August was Emma's room. Wow. Emma's room reminds me of my room when I was growing up. Cluttery (yet another word that isn't) and a reflection of a sentimental girl who uses a lot of paper to draw and write.
Moving 9 times since I've married has cured me of a bit of my clutterbug nature. A bit.
But Emma...
We divided her closet into two days. We cleaned The East Side of the closet one day and The West Side of the closet another day. That may give you an idea of the state of things.
In a further reflection of Emma's 'tweendom, she was ready to part with many things: Polly Pockets, magnetic paper dolls, beads. She is still clinging to stuffed animals, her Littlest Pet Shop collection (which from its orderly appearance hasn't been played with since last time we deep cleaned her room) and her American Girl doll paraphernalia.
Also, the girl volleys between needing me to direct her every cleaning move and dismissing me because she wants to do it herself. I allowed her to sort and sift and organize solo.
Like nearly every other aspect of this mothering gig. It's a process. I am trying to teach her how to organize and arrange things so they'll have a prayer of making it back. I am trying to teach her to get rid of stuff she doesn't need. I'm trying to teach her to put it away/throw it away/do something with it besides leave it on the floor.
I don't think I'm making too much headway.
But I'm not giving up. Greater women than me have forged the way in this battle. (My mom with me for example.)
No comments:
Post a Comment