I spent Memorial Day with my head buried in Karis clothes and shoes, and I emerged a happier, less cluttered woman. How is it that a child's closet is a revolving door of work? Clothes in, chothes out. Repeat until they are old enough to responsibly do this on their own. (When exactly is that?) Little yellow flip flops have no problem making the cut, though.
April and May have teased our garden relentlessly. The forcast would call for certain rain. Matt would report certain rain, and I, being the cynic in the family, would laugh knowing full well that the skies have only taunted us lately. I've learned you can't trust a dark cloud, no matter how looming and scary it is. So our gardens have seen a lot more of our hard-earned city water than we would have cared to pay for--that is until the last few days. The skies have finally let go.
In my recent purge of Karis' room, I tackled her out of control toy collection. I bid adieu to anything that could break easily, was made up of a million tiny pieces that migrate to every corner of the house, or had fur on it's body. (I just don't care for dust animals...I mean stuffed animals.) I brought in some plastic containers and, in the end, was pleased with the organization. Karis, on the other hand, was pleased as punch with the bag that I stuffed, on a whim, with random plastic jewelry, hats, purses, and a tou tou and labeled it her "dress up" bag. Score one for me and her.