I'm a Keeper, Part 1

I come by it honest.

My daddy.
My daddy's family.
My mama's folks.
They all have the knack for holding on to stuff.
From my Granny's fancy Eastern Star dresses she wore back in the early 90s, to the button that came off of the coat my Daddy's grandfather bought for my Daddy's mama. That button is on my backpack purse that my mama and aunt spent all afternoon sewing for me when I was in high school. I kept that, too.
We're all keepers.

Relics from times long past decorate the corners of my grandparents' homes.
Some have even found their way into my home.

The aged windows that hang in my living room spent a lifetime bringing light into my mama's grandparents' house. My daddy salvaged them when they tore down that house. The windows spent another lifetime tucked away, waiting to be reused. My daddy dug them out for me when I got the wild idea that I needed old windows for my new house.

There's a nail keg in my living room. It holds my dry umbrellas. Probably a few dust bunnies, too. I found it in my Grandaddy's basement one time. It was perfect. My brother and my Mama made me promise that I wouldn't get rid of it. I think it was a stretch for them to let me take it.

One relic in particular comes from my daddy's daddy, Grandpa. My grandmother gave it to me as a Christmas gift years after Grandpa passed. It's now proudly hanging near the light switch in my small guest room. For years, it hung near the light switch in my Grandpa's room. As a child, I would admire it each time I was in the room. Now I can do the same in my own home. That stuffed, mounted squirrel makes me smile every time I look at him.

I can't help but be a keeper.
My folks think I like to get rid of stuff, but I don't.
I really have a problem holding on to stuff, stuff that has a memory attached to it.

Buried deep in the drawers of clothes in my closet is the shirt I wore when Mama and Daddy bought me the car I had always wanted.

Jammed into the drawer of the desk my daddy refinished for me is a stack of cards scribbled with signatures and notes of the folks that I care most about.

I can't help but be a keeper.

Now with LC, I find myself wanting to keep more and more.
Her first pair of baby Converse shoes.
Her sweet little crafts she loves to tell us about.
Her adorable favorite shirts or night gowns.

There's a fine line between being a keeper and being a hoarder.
I don't think I've crossed that line just yet, but sometimes I wonder.

I'm trying to be selective about what I keep.
I'm trying to keep more memories.
Like the sweet smile I see when she peeks out of her bedroom when she wakes up.
Or the mischievous look I get from across the breakfast table. 

I've been writing this stuff down so maybe Lydia Claire will be a keeper too. A keeper of the sweet stuff, her mama's words and thoughts. And maybe some of the sentimental junk my family has held onto for years. Maybe she'll keep that, too. Maybe she'll be a keeper.

Reasons we don't have pictures of LC's room:
1. She's a toddler and it's a disaster.
But the fabulous posters are in the background of this photo. :) 

Above her bed are pages from a Fun with Dick and Jane book. Adam's grandmother used them when she taught kindergarten many years ago.

Two framed crocheted doilies spent decades decorating Adam's other grandmother's walls. They're now hanging a wall in LC's room.

The foot of Lydia Claire's bed isn't topped with a fluffy character blanket. She has quilt made by her great, great grandmother.

I guess I'm training her to be a keeper, too.