At 9 in the morning, my husband calls in a panic; his car broke down in the middle of his commute; we have to drag ourselves out of the house and rescue him. Once we get back home and can finally have breakfast, it’s almost 10 am; then we have to sit around a bit, stare off into space, and recuperate from this early morning surprise.
Today is the day we have assigned to sort through my daughter’s school uniforms. They need to be pulled out of the closet and tried on; they must be donated, repaired, or just put back to serve a few more months before she has yet another growth spurt. Isabella and I both hate doing this, but we must; when school starts I need that closet to be organized and ready. There is nothing I hate more than watching her come down the stairs, five minutes before departure, only to notice her skirt’s too short or she’s missing a button. Especially since she never agrees with me, which then leads to An Argument, which as far as I’m concerned is a toxic occurrence any time before 8 AM.
11 AM: we pull everything out. She tries on a skirt or two.
Isabella: “These are fine.”
Me: “No, they are too short.”
Isabella: “But I really like them!”
Me: “It’s not about whether you like them, it’s whether they fit. These do not fit. I can see your underwear when you bend over.”
Isabella: “Then I just won’t bend over.”
We continue like this for a while, until it is 12:30, and time for lunch; we’ve managed to sort through 1/3 of her wardrobe and are both entirely sick of it. After lunch, I want to continue; she does not. I bribe her with the promise of Twilight and popcorn. She agrees, and under her brother’s constant screams of “Not Twilight!!!” we continue with our project. Two pairs of pants and one shirt later, she gets distracted and starts playing with her Barbie dolls. By now it’s 1:40, we haven’t yet made it halfway through. Shall I just eyeball the rest? No, wait; that’s what I’ve been doing all year. Now is the time to do things right.
2:30 PM: We’ve reached the halfway point; from here on it’s a downhill battle. I think that’s good news, but my daughter just sighs. I tell her if we just push through, she’ll be smelling that popcorn within the hour. What I forgot is that last night at the store, I made her go into the dressing room and try on three shirts. Which is something she hates. Which is something she blames me for. Trying on clothes at the store, what a waste of time; as if you can’t just guess your size and find out later that they don’t fit. (Now, whom did she learn that from?)
Nonetheless, by 4 PM, Hallelujah, God blesses everyone, we are done.
When my husband comes home from work at night, he asks how my day was. “Good,” I lie. “What did you guys do?” He asks.
“We sorted out Isa’s school uniforms.”
He takes one look at my face, and doesn’t ask if there’s anything else. Smart man.
I don't have great tips on how to organize your closet, but these people do: LuckyMag, Life Organizers, and my personal favorite, The List Maven
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