If I Should Die Before I Wake. . .

About two years ago, my mother gave the kids a little stuffed frog whose 'hands' are folded in prayer. When you squeeze his belly, he says,

"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, With Angels watching through the night, Until I wake with morning light. Amen"

Old rhymes are hard to forget, though, and I often think, "If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take". At the end of this thought, the next one usually is, "and I pray that my kids don't go through all of my stuff".

You see, I'm a saver. Not of junk like old toasters or television sets or clothes that no longer fit. I save old memories: letters, journals, photos.

Ahhhhh, you say, isn't that sweet and sentimental. And, yes, it is sweet and sentimental. I imagine myself being about 80 years old, sitting on the floor of my bedroom and reliving all those innocent, crazy days when, at 15 or 25, I felt like my whole life had been decided for me because of 'X'. And, then I'll burn it all; or at least get rid of any incriminating stuff.

But, what if it isn't me going through all of my things? What if it is my husband or, gulp, my kids? Will they think the old love letters from my first boyfriend are sweet or totally depraved? What about journal entries which admit not recalling anything about the previous night-on-the-town? What about THE LIST?

Part of me thinks that it is important for my kids to know that I am not just the mommy who fixes them breakfast, kisses their boo boos and reads them stories. That, before them, I had a life that was full and wonderful and screwed up and colorful. Before them, I had a life that mattered to me.

So, for now, everything stays. I'll just be extra careful crossing the street.