As I write this post, Dillon sits on the couch beside me, wrapped up in a fuzzy blanket and watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Although he’s graduated from those baby shows and has moved on to the likes of Transformers, we’re tuned into the Disney Channel. Because it’s not even 6am, and Mickey is the only one willing to entertain us at this hour. Now that my husband gets up early to do P90x, and I get up early (sometimes) to write, Dillon is on to us. This morning, he came into my office and requested “cuddles.” Which is why I’m typing on the couch, and his head is pressed into my right arm. Dillon has been doing this — pressing his head into my arm while I’m trying to type — for as long as he could walk. But on this particular morning, I don’t resist. I don’t wiggle around, reposition his head and escape the weight.
For two reasons:
1) He starts Kindergarten in 4 weeks.
2) Yesterday, I cycled out his brother’s 2T clothes and replaced them with Dillon’s 3T hand-me-downs. Yes, I know Blake just turned two. I told you he’s huge.
Sorting through my children’s clothes is one of my least favorite things to do. I avoid it as long as I can. When Dillon was an infant, I cringed every time I tossed his tiny outfits in the dryer. I didn’t want them to shrink. Because then, I’d have to replace them with the bigger outfits hanging in the closet. And I wasn’t ready to do that.
When I see those hoarder shows on TV, I always roll my eyes and ask, “How can anyone live like that?” But somewhere deep inside, I truly understand how it happens. Here on the blog, we’ve talked about how good it feels to tidy up and clear our space. I don’t enjoy clutter. I do my best to keep it under control. But I’ve never really talked about how hard it is to cross that hurdle. Sorting through personal belongings can churn up a lot of emotions. And, seriously, I’m not trying to have a therapy session. I’m just trying to clean.
So, I have a trick for dealing with this. It’s not particularly earth shattering. But it works. My secret is to go fast. Do it quickly. Open the closet. Pull clothes off the hangers. Drop them on the floor. Sit down, fold the clothes. Stick them neatly in a box. Put the box away. The whole time, I’m in a tornado of unpleasant feelings. But it’s just like ripping off a bandage — it doesn’t feel great. But sometimes it’s wise to get it over with.
Because as soon as I’m standing in front of a closet full clothes that actually fit my child (no more belly poking out) I already feel better. It’s so easy. Yet, it’s so not.
How do you deal with uncomfortable feelings? Quickly, so you can get to the other side? Or are you like Scarlett O’Hara and “think about that tomorrow”?