Hoarding Issues

I come from a long line of semi-hoarders. Maybe not the technical hoarders that you might be familiar with, but a slightly less extreme version. My mom isn't too bad herself....at least I've never considered her that bad. That was until last weekend when I started going through a box that she brought me of childhood toys. I understand keeping the occasional sentimental toy here and there, but check out some of the random crap she thought was worth saving.

Apparently right around my third birthday my bear had the honor of receiving a first place ribbon in some random competition....for "happiest". What kind of a contest could this possibly have been? And let's talk about the fact that my hometown had a "Teddy Bear Fair". What on earth? Needless to say I have no memory of this and no idea why this treasure has been saved for me for more than 25 years.

Creepy porcelain face clown dolls...I don't even really know what to say about these. My Grandmother has several (hundred) of these dolls, and I'm assuming that's where I got them, but I don't have a memory of these either. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with them now. Display them? Put them on the dresser in my bedroom? Can you imagine what Arsen would do if he came home to these little creepers staring him down? (Grandmother, if you're reading, I'm sure I adored these as a child and sincerely appreciate the gifts that I'm assuming were from you...)

Now this guy...this guy I remember. For some twisted little reason he was my favorite doll for years.I don't think I've ever really talked about what a strange little bird I was as a kid, but this doll gives a pretty good indication. From what I recall he never wore clothes, and when I loved him he had two hands. I'm pretty sure I never gave him a permanent name, so we can refer to him as Bob. I loved Bob for reasons unknown to my parents, and now myself. He had a hard stomach because of some internal box that I think made him laugh at some point, and his face and hands were hard plastic. I dragged this thing around for years when I played with my dolls, and he was usually my son....along with about 20 other dolls who were my children as well. Only child complex? Maybe. I have a vague memory of a Bob-related trauma as well. One day I left Bob out on my swing set after I had been playing outside, and it started to rain. I screamed and cried as he sat helpless in a swing until my mom ran out in the middle of a rainstorm to rescue him. As you can see from his well-worn condition, I'm sure this wasn't the worst thing I put him through. 

So although he is quite hideous to look at, Bob is one of the few things I remember from my childhood. And a strange thing to note is that when I was digging through all these treasures he was Addie's favorite, too. She spent awhile chewing on his unattached hand, and she also really enjoyed sniffing his nasty hair. He's a special little doll, that one.

Now I have to figure out what to do with all these things....and don't you worry, this wasn't it. I had other dolls, many teeny little t-shirts, several baby blankets, and more. Somehow all of these precious mementos my mom has held on to for all these years are now mine to deal with. Thanks mom! So in order to avoid my family's hoarding tendencies I'm going to have to make some cuts. Wish me luck. And don't tell my Grandmother.