It’s that time of year again. We dig out the prior seasons clothing, sort totes to see what still fits and what’s still fashionable.
Until about 2 1/2 years ago I did this task twice a year all by myself. I would go from bedroom to bedroom and organize with carefully color coded totes. It took me about a day and that includes the inevitable laundry. That was when I had time for simple pleasures, like bubble baths and pedicures. Times have changed.
Life circumstances the last 2 years or so what they were, the kids would sort of help the last few change outs. This was done with minimal supervision and it seemed like they had a good handle on keeping organized and tidy. I didn’t check on them. It was after all probably fine.
This year I decided they could do it themselves entirely. A preteen boy and a young teen girl, I could trust them with this responsibility. cause I’m tired. and lazy.
The kids are surely old enough to do this all by themselves, right? Wrong. So wrong.
I came home to begin my weekend on the couch; I was going to watch a movie or a Netflix marathon or something on the DVR. Or maybe all that. I’ve had a long week and I earned this weekend. I had all night free and popcorn ready for poppin.
Then it started.
The endless arm loads of clothing being dumped around me. Then they started with the questions …
Daughter: “What about clothes I don’t want?”
Me: grumbling, pausing the TV but not making eye contact … “Just sort them and I’ll figure it out.”
Son: “What about this?” holding a shirt some random kid probably left here months ago.
Me: “Really? Put it in the pile. I’ll sort it out.”
This went on for what seemed like forever. Then they disappeared leaving me with more clothes than a Goodwill grand opening.
Then I noticed the smell. Not the buttery goodness of a fresh Orville Redenbacher. No. More like one of the dogs passed gas while barfing up a dead thing they unburied and then ate. Not that my dogs would do such things. Hopefully.
I don’t know where the stench was coming from but it was gross.
I sighed heavily without breathing in too much of the toxic air and set to sorting. No way could I continue ignoring the mess. I carefully inspected the clothing and made my selections. One pile for eBay, one for donating and one for the trash.
I found one of my cardigans, a single shoe, a dried up leaf and 2 mini bounce balls. I also found some tiny sizes they clearly missed in the prior seasons closet clean outs. I don’t care how good of a job they claim they did, I know nobody in this house has worn Iron Man under-roos since kindergarten. Lucky for me one pair of jeans had 42 cents in the pocket. Even luckier? Nothing dead.
I think maybe I will go back to cleaning their closets myself. Even if it means I never, ever get time to just watch TV without multi-tasking again.