The Bag of Special Papers.

Caleb, like his father before him, is physically pained at the idea of throwing anything away. Today there were tears when I tossed a mailed Kmart ad featuring Toy Story 3 into the recycling bin. I'm afraid that I have inadvertently encouraged this pack-rat behavior by allowing him to have what has been known as The Bag of Special Papers since he started preschool last fall.

You can imagine the kind of treasures this bag contained: uncolored scraps of paper from primary on Sundays (who wants to color when you can talk to ten different people all at the same time?!), instructions from toy packages, pictures of toys he likes from mailers, smashed Froot Loops glued to a page...

But. You may have astutely noticed the past tense there in discussing the contents of The Bag of Special Papers. This is because I directed a super-cleansing of his room the other day and then usurped total control (rightly, I might add) when we came to The Bag. Ah, the deep inner cleansing that accompanied The Bag cleansing! It was beautiful.

Another perk: the much-loved talking birthday cards from nearly half a year ago resurfaced from the depths of The Bag. One card in particular is currently in bed with said child: the card (from Aunt Erin and Uncle Ben) that plays some part of the Star Wars theme song--though a little wearily after so much use.

Ever since the card reappeared, I have had no trouble locating my offspring since he plays the card nonstop. This morning, as I turned off the shower, I was unsurprised to hear the card getting louder and louder as Caleb approached*. We've been working on granting naked people a modicum of privacy**, however, so I was pleased that the door stayed shut. The song continued to get louder, though--because he slid the opened card under the door for me to enjoy.

When the song ended, he grabbed the card back and scampered off. I heard a door shut and thought, "Yes! I can dry myself off without having to answer questions about my anatomy! Blessed peace!" But then I heard the familiar strains of Star Wars again--because Caleb had closed himself into the bathroom closet and again slid the card under the door (because surely I wanted to hear that song again).

He is a delight. And I marvel at how long the batteries for those things last.

*Do anyone else's children find it necessary to locate their naked and dripping mother as soon as the water for the shower turns off? Every day of their blessed lives? Anyone?

**Total privacy being obviously totally out.