Lessons from the Laundry Room

I crossed my arms and gazed up at the top shelf. This is silly, I thought. I don’t have time for this. Besides, it'll probably make me sad. But the temptation was too great. That big plastic tote in the basement storage room was calling my name.

“Girls, come down here and help me with this.”

“What in the world?” Madison stared at the massive container. “What are you gonna do with that?”
                                                                      
“I just want to look at it,” I said, sparing the details. My kids wouldn't understand. To be honest, I didn’t understand. 

Maybe I was just a sappy mom feeling nostalgic. Or maybe I was having a midlife crisis. Whatever the reason, I knew one thing. My girls were growing up fast – and I couldn’t shake the urge to revisit the past.

I stepped onto a chair, grabbed the container and slid it toward the edge. “Ready? Here it comes!” Three sets of hands eased it down to the floor.

As I pulled off the lid, a neatly folded blanket caught my eye. You know the kind. I think every hospital in the world wraps newborns in those thin white blankets with the pink and blue stripes. I held the blanket to my chest, remembering how I used to swaddle my babies. This may take a while, I thought.

Over the next few minutes I found all kinds of treasures. Tiny baby shoes and pink frilly dresses. Soft baby rattles and glossy board books. Snap-up-the-front jammies and adorable hats. 

Each little outfit triggered sweet memories of the girl who wore them. I remembered toothless grins. Wobbly first steps. Cuddles on the couch with a Pat the Bunny book. The smell of baby lotion after a bath.  

I remembered Thursday morning playgroups. A backyard slip and slide on a hot afternoon. Baby dolls. Curly slides at the park. A little girl's hand that fit perfectly in mine. 

The clothes dryer beeped from upstairs, interrupting my thoughts. “Back to reality,” I mumbled, tromping up the steps.    

I pulled an armful of warm jeans from the dryer. Good grief. Emily’s jeans were practically my size. And Taylor was right behind her.  

Taylor’s volleyball shirt hung above the washing machine, ready to go for her next tournament. My mind drifted. We sure have fun watching Taylor play volleyball. I’ll never forget the night her eighth grade team challenged us parents to a game. For the record, we won.

Behind Taylor’s shirt hung Madison’s gymnastics leotard. I love watching that girl compete. I’d swear I'm more nervous than she is.  

Then I saw Emily’s cheerleading outfit on top of the dryer. Who could’ve guessed that our quiet, reserved Emily would give cheerleading a try? But she stepped out of her comfort zone and now she loves it – and I love watching her shine!

I caught myself smiling. Babies are nice, but teenagers are pretty great too. They can carry on actual conversations. They can play real games like basketball and volleyball – instead of Candyland and Hi Ho! Cherry-O. They watch shows like Downton Abbey and Gilmore Girls rather than Teletubbies and Barney.

It’s funny how time fades certain memories like stinky diapers and long, sleepless nights. Truth is, every age has its challenges and every age has its charm.

I'll bet my girls have “treasures” right now that I won’t want to part with. The dress Emily wore to eighth grade graduation. Taylor’s softball uniform. Madison’s gymnastics medals.

I got two important reminders that day in my laundry room. First, it’s fun to remember the past, but it’s even better to enjoy the present.

And second, I need to buy another tote.

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Sheri