This post was formulated the other night as texts to Matt. I was rambling, chattering, telling stories and after I realized that it would all make a very good blog post.

I was a very precise, perfectionist child.
My Crayola crayons were arranged by color. I collected coins, little pencils (the kind you get at mini golf places with your scoring cards), golf tees, bottle caps, the plastic circles inside soda bottles, handkerchiefs, bandanas, notebooks, diaries, journals (all blank, that I dreamt of filling), business cards, anything intriguing I found on the ground that probably belonged in the trash, perfume samples (the ones that are in a tiny glass vial and are usually attached to a little card).
I didn't like stamps. I knew how popular those were. The only reason I got into coins was that my grandmother had so many.
My dad started helping me too. He had a client years ago, who traveled to Korea and he brought back coins for me. He also brought three pink dresses for three little girls. I should upload a picture. We were so little and cute. Other than my hideous glasses.

But oh yes. My hobby was to collect as a whole, not just collect one thing. I loved to carry things around in a bag. I couldn't go anywhere without my "treasures". I always asked people if they loved me, but also if they treasured me. I think the reason for that is because my mom has always called us her treasures.

I loved (still love) anything multi-colored or rainbow.

I loved books that were a series and even better if the spines were numbered so I could line them up.

I thought fanny packs were genius. *Cringes*

I adored jewelry. Bling. I once wore 100 bracelets, 50 on each wrist, just to show that I could. I would wear rings on every finger, and I would pile on necklaces. Which is probably why now, I pride myself on being as minimalist and tasteful as possible. During the Pirates of the Caribbean craze, I owned many skull-bedecked accessories. Yikes.

I loved anything with the letter M and even more, anything that said Molly. Molly was never there. Sophie was never there either. Grace, was ALWAYS there. One of my favorite words was  personalized.

My food couldn't touch (still can't in most cases) and I always ate in a circle so I'd finish everything at the same time.

I loved scarves and hats and belts.

Boxes were amazing to me. Big, medium, small, tiny, they were all wonderful, and all useful for organizing my collections.

My house has an amazing collection of dress-up clothes. I went through several phases of wearing them as regular clothing, or combining them with my normal clothes.

I loved getting into my mom's makeup. Red lipstick. Her Je Reviens perfume. I would spray it on myself, and on everything else. I had this one stuffed animal, a golden retriever dog, the size of a beanie baby (but a different brand), and I would spray the perfume on the top of its head. Her name was Sunny. I would always refresh her head after weeks of me pressing my nose to her head to breathe it in, had used it up. I loved to smell good and had no concept of "too much". I still have that problem. Really though, there was never too much of anything in my opinion.

I would build nests for myself. Under the computer desk, in a cupboard, in the tiny space between the couch and the wall. Pillows, blankets, books and my treasures. I would emerge for food, and would frequently try to sneak some back in with me. I could be content for hours.

Sophie =) Sophie was my baby. I was one year, eleven months and two weeks old when she was born, on my original due date, October 1st. When my mom came home from the hospital with Sophie, my life became all about my baby. Every morning I would climb out of my crib, calling to hold my baby. Once I figured out it was my mom who had the ability to feed Sophie, I proceeded to ask every woman I knew and met, "you feed Fophie" while pointing my finger somewhat accusingly. I hadn't mastered the letter S, but I won't get into the other names Sophie was subjected to because of that. I was always willing to help take care of her. Playing, feeding, changing, my mom always had a willing helper, even if I was really still her other baby. When we took bathes, I loved to wash her hair. And there were times I would burst into tears before she could if I got the soap in her eyes. I was always ready to cuddle and kiss her if she needed comforting. Sometimes I would take naps with Sophie, just to be with her. If I wasn't able to fall asleep, I would just lay next to her in the crib, watching her sleep, and stroking her hands. I would be very firm in telling people to "shhh!" because my baby was sleeping. I was ferocious. Hands the size of post-it notes planted on my hips and brown eyes that were too big for my face glaring from under my curly hair.

My childhood, my life has been a dramatic adventure. That just about sums it up. Looking back now, remembering certain things I did, and felt, I can think now that I was manic at that time. Having been diagnosed with having Bipolar Disorder, and now knowing what manic episodes involve and feel like, I recognize some of them from my childhood. I do wonder how much sooner I could have been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, if my medical history was more clear at the time, and if doctors and psychologists actually knew to look for something. That is such a big "What If" in my life. I think I'll wonder about that forever.