I’ve come to the point where achievement of just one task in a day is truly something upon which I can hang my hat. I’m a slightly obsessive vacuum-er. What can I say, I like a lint free floor, and when running the Bissell Versus (stupidest invention this side of 2009) takes half the time of sweeping, I’m not above busting that thing out once or twice a day.
Normally, it would bother me that my floors are this dirty. But today’s task was huge, even by non-pregnancy proportions, so Saturday morning’s bagel crumbs will simply have to wait. Today, I tackled the seasonal closet clothes swap.
You know you are an American when you have to swap out clothes because each closet only has room for one season. Okay, I’m only half-way American, because it wasn’t my closet that was receiving the organizational bomb, but those of my daughters. The thing I’ve learned, especially with two daughters, is that clothes sort of tend to mate like rabbits behind closed closet doors, and one day, twice a year, my head blows off my shoulders and I bulldoze until my heart rate comes back to an even 55bpm.
I mentioned the conclusion I came to, even before the current fetus was infecting me, that hand-me-downs times three was just plain cruel. So I’m doing my best to remove everything under the size of two. But then I find Easter dresses and Santa Elf suits that I’m wholly unready to part with. Sorry #3, if you are indeed the boy I long for, you might be a dress up doll the day you hit twelve months tall. Just for one little sadistic minute, I promise.
At any rate, in a burst of what I can only assume was quinoa and almond milk induced energy (yes, pity please), I managed to fully gut and reorganize, according to size labeled correctly by hanger, both of the girls’ closets. Spring has sprung and I’m tired of opening drawers and finding nothing for Eliott to wear. (Carter, meanwhile, has enough clothes to choke a small African country.)
Naturally, it would top out at fifty degrees today. Decked from head to toe in pink and lime green, capris, t-shirts, and sandals, I made Eliott grab winter coats at the last minute before heading to school.
By eleven this morning, I was ready for bed.
I don’t think it’s helping, either, that I’m currently in the middle of a book about terminal cancer patients. Too much like reading a book about antarctic penguins in the dead of winter. Can’t escape reality when the book is describing very much exactly how I feel (well, minus the teenage love thing and the fear of death, I suppose).
But God. Do those closets look good.