My Toy Story

I recently saw Toy Story 3, and the emotional damage done to me by the movie was very unexpected. I SOBBED when Andy played with his friends for the last time. Not just "movie" tears, but true "this movie has messed up my mind" tears....

I come from a family of people who apply feelings to inadament objects. All my cars have had names. My sisters cars also have names. (BoBo...Baby....Hon-Dos) We all drove our beloved "Maurus the Taurus" All three of us went to college with stuffed animals/blankets from our childhood. (Puffy...Oliver....Caroly...) This attachments to Toys and objects is not something I came up with on my own.

At first, I thought my mom was the blame for our unusual feelings (as adults) towards our "friends". As the years went own, I realized I was wrong. My Dad is the sentimental one! My DAD is the one who saved every relic of his youth from his childhood home when cleaning it out a couple years ago. So with that being said, my Dad has begrudgingly allowed his home to become to havens for our childhood belongings. Maybe he does it because he knows we will be the one responsible for it all eventually. But I have always been comforted knowing where my things where...just in case. Until Toy Story 3.

When the credits rolled on the movie, I had to literally FIGHT the urge to get in my car and drive the 2 1/2 hours to my parents house to crawl into the attic and tell all my toys I still loved them. The only thing that made me able to resist that urge, was that I knew I would have to leave them there. And as much as it breaks my heart to know there are there in the first place, to put them BACK would be torture.

Me around age 3 with a friend I remember calling "Sissy" Is she in the attic waiting for me???

Is this a girl thing? Or is this an "Us" thing. I know my sisters feel the same. I know my husband does not. I am not sure which of us is the worst, but its a close tie between Cail and I. Anna has been able to detach herself from most objects with the exception of her beloved "blankets". But I was the one who wanted the border saved from our room when it was done. Yes, you read correctly. I made my father save WALLPAPER. And he did. What is wrong with me? This cannot be normal? Right?

I vividly remember Anna and I having to choose a toy to donate to a toy drive at our church one Christmas....and how we changed our minds 1000 times before finally deciding on two candy cane dolls...which we only agreed on because we wanted to make sure they ended up together.

With the news of the first grandchild, I had high hopes that some of our old friends might could come out and play again. But April came, and a boy joined our family. So it looks like the Barbies will be stored for awhile longer....

So, who was my "Woody"? The toy taken to college? For me , it was Oliver. Oliver was a stuffed clown I got at the circus when I was in the 3rd grade. Granted, to the outside eye, he was probably pretty creepy, I loved that clown. At first he had really soft hair, but he got ran through the dryer, and it shriveled up a bit. He had a red nose, and it was hard, and he had feet bigger than his head (he was a clown...so he had clown shoes...obviously) And Oliver has yet to be put in the attic. He didn't make the move with me, but I couldn't bear to put him away. So, he sits with Rebecca Leigh.

Ah, Rebecca Leigh. Rebecca Leigh is an antique doll that my Granny found in a dumpster when I was very very little. Rebecca Leigh had cracks all over her....and was deemed "fragile" by all the grown ups. To the naked eye, she was trash. She was dingy and the cracks made her look pretty bad. But man did I love her! I named her after myself and my best friend. Everytime I would go to Granny's house I would BEG to see her. Granny would get her down off the top shelf of the closet in the hallway and let me hold her. I had to have been 4 or under when Granny finally allowed Rebecca Leigh to go home with me. And I was soooooo careful with her. When I was maybe 7 or 8, the powers that be decided it was time get her repaired. So Granny flew her to Texas. (in her lap) where she dropped her off with a doll repair lady. This lady would call us and give us updates, and after what seemed like forever, she sent Rebecca Leigh home. Rebecca Leigh is not the type of doll you sleep with at night. She sleeps in her own cradle. My Granny made her all these custom outfits. She had her very own Christmas Dress. She even had her own stocking for spell there. She has afghans and blankets - some of which were made specifically for her. She had her very own waredrobe at one time. She wears baby clothes left over from my sisters and I. But even though she was special and antique, she got played with! One tragic night she was taking a nap on the floor on a pallet in mine and Anna's room, and I ran in to bedroom to get something...and I stepped on her little ceramic leg and crushed it. (lucky for Anna, I was the one who committed this crime...poor Anna might have never heard the end of it...like the time she broke my cat, but that is another story) Oh I was heartbroken!! I just sobbed and sobbed. But my Daddy took her into surgery....and with a little epoxy...and some rubber bands, he saved her leg. She now wears panty hose, as I think they aid in holding her little leg together. Rebecca Leigh will NEVER EVER go into attic...she can sit in the corner of my room at my parents house forever as far as Im concerned. Maybe one day, I will have a little girl who will love her as much as I do....

I have no doubt if i ventured into my parents attic I would know the names of every toy. You dont forget things like that. I also know even at 27, if I looked in the eyes of my old friends, I would have a hard time taking putting them back in storage. But surely they would appreciate a brief reprieve from storage land.....right?