Many moons ago, I was traveling in Great Britain with my mother when at the end of a long day of touring we entered the city of Manchester. Second only to London, it was by far the biggest city on our route. And while having successfully maneuvered the left-side driving, tiny roads, and round-abouts of country touring, we were less prepared for the perilous nature of the big city motorway. To top it off, our B&B was on the opposite side of the city from the antique shopping we had been pursuing, so we had a ways to go. Finally, as we ended the motorway, we saw one big sign "Manchester Massive Motorway Name Changing Scheme" followed by a complex diagram of how every road in our now defunct A to Z Atlas was now different. Needless to say, it was a bit of a harrying experience, which scared me for life, and is now the name sake of "The Massive Seasonal Clothes Switching Scheme."
_______________________________________________________
Curious K is the easy one. I almost always do her clothes first. Get the bins of sister's hand-me-downs from the big closet. Set out the clothes. Help her pick what she likes best, making sure that my favorites make the cut. Being sure to include sets and things she can "match" when she wants to pick out clothes for herself. We are careful not to over stuff the drawers and balance nice clothes with play clothes, but we are always heavy on the church dresses. ;^) We set aside clothes that are too worn to pass down, and create an "emergency" box of the leftovers, just in case we find ourselves short at some busy point when the laundry is three weeks backed up. I carefully sort the out-of-season clothes into "maybe it will fit next year" or "time to pass down," and we wrap it up with a clean room and the proud feeling of success at accomplishing "something."
It only gets harder from here... Next comes, Reader R. Her clothes situation gets more complicated each year as my "sporty" sweetie wants to wear nothing but sweatpants and old t-shirts, just as her classmates blossom into fashion conscious style wardens. The discovery of a sports bra in the collection of cotton blessings that I have been hoarding for several seasons leads to a discussion of growing and modesty that Mom isn't really ready to tackle. We weed out several things that "aren't our style" because they just make my baby look way too grown up, and rejoice at the prairie-style nightgown that we now a dear friend lovingly put in our bag just for her. I am filled to the top with thankfulness for the cast off blessings of friends from 4 different families that have supplied her entire wardrobe for the next season... so that all I need to do is use a gift card to buy a swimsuit and some white church shoes in the next bigger size. At the same time, I am nearly sick by the winter clothes we put away that were hardly ever worn, and feel thankful that we have two younger girls that will be blessed by them someday.
Then, procrastinating a day or two, I reluctantly move on to the most difficult task... Lil' L.'s clothes. Maybe next year, I'll try doing hers first. I prep myself by e-mailing ahead to a friend with a beautiful little girl of her own and make sure she is up for taking our hand-me-downs. With joy and sadness, I lovingly take down each outfit and remember where it came from, the beautiful memories of each of my girls wearing it and box it up, ready, but not quite, to pass it on. My heart aches that my "Big Girl" is growing up so quickly... I hang on to too many things with the hopes that they will still fit next fall, knowing full well that they probably won't. I cry silent tears for opportunities missed, for milestones passed, for grand-babies too far away to appreciate the out-of-fashion, faded old dresses that I have saved for five-decades with the hopes of seeing someone wear again. I refold the baby blankets and put one more in the giveaway bag... and save the rest for "one more year."
So three days later... there are still bins and boxes scattered through the upstairs, waiting for the straggling, winter-wear to be washed and find it's way into the right home. And I sit, pouring my heart out through my fingertips into this funny journal for anyone and no one in particular to read, stuffing my feelings and my mouth with a chocolate covered protein bar, trying to muster a laugh at tomorrow's forecast... for SNOW!
