Putting laundry away is not really in my wheelhouse of domestic duties. I can do the laundry, take it out of the dryer, and even fold it. That’s about where it ends until I start to feel a tad guilty that the child is getting her underwear out of the basket in my room every single morning for a week. Or I notice the heavy sigh from the man in the house for the thousandth time and decide to alleviate some of his frustration.
The odds were not in my favor this weekend and I found myself migrating the piles down the hall to the pink and green messy mecca that is Maddie’s room. Maddie’s dresser is my only stop. The drawers are packed with socks, undies, shirts, leggings, nightgowns, and those skirts with shorts attached underneath for gym days.
As I work up a sweat trying to cram a pair of leggings into the over stuffed drawer and let out my own sigh of frustration, I happen to glance up at the closet. The closet with dresses that sparkle and glimmer and catch my eye. Dresses that are hanging in the closet only for the one legged life sized Elsa doll that is still a member of our family despite her broken state.
It’s a sad realization that my dress and legging wearing princess has moved on. She still does not wear real pants with buttons and zippers and a pair of jeans has not touched her bum since she was 2, but dresses have been banished. Leggings and t-shirts are where it’s at these days.
I finish rolling and squeezing the t-shirts into their drawer and as I straighten up and automatically wipe my hands down the sides of my yoga pants, I stop myself and take solace in the fact that one thing remains the same.
My thighs are suddenly more sparkly than they were.