The first few days of warm weather motivated me to tackle the much-anticipated seasonal closet changeover. This tradition usually brings me joy and satisfaction. I find it rewarding to purge, organize, and greet each new season with a streamlined wardrobe. This time, however, the feeling was different.
My own closet transition was simple – fall/winter items to the back of the closet, spring items to the front, summer items gathered in a holding pen to be transported for future weekend beach outings.
Next, I tackled my daughter’s clothes. She is at the stage at which her sleeves were just a bit too short and so were her pant legs. With each outfit there was a reminder of Alfalfa from the Little Rascals. This fashion faux pas could not continue any longer!
I sorted piles of outgrown Alfalfa-wear (4T shirts and pants) and made up big bags to deliver to my 3T niece, Gracie. I held the 5T pants up to my daughter’s skinny waist and realized that these wouldn’t fit her either! They were not cut to accommodate (or flatter) her tiny green-bean figure sans toddler pooch. She would need a 4 slim or worse…a 5!
Then, it hit me. In the blink of an eye, I lost my T! No more feetie pajamas, crotches that snap, or blanket sleepers. Granted, that was so two years ago, but that didn’t matter at the moment.
Now before me, I had my almost-kindergartener who was planning her future – ballerina, doctor, and mommy – who used words like simultaneously and needed to know how pearls get into oysters. How did this happen?
Prior transitions were expected, planned, hoped for (potty training, anyone,) and celebrated. This transition crept up on me, and I was unprepared for its impact. I was blindsided and saddened by my lost T.
With every ending there is a beginning, and while I mourn the loss of my T, I look forward to whatever letter (or adventure, or discovery) comes next in her alphabet (or in mine).
