11 more days

My oldest child will be in the double digits. Tonight, while we were reading a bedtime story, I asked him if he would mind if I cleared out the little kid books off his bookshelf. We never read these and they were really just clogging up his bookshelf. I warn him that they are a lot. Do you mind if I get rid of the Muppet Babies? Cat in the Hat and Dr. Seuss? Anything you want me to leave? He looks at me and says "No mom. Go ahead and take all but the big kid books. I'll just get some new ones. You know, some teenage books."

*sigh*

This child has his own personal library. I'm in the middle of a decluttering of the Army household. I've gotten rid of so much clutter in the past three days. I'm very proud of myself. But, this breaks my heart. I know, logically, that I should give some of these books to the children's hospital in Fort Worth. Maybe some to the Ronald McDonald House there, too. Maybe I'll let Pickle chose where he wants them to go. I'll give him several choices. I'm sure he'll want to give some to Stinkerbelle, but not his brother. Brother already has almost as many books as Pickle.

Books are important in my household. As a writer, I want my children to have a love for reading and very little warms my heart as much as seeing the soon-to-be 2-year-old carrying a book with her wherever she goes.