Parenting comes with mess.
A colossal mess.
I don’t want to go too deeply into what an emotional mess I have become, so let me stick to the surface level.
Physical mess.
Ever heard of the Chinese idiom 排山倒海 (pái shān dǎo hǎi)? Their hills and mountains of toys have become a formidable force to be reckoned with. Overflowing. Literally. I have several bags of toys at my workplace right now.
All this while, I thought my wife was being sentimental and wanted to hold on to these tangible traces of growing up. Which explains why these toys multiply like rabbits or rats (but sadly, not the interest in my dismal bank accounts).
The other night, I broached the topic of throwing away some of the toys. They hardly play with them anymore, and I’m confident that they wouldn’t even miss them if I discretely discard some away. Admittedly, my boy has a razor sharp memory when it comes to taking stock of his inventory, but I have gotten used to his patterns and am confident about throwing away stuff that he wouldn’t miss.
The wifey’s explanation stunned me into silence.
“Kids don’t have a lot of things they can call their own, so if you throw away stuff without their permission, they won’t feel safe in their home.”
My inner monologue went like this though: 你要这么想的话，我没有话讲. (You render me speechless if you view things from this lens.)
This is the Japanese’s thoughtful consideration of human rights. 那晚，我领教过了。 (I was whacked by the full blast of her always-right reasoning.)
But I guess, my children. This is why I married your mother. She lets me see things from a different point of view. 🌟