Sunday, December 19, 2010

Inspect, Review, Size

"These do not fit, and those don't either." I am standing in the doorway of my son's room. My son is jumping up and down and shaking his leg with his pants caught around one ankle, his routine for undressing. He has outgrown his khaki pants and just about everything else in his closet. My wife and I look at the pile of once worn shirts and pants discarded on the rug. My son's change in age apparently coincided with a change in size. After getting a few new shirts and pants over the last week, Saturday afternoon was set aside for taking inventory of all clothing and deciding what is staying and what is leaving. 

My wife went to work in the closet, pulling out shorts, pants and shirts to be inspected, reviewed, and sized. The inspection process was first on the list, after all even if it did fit, it might be too stained up or grimy to move on to the next process. Right off the bat, three shirts were deemed unqualified and tossed into the leaving pile. After that was the review process. These items might not be wearable but might have historical value and therefor kept for sentimental reasons. "Oh, remember this sweatshirt, he wore it everyday for a year!" my wife would say, or my son would comment "I remember that shirt, I was looking for that..." I would recall long ago trips and memorable events and would vote thumbs up to keep. My wife, not the hoarding type, would vote thumbs down. My son, not much for strolling down memory lane, would respond with a two word answer, mumbling, "Toss it." Most of the memorable pieces we archived in pictures throughout the years, so on that note it did not make sense to store it.

The third process is sizing, which meant trying on everything, my son's least favorite. since he has grown so fast, we can not gauge what fits and what does not. The next twenty minutes my son is whipping on and off clothes faster than backstage at Fashion Week. After the procedure of inspect, review, and size was completed, there stood a mound of clothes three feet high. The two garbage bags compiled a full range of boys clothes, from the food stained, to the never worn and all categories in between. My wife looks at me and states, "It surely does not pay to buy in advance."


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