As a little girl, the youngest of three, I always tried to catch up with my brother and sister. Seven and five years older than me respectively, they did everything first; grades in school, sleep overs, movies, dates, prom, graduation.
My parents seemed quite important as well, signing checks, paying bills, cooking our meals, working.
And so I compensated my little-ness with junk mail. Anything that came in the mail of no need to anyone became my property. I called it my "important stuff."
It was my mom's idea. One night she found me in my bed, hair wet from the bath, crying.
"I'm crying because I don't have any important stuff. Amy, Justin, you, dad, everyone has important stuff but me."
My mom walked around the house gathering odds and ends, old newspapers and advertisements, credit card proposals, an old grocery list.
Shortly I had my first stack of important stuff.
I have to say now, though, I am good in the important stuff department. I'm reeling, actually, with paper and procedures, signatures that need to be signed just so, all the while looking up new words like apostille and dossier.
Hopefully, we will be able to get all the paper work for the adoption done and done correctly in a timely manner.
My important stuff quota for once in my life, is full.
