Clothes, books, toys, drawings—who knew what else? Good thing Mom was such a pack rat. Angie caught her in the kitchen, scrambling some eggs for Dad’s Saturday breakfast. “Hey, Mom. Do we still have that old Fisher-Price tape recorder I used to love so much?” “Look in ‘Toddler Two’ on the left,” Mom suggested. “Second row.” A pack rat with a perfect mental filing system. Angie left the connecting door open behind her as she returned to the garage. She unpiled the boxes and dove into Toddler 2. Sure enough, the friendly recorder with the red-and-yellow microphone was next to the barn with the pudgy plastic animals. She cradled the pink pig in one hand, the rooster in the other, lost in the childhood memory. “What do you want that for, hon?” Mom yelled out. “I, um, was working on a song and I wanted to get it on tape before I forget,” she called back. She tossed Wilbur and Doodle-doo back in the bin, snapped the lid, and restacked the boxes. Mom smiled to see her blowing silently into the microphone.
