My children, on the other hand, have collections rivaling the Hermitage. Not in quality, but in volume. Every day, new stacks of paper appear on the dining room table and the kitchen counters. And let’s not forget the mass that grows steadily in the playroom.
And God forbid I throw any of it away. Somehow, nobody buys the line, “Landfills need culture too.” So, unless my young artistes deign to contribute their work to the National Self Esteem Museum (whose galleries will cover the entire state of Utah), I am at a loss for what to do with all these precious works. That is, after the attic is filled and I can no longer rationalize it as insulation.