A Toy Story.

Journal, I am mad at myself. I am also confused and scared. I discovered recently that I don't just have emotional baggage from my past, I have a bit of physical baggage as well. I didn't realize how intertwined they were. When I was able to drop most of it, I was stunned by who actually helped me do it.

When I moved here from Northern California, we used a U-Haul moving van. One of Uhaul's hallmark features is the space above the cab. They call it "Mom's Attic." The 'Attic' is a space to move more delicate things that you don't want to get damaged during the trip. On the road, the term just got stuck in my head. The Mom's Attic in the truck was perfect for the moving boxes we packed in. In fact, most of our standard sized moving boxes fit in the overhead space. I was proud of the fact that Kimmy and I managed to fit most of our lives in that little space. It was a nice psychological exercise, anyway.

I used to have a childhood home that had an 'Attic' of sorts for me to store certain things from my childhood. That place is gone. I lost my attic long ago. I found more peace of mind if I had all my possessions in one place- a place I could control and go to any time I wanted. Everything from my childhood, everything from my present... I have. I'm not storing things with anyone else. All my stuff is with me, much to the dismay of my patient wife. I got rid of as much as possible before the move down here.

I sold off the vast majority of my computer collection.

I got rid of all of my vintage video games, save for the consoles I owned in childhood.

I'm down to three small typewriters.

I have a storage bin of my dad's stuff.

I still have my dad's HO scale Train set.

I have my near-complete set of 'Chevron Cars'

When I unpacked and moved everything in, I evaluated everything I chose to keep. Now that I had purged once, it would be easier to truly understand why I'd kept the things I did.

Lizzie knew about the Chevron Cars. We'd played with them a little bit last year, while living in Northern California. The play session was short lived- she started to get violent with them. They started to drive off cliffs and participate in demo-derbies. I came to the conclusion of "Next year" and hurriedly swept them away to protection.

I looked at the Chevron Cars and started thinking, "Well, I can test it out with a few..." I put six in a box and brought them out to her. My daughter hates me, by the way. She wants nothing to do with me. Mommy needs to do Everything for her. Everything. It irritates me to no end that my daughter doesn't want to sit next to me at the dinner table, or snuggle with me. So, anyway. The box. I Brought six cars out to her. They were doubles, one was already damaged. I figured, worst case scenario- the box could actually fit in my closet if I had to give these up. We started playing that afternoon. after about 5 minutes of playing, I looked at my watch to see it was 6:00 P.M. The lack of light from the window confirmed that 3 hours of time had indeed escaped me while pure joy and laughter took its place. There was a fog that divided Lizzie and me from the rest of the world. The fog raised just enough for me to see that at some point, We'd taken her favorite car, Cherish, into Daddy's room at least once in the last 3 hours to find her 50 other friends. I stepped back. I saw her. My little girl, playing with the same toys that I did when I was her age.

Those toys were forgotten friends. I'd trusted them more than I could ever trust a grown up. I'd fallen away from them. I had't talked to some of them for nearly twenty years. Maybe I was afraid they would be angry or disappointed with me for neglecting the relationship for so long. For one reason or another, I'd let the connection with them hang. Though the link was dormant, something inside me feared losing them to damage, wear, or someone else. I'd preserved what looked to be an ordinary set of toys for an extraordinary, yet unknown reason. I hauled these toys with me through two decades and 18 moves. I knew when I was Lizzie's age that the noble thing would be to pass them on to my children in the distant future.

I looked at the beauty and joy of my daughter. I realized that as the distance to that future diminished into what was now, present day, my reasons for keeping the cars had shifted. Instead of my childhood toys being a piece of my childhood I could pass down to my children, they became an emotional escape tunnel. A tunnel leading back to my early childhood, to my early confidants... Sally School Bus, Holly Hatchback, Trevor Tow-truck, and Hank Hotrod.

Journal, I can't take this any more. I changed. I feel amazing. I filled the tunnel in. I can remember what is on the other side, but I want to be on this end! My family is on this end. My daughters are here, my life is here. I don't need a safe space (guuuh. millennial term. Ick.) THIS is my safe space. I figured that out when I was looking at Lizzie.

I started to look for the fog again. I descended back into the world I was building with my daughter and our Chevron Cars. I started laughing uncontrollably. We took all of the Chevron Cars to the beach. Woody Wagon towed CC Boat N Trailer to the dock and we launched him into the bay. Casey Coupe turned into a submarine! The baby cars almost drowned! but luckily, Trevor Tow-truck was the lifeguard on duty and pulled them out. Summer Scoop and Chandler Chip drove back to the restaurant to get Peyton Pizza. They met everyone at the beach. There was just enough ice cream and pizza for everyone. Bedtime came. The Chevron Cars had to go to bed, so we put them in their garage. Cherish didn't want to go because Lizzie was her best friend. So Cherish went to bed with Lizzie. We all went to bed. In the morning, 6:00 A.M. I felt tires on my back. Lizzie and Cherish snuck into bed.

"Hi Daddy, Cherish wanted to see you."

"Hi Cherish, good morning. Guess what?"

"What?"

"If we don't wake up Charlotte, You and Lizzie can play in the bed. We can all sleep in."

"Okay! Shhh Daddy."

"I love you Daddy."

"Daddy loves you too."

"Do you love Cherish too?"

"Yep. Cherish is one of Daddy's oldest friends."