The White Box

Jessica was excited to take Skills for Living class this year. You might be asking yourself, “What exactly is Skills for Living?” It is exactly Home Economics or Homemaking. Only, those two names are no longer considered to be politically correct. The definition of Home Economics is the science and art of homemaking, including nutrition, clothing, budgeting and child care. Isn’t homemaking a noble and necessary function of our lives? I think that Home Economics or Homemaking is a class that all boys and girls should take at some point in their academic career. Sadly, our kids must take Skills for Living, instead. Does this new name give the connotation to our children that learning the art and science of homemaking is not a valuable and worthy goal? Now they are learning practical skills for life (which includes the same stuff that I learned in Home Economics class). I could be speaking out of turn, but it looks like they’ve added a modular on college and careers, so that it isn’t just a “Home Economics” course.

Currently, Jessie’s Skills for Living class has her caring for her “baby.” She has a sack of flour that is dressed and diapered. Baby Emma (as Jess calls her) has to be diapered and cared for – much like a real baby. Only, a real baby wouldn’t have let Jess sleep in until 7:00 a.m. this morning. Hmmm… doesn’t this project sound very much like Jess is learning the art and science of homemaking?

Boy, have I drifted off topic. The intent of my post was not to discuss the merits of Home Economics or Jessie’s flour baby. No, I wanted to write about something that happened to me while I was searching for clothes for Baby Emma. Jess left me a frantic voice mail that we needed to make a last minute trip to Walmart for some onesies. It was raining and I was tired. I told Jess that poor planning on her part did not constitute an emergency on my part. (I was pretty proud of my firm stance on the subject.)

I dropped Jessie off at church and then I went to see what I could find at home that would work. I climbed into my attic and quickly located one of my most precious possessions. I pulled down the white box with the words boy/girl preemie clothes written on the top and side. Several years ago, I gave away all my baby clothes. But, I couldn’t bring myself to donate this special box. At one point, I swore that I wanted to be buried with this box of clothes.

I brought the box inside and set it down. I quickly went about doing my nightly chores and getting Jonathan settled in for the night. I wanted to be able to give this box my undivided attention. I sat down in my chair – which happened to be the rocking chair that I had rocked my babies in. I sat quietly and perused the entire box of tiny clothes. It was kind of like a religious experience for me. I wonder why that box is so important to me. Is it because those preemie clothes are a tangible reminder of how small they were and how lucky I am to have them? I don’t know, but I sure do love those little outfits (even though some have yellowed with age).