I know in a tour of the house it’s not customary to show off a closet, but this one is special.
I often complained to Andrew about how the boys had some difficulty with putting away their laundry. They were helpful. Sort of. I’d hand them a pile of clothes and say, “Go put this in your pants box.”
The child would flit away, stomp around upstairs, giggle with his brothers, and ten minutes later, reappear (usually coming down the stairs on his stomach like a penguin.) I had about 50-50 odds that the pants actually made it INTO the pants box. They usually hit the closet. But it wasn’t always the proper box. And then there was Adam, who had a hard time getting up the stairs with clothes in his hand and would leave a trail of underwear behind him. Meanwhile, downstairs, there was a large hall closet that was still jammed full of moving boxes, heavy winter coats, and an embarrassing amount of board games. Andrew and I came up with an idea to move the contents of the hall closet upstairs to the guest room closet. And then take the contents of the children’s closet and put it in the hall closet. Brilliant! I added Ellen’s clothes to the mix (the Little Clothes Horse goes through several outfits a day) and this is the result:
Now the boys unload the dryer, sort the clothes, fold the towels, and put all their clothes away. It’s a little slice of Mommy heaven. Although I do admit to missing the daily fashion show I got from the loft when I would send the boys up for fresh clothing. They’d stand at the railing and model a Hawaiian shirt with jogging pants, I’d say NO, and they’d try again with a button down shirt and pajama bottoms. Everything was inside out and backwards, of course. So I miss that a bit, but not enough to go back to the way it was. I’m nostalgic, not crazy.
Last week, we had a stretch of bad storms come through. The first time the sirens went off (erroneously, as it turns out) I realized I hadn’t really given much thought to where we would all go in the event of a tornado. Now that we’re down here near Tornado Alley, I genuinely needed a plan. The Kids’ Closet presented itself as the best option. We weren’t very concerned about these particular storms because of the way the radar looked, but I threw a few food items in a steel tub and tossed it in the closet with some blankets. (Because in the event of total devastation, surely the entire family could survive off of a bottle of Pedialyte, half a jar of peanut butter, and cheese Goldfish.)
Anyway, at some point, we got overwhelmed with energetic children and excited weathermen and we turned the TV off. So an hour later, when the sirens went off again, we had to scramble to figure out if this was for real or not. It was. “Rotation” was spotted in our area. Andrew and I both grabbed our laptops (because I guess I thought I’d do a little blogging mid-storm) and threw ourselves in the closet with the kids. In our hurry, we didn’t take the time to remove the boxes. Consequently, with Ellen in my arms, I dove awkwardly and landed squarely in a box. About fifteen minutes later, when Andrew called all-clear, I was good and stuck. Wedged into a box not meant for maternal hips.
Being the loving husband that he is, Andrew quickly reached for the camera.
I may have survived the tornado, but I couldn’t get out of the closet.
And the box? Well, it didn’t fare so well either.