Memorial Daze

For the Memorial Day weekend my husband surprised me with a trip to… clean out our attic! Yes, the attic, the ultimate stay-cation destination… NOT! Don’t get me wrong, I’m a neat freak at heart and totally get off on completing such important job as alphabetizing sock drawers and tossing out year-old tax documents, but on Memorial Weekend?! I JUST bought a new bathing suit for crying out loud!

This would be a learning process, I told myself. Mainly I learned to bite my tongue because my life could be a lot worse. Coming in at a close second was the realization that I AM old enough to own items that SMELL old. How is it that my box of college mementoes smells like moth balls? This is our attic, not my grandmother’s! Hopefully the strong scent of grilling emanating from the backyards of those actually ENJOYING their holiday masks my bedroom’s eau-de-pissed off.

As we each went through our own boxes of memories we found lots of incriminating photos taken in the 80’s (if you were my friend then, check Facebook now and plan to be embarrassed). Courtesy of my mother in law’s oh too convenient archiving skills, my husband got to enjoy reading through no less than 200 letters from his ex girlfriend: the pretty, rich one that got away- just my luck. That awkwardness aside, we enjoyed exchanging stories and basked in the feeling of nostalgia this housekeeping chore evoked.

All of this reminiscing (and viewing of photos that featured way hotter, tanner versions of ourselves and our exes), had me wondering if MY HUSBAND was wondering what I was wondering. What IF I ended up with one of my childhood pals from Venezuela (unlikely)…or if Tim hadn't let the "good one" get away? What would our lives be like then?

In the background, J.R. is chanting “the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries the computer needs batteries,” while Jack is SWIMMING in a box of you know who’s female fan mail. Before I can scream Calgon (and no that’s not the name of a former flame) take me away, I realize that I wouldn’t trade my life for anything.

As much as raising a child like J.R. makes me want to turn back time and run like hell, I know in my heart that he was not meant to be a Jaime Roberto. Life in our house is no Memorial Day picnic, but I just can’t imagine our lives without getting to observe the following:

J.R. singing the words to America’s Ventura Highway, including “doo, doo; doo, doo; doodo…”

J.R. and Jack having KNOCK DOWN, DRAG OUT fights like typical brothers would.

J.R. telling me “that’s not right,” after I screamed “for F***’s SAKE JACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

J.R. wanting to sing Happy Birthday to Jackson every day since May 17.

J.R. getting better and better every day.

To honor this weekend of remembrance, I plan to shelve the beta version of this blog. It’s way too angry and I don’t want to think of J.R.’s childhood in this way any more. But considering the writing is a true reflection of how I felt at the time (and because I think I’m so freaking hilarious and entertaining), I will republish select entries for my diehard fans…just as my husband and I are going to spend time scanning more quality photos tonight to put on Facebook. The moral of the story? Looking back CAN be fun, but not nearly as inspiring as looking forward.