He is so cute.
And innocent.
And healthy.
As far as stuffed toys go, he's sort of the bee's knees, if you ask me. He isn't branded and doesn't have a weapon, which immediately gives him marks over many other toys. And he's so squishy and snuggly. Look at that smile. How could you not love Mr. Carrot? Mr. Strawberry is squished down there too. You can see his little eye peeking out from under the books and other stuff. I love him too.
We are simplifying, minimizing, throwing stuff out, giving stuff away, getting rid of clutter, to create a better home and lives for ourselves. It's awesome. And today, we went through the bin of stuffed animals. Again. We did this a couple of months ago and got down to one mesh bin. One bin which we stuffed so tightly that not only do they constantly overflow, but we are popping the seams on the container. Time for another cut. But, this time, we are down to all the animals with attachments. Attachments for the kids, and, apparently, attachments for me too.
I guess the thing that really bothers me is that they choose to give away these cute sweet little guys instead of the turtle with Sea World emblazoned across its chest, or the blasted Angry Bird, or the stuffed penguins that cost a dollar and will fall apart within the month. But its my own fault for asking them to make the decisions. It's the right thing to do, I know. But this is how we end up hanging on to a plush bird that they never play with and sending off sweet Mr. Strawberry.
It's another thing out of the house. That is good. There is no need to mourn these things. Things.
I know that once they are gone, I will not long for Mr. Carrot or Mr. Strawberry. I will not pine for them or wish they were here. I will not miss them. It is just like soooooo many other things in this house. Only when I look at them, do I cherish their place in my life. But I only look at them once in a blue moon. Just like that set of candle holders in the basement that don't really have a place in the house, but every time I look at them, I just looove them and can't give them up. The days, weeks, and months that I live in my house, I don't even think about them. I don't even use candle holders.
I believe attachments to objects are, for the most part, silly. Some of them, however, I do stand by: the two monkeys that my sister gave to my boys the day of my dad's funeral, the little dogs that they have taken on every plane and car ride we have taken, the little ostrich that Elwyn held almost every night in his crib for the first year of his life, the little blue dog my dad got for me when I was a child. I'm not ready to sever these attachments yet. Maybe some day.
But, today I will sadly say goodbye to Mr. Carrot.
And then likely never think of him again.
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