterly uninspired to do anything, but re-read “The Bohemian Manifesto” by Laren Stover. Every time I catch myself feeling just a tad bit gray and flat lined, I pick up my old and trusted book to remind myself that there’s a colorful world out there– or in this case- in there (my mind).
“The Bohemian Manifesto” is a tongue and cheek look at underpinnings of the artsy, wanderlust bohemians that defy society rules. Though I can’t say I live too far off convention, I do admit that before Anais was born, I often went off the grid for years at a time. It was topsy turvy time in my life and you couldn’t pay me to go back, but a nostalgic stroll through memory lane now and again serves as a present reminder of how unpredictable life can be.
My old toaster sits in the garbage bin in my kitchen. I’ve lugged it from 3 apartments in college, to one group house, to one stinky studio, to a 2 bedroom apartment with Kobus and now to our 3 bedroom hardwooded flat in Old Town where it has finally come to it’s rusty demise. It’s funny where your stuff takes you.
On that note, I have to prep Anais for her Gymboree Play & Learn Class and debate whether I have the energy to navigate through Pentagon City Mall to have her pose with Santa.
Have a Toasty Warm Tuesday,