Yesterday I spent the afternoon holed up in Mary's room sorting baby clothes: 0-3 months, 3-6 months, gender neutral clothes, clothes for this fall, stuff for Goodwill, stuff for the trash. I had half a dozen piles of carefully folded clothes on the floor. All that remained was bagging them and putting those bags in the appropriate places.
Then in wandered David. His eyes grew wide with excitement. "Leaves!" he shouted. And before I could stop him (as if I could have), he was jumping for joy in the piles of "leaves" and throwing them in the air. His excitement was infectious, so Mary and I joined in--burying one another other in leaves, throwing them around, filling up "buckets" and dumping them out, jumping off the bed into huge piles, rolling around. The fun lasted a long time.
So, yeah, I have to admit that I'm proud of myself for not freaking out, for letting loose, and gleefully joining in on the imaginary play.
But I also have to admit that I feel demoralized about the wreckage of my afternoon's work. I did manage to sort out most of Mary's dirty clothes (the contents of the laundry hamper were included in the mix of leaves), but the rest of the clothes are strewn about her room. And they probably still will be two weeks from now (that's how demoralized I feel).
Memories...I'm hoping that will be consolation enough?
