This is a regular day in my house; I find pieces of art made especially for me all. over. the. house.
On my refrigerator:
More on my refrigerator:
I have found art in the bathroom especially for me as well (because they know I hide there sometimes).
At the end of last year, each kid brought home a completely full grocery bag full of paper that was really important and special.
And let's not mention the theme weeks that SOMEONE organizes that creates a buttload of collateral every week.
A million years ago, a friend of mine tweeted something to the effect of "being a parent means having to throw stuff away" and it hurt my heart at the time. I mean, what about the beautiful works of art made especially for me? Apparently, this was before my children were sufficient at holding and using any sort of writing instrument because EVERY DAY. WORKS OF ART. FOUR KIDS. ESPECIALLY FOR ME.
It's too much.
When the girls were younger, I did this cute, Pinterest-inspired thing where each girl had a three-ring binder where we could put really important and special items, like their graduation certificates from swim classes and their modern take on a rainbow using a monochromatic palette and the first time they wrote their name.
But then I looked at it a year later and wondered why we kept all this crap.
I know, I know. I'm an unfeeling wench.
But even I knew, as a recovering pack rat, that they wouldn't care about that stuff in one year, let alone 10 or 20. I remember keeping school projects from fourth grade and boxes full of journals for years before realizing they were not important. Sure, they served a purpose at the time, but not for all time.
So, they give me their coloring pages and modern art collages and their graded papers and I congratulate them on a job well done and I stick really impressive ones on the fridge for a day or two, or maybe take a picture of them [or maybe stash them in my file cabinet if they are terribly heart-breaking adorable], and I THROW THE REST AWAY.
High five for minimalism!