With the snow falling yesterday, my husband was unable to work on his never-ending home improvements on the outside of the house. Instead, one of my fantasies came true with him starting to address those inside the house jobs that I have been waiting for him to complete. I am not overstating the fanatasy element. Anyone who knows me well knows that I love to organize. The love probably borders or crosses straight into obsession. If I can spend half of my day reorganizing a kitchen cabinet, a closet, or a drawer, I am a happy woman. It is weird, I am aware, but it has been an aspect of my personality as far as anyone can remember.
My mother loves to share an anecdote about my three year old self when I was ringing my hands and lamenting at what a mess my friends had left in our den. I cleaned it up immediately and would not take a break until the job was completed. My best friend benefited from my adoration of cleaning as I used to have the most invigorating time organizing her closet when we were in our teenage years. Call it a need to control, you would not be mistaken, but I love the whole “out with the old and in with the new” philosophy. The accomplished feeling when something is neat, tidy, and manageable, oh how I love it! I revel in clothing donations and the feeling of starting fresh. Isn’t that what each New Year celebrates?
But…apparently, something in me changed when I became a mom. My husband removed my daughter’s clothing I had stuck in various plastic bags in her closet to prepare the closet for an organizer. At that moment, I excitedly declared that I would go through them, select a few special outfits to allow her the option to someday pass them on to her baby, and make extra room in the house. The clothing that she has outgrown is numerous. My husband and I cannot have more children, so I have no need to hang on to them for a “next” baby. I have never in my life had trouble making a trip to Goodwill, calling up Big Brothers Big
Sisters, or sending something I no longer wear to a better home.
But now, I look at each outfit and I remember a specific day my daughter and I spent together. I remember the scary and miraculous beginning of her life when I look at the tiny pajamas from her newborn days. I can’t possibly part with them. I hold the tiny shoes that once wrapped themselves around her feet and find myself at a loss with how I could ever envision them on another child’s pair of feet. Never in a million years did I think I would behave like this with “things.” I threw away high school trophies, old love letters, and tons of pictures with barely a second glance. Why is it that I look at a burp cloth and well up with emotion?
Ah yes, because now I am a mom and motherhood changes everything.
So, what did I do with her clothing? I put them all in a Space bag, with the exception of two outfits that I really just
did not like. As she gets older, there will be less room in her closet for old outfits. But today, I am just not ready to part with them. I know she is growing up before my eyes and that is what is supposed to happen. I guess there is a new part of me that does not embrace out with the old. The old, in this case, holds too much of my heart to part with.
My mother loves to share an anecdote about my three year old self when I was ringing my hands and lamenting at what a mess my friends had left in our den. I cleaned it up immediately and would not take a break until the job was completed. My best friend benefited from my adoration of cleaning as I used to have the most invigorating time organizing her closet when we were in our teenage years. Call it a need to control, you would not be mistaken, but I love the whole “out with the old and in with the new” philosophy. The accomplished feeling when something is neat, tidy, and manageable, oh how I love it! I revel in clothing donations and the feeling of starting fresh. Isn’t that what each New Year celebrates?
But…apparently, something in me changed when I became a mom. My husband removed my daughter’s clothing I had stuck in various plastic bags in her closet to prepare the closet for an organizer. At that moment, I excitedly declared that I would go through them, select a few special outfits to allow her the option to someday pass them on to her baby, and make extra room in the house. The clothing that she has outgrown is numerous. My husband and I cannot have more children, so I have no need to hang on to them for a “next” baby. I have never in my life had trouble making a trip to Goodwill, calling up Big Brothers Big
Sisters, or sending something I no longer wear to a better home.
But now, I look at each outfit and I remember a specific day my daughter and I spent together. I remember the scary and miraculous beginning of her life when I look at the tiny pajamas from her newborn days. I can’t possibly part with them. I hold the tiny shoes that once wrapped themselves around her feet and find myself at a loss with how I could ever envision them on another child’s pair of feet. Never in a million years did I think I would behave like this with “things.” I threw away high school trophies, old love letters, and tons of pictures with barely a second glance. Why is it that I look at a burp cloth and well up with emotion?
Ah yes, because now I am a mom and motherhood changes everything.
So, what did I do with her clothing? I put them all in a Space bag, with the exception of two outfits that I really just
did not like. As she gets older, there will be less room in her closet for old outfits. But today, I am just not ready to part with them. I know she is growing up before my eyes and that is what is supposed to happen. I guess there is a new part of me that does not embrace out with the old. The old, in this case, holds too much of my heart to part with.