The Rookie Mama
‘Tis that season of reading and ‘riting and ripping through kiddos’ wardrobes as we inventory school clothes and checklist what fits.
Sorting through clothing in my household is nothing short of an Olympic sport. The tears, the emotions, the absolute refusals to part with faded pants that have knees holier than a church, too-small shirts that ride up for all the world to see one’s belly button – when the shirts were definitely not designed that way – and socks whose significant others have long since been rendered to an island of misfit socks and are worn beyond darning.
Darn it, indeed.
More tears, more emotions, more attachments to clothes that just don’t fit.
Last weekend, I forced a fashion show from my teen who insisted his pants still fit loosely.
One would think that, as an oldest, he’d handle the inevitable sizing up best.
But alas, no.
He posed, he strutted, he insisted that shirt after shirt, shorts after shorts, pants, the whole ensemble fit fine.
I had no choice but to teach him a lesson.
Steve Martin.
You may recall the classic scene that plays out in ‘Father of the Bride’ in which his titular character insists on saving money by wearing an old, ill-fitting tuxedo from two decades earlier that fits him, well, as his daughter remarks – ‘like a glove!’
He poses, he struts – like my son had done – before a dusty attic mirror in his tux with too-short pants, crooning, ‘What’s new, pussycat?’
I pulled up this scene on my iPhone and showed my son, who rightfully remarked that any scene with Steve Martin is solid gold.
But the maternal point I made was that it was time to let go of some of his favorite clothes.
After all, he has three younger brothers.
As it turns out, breaking up with favorite threads is hard to do.
Letting go is emotional for me, too.
As I gently fold and place outgrown clothing from my youngest child’s wardrobe into storage totes, I regard them tearily as memories flood back.
When said shirts were once worn and loved by my oldest.
My secondborn.
My thirdborn.
My last.
How did time pass so rapidly in too-fast-forward motion?
When did the switch flip off babyhood directly to strutting like Steve Martin before a mirror?
Time flies when we’re having fun, and apparently clothing flies too – Because ready or not, clothing sizes stay put while the kiddos keep on growing, and will eventually be handed to the next in Cote boy line.
So clothes keep on flying right to storage; I’m tossing them more rapidly than my athletic eldest can cause pass interference and cling to what’s outgrown.
And so we’ll continue to focus on packing away the old; hand down to the next, so we can make room for what’s new. Pussycat.
– Michelle Cote lives in southern Maine with her husband and four sons, and enjoys camping, distance running, biking, gardening, road trips to new regions, arts and crafts, soccer, and singing to musical showtunes – often several or more at the same time! <
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