This is what happens.
This is what happens when I finally tackle cleaning my own closet while the boys are at school. And while standing under the closet’s fluorescent light, in a nest of dust bunnies, between piles of old clothing ready to be heaved, I find stuff and get distracted.
Like an enormous bag of tattered nursing bras that need to be (not given away but) thrown out. Oh but sigh. Remember when I wore these everyday? Remember when my babies were so little and sweet and snugglie? AND MY BODY NOURISHED THEM? And then I stare at that nasty bag of bras and get all philosophical about the many meanings and miracles of life.
*heaving wistful sigh*
Or how about the pin-striped, sear sucker suit my oldest boy wore to my best friend’s wedding when he was just one year old. He couldn’t even walk yet, and there are still grass stains on the knees.
Or my graduation hood or an old dress of my mother’s or pictures and letters and wrapped presents (I wonder what they are?) and toys I heaved in there because my boys were fighting over them and the shirt my husband wore on our first date.
And then, out of nowhere, drops a sweet, fluffy winter cap my first born wore when we lived where there was real winter. A dear little powder blue cap, with pom poms, and flaps for his ears and a snap for under his chin.
This is what happens when you find that stuff.
You grab your child when he gets home from school, squeeze that infant’s hat on his head and force the snap together under his grown chin and make him stand there for a picture. And then you clutch them to you and blubber about how grown they are while they squirm and demand to see the picture and have a good giggle before yanking it off and bounding out of the house to go play zombies with the kid across the street.
This is what happens when I clean.
And it’s not pretty.
(…What is WITH me and all this nostalgic closet cleaning??? But my logic was that if I could do 3 closets and 13 bags for my mom, I could do it for myself too. And what satisfying results! Still. *eyeroll* Get a GRIP woman.)