Tax-free weekend’s coming up and I need clothes. My 14-year-old soon-to-be-a-freshman daughter needs clothes. My 12-year-old who will miss the first day of school as he’ll be arriving home that day from England needs clothes. My 10-year-old and my 5-year-old need clothes. The problem is, t’aint much to make that happen! So you have to go through everything and figure out what will work and pass some things down, get ready to give away what won’t. That’s a mom’s job, usually. The clothes. The parade of the clothes. It’s my least favorite aspect of child-rearing because I stink at it. I try, I really do, and I’ve managed to save outfits that I’d like to see on grandchildren some day. But the seasonal shift that has me pawing through wardrobes and sizing up exposed ankles thanks to a couple additional inches in height or in the case of my 12-year-old, four inches in a year … IT’S A REAL BORE! Wish I had a million bucks. I’d chuck it all and start over.
