There is a box. It is in my house. It is large. It is full.
It mocks me.
Can you hear it?
Yes, that is the sound of my bulging scrapbook photo box, pointing its wicked Kodak finger at me.
I have good intentions. Really, I do. When I list hobbies, I put down scrap-booking. I buy the supplies. I have stickers for every significant event that has occurred in our lives for the past 10 years. Did you know they made stickers for baby’s first poop and first public tantrum?
I stuff my photos into that blasted box. And that’s where they sit. You know why?
I’m a scrappin’ failure. It’s true. I’m a loser in the die-cutting department of life.
Oh, I have good intentions. Believe you, me. I’ve bought magazines and attended classes. I own special scissors and a hole punch in the shape of Mickey’s head.
I’m sure these were designed with serious scrappers in mind. And in my mind, I am a serious scrapper. Just not on paper, exactly.
And I feel very guilty about that.
I want to be able to give my kids this ginormous book stuffed full of memories from their amazing childhood. This will not only impress them, it will announce to the world that I am a good mom.
But I have a bulging box and I am so far behind.
That’s when this genius idea hit me.
I was digging thru my box when I found this picture:
(WARNING: You may want to protect your eyes from the raw horror of this photo).
I was 9.5 years old and entirely too old to be photographed with that doll. My ‘fro was a gift from my mother- because she was a home-perm gift giver.
Am I the picture of 80’s beauty or what?
This photo is lovingly referred to by my family as my, “corn cob teeth picture.” Isn’t that nice? That’s a self-esteem builder if I’ve ever heard it. It was a year before I got braces and a much needed chemical straight-ner.
I remember posing for that photo. I felt pretty. Which truly proves that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And I loved that doll, the way my own daughter loves her baby dolls.
Just before we left the house for this photo shoot (which makes me sound all model-ish, my photo shoot) I grabbed my favorite doll. I’m not sure what possessed me to capture this moment with her. Perhaps I wanted to remember her because battery power caused her to suck on a plastic pacifier or maybe I just needed someone who didn’t care about my hair malady. It is what it is. And I’m not even ashamed. I am a courageous woman.
As I dug through my box, this picture spoke to me. First, it said, do not ever perm your daughter’s hair without a professional license. And if you do, do not re-perm it every three months until you create a giant afro on your child’s small head resulting in an enormous looking noggin’.
Secondly, the photo spoke to my scrap-booking aspirations. I decided right then and there, every week I would drag up an old photo from last year or 20 years ago and share it on my blog. It would be a virtual scrapbook, not only for my children, but also for the world.
Since I made this life altering decision, you know what that box has said to me?
See you next Thursday.
Sincerely, ‘fro me to you.
Food for the Soul:
Prov. 4:3 “When I was a boy at my father’s knee, the pride and joy of my mother, He would sit me down class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';">and drill me: “Take this to heart. Do what I tell you—live! Sell everything and buy Wisdom! Forage for Understanding! Don’t forget one word! Don’t deviate an inch! Never walk away from Wisdom—she guards your life; love her—she keeps her eye on you. Above all and before all, do this: Get Wisdom! Write this at the top of your list: Get Understanding! Throw your arms around her—believe me, you won’t regret it; never let her go—she’ll make your life glorious. She’ll garland your life with grace, she’ll festoon your days with beauty.”