Ready for Their Own Place

Last Sunday morning, I awoke to the whisper of small voices and the hopping of tiny feet in the hall. Because the children are now 4 and 2 1/2 years old and fully capable of entertaining each other for a while before the little one fumbles her way through the door requesting fresh underwear and help with taking off her night diaper, I decided to snuggle closer to my body pillow (Husband was on his morning mountain bike ride) and doze for a bit. The dozing actually turned into quite a deep sleep because an hour later, I awoke to two sets of eyes only inches from my face, and I hadn't even heard the door open.

"MOMMY!"

"Yes, Bud?"

"MOMMY! I helped Sis take off her diaper! Then I gave her a wipe, and she wiped her vulva! Then she threw away the wipe, and I threw away the diaper! Then, I picked out her cwothes and now she needs help with her shirt. Can you help her with her shirt?"

I looked over at little Sis. Her left arm was tangled in her shirt, forcing her hand high above her head. After I untangled her so she no longer looked like she was addressing me with a "Heil Mommy!" I had a flashback of Marlene, a girl I knew in 6th grade who was told by our principal to stop wearing a half-shirt that said "Freshmen do it better." Even untangled, Sis's shirt barely covered her chest. When I looked down a little further, I saw that the hem of her pants was at her knees.

"Um, Bud? Where did you find these clothes?"

"I found them at the bottom of Sis's cwoset."

Ah, yes. The pile of 6-12 months clothes I keep meaning to give away to anyone who will take them.

"You did a great job helping your sister, Bud!"

Bud beamed. Sis grinned.

And so Sis spent the entire day walking around in 6-12 months infant-sized clothing because I didn't have the heart to change her.

I have since moved the pile of clothes out from the bottom of the closet. But I still haven't found anyway to take them.