On Sunday morning, I tackled the monumental and tiresome job of sorting through the kids’ clothes. Holey t-shirts had be tossed and small pants had to be packaged up for needy neighbors. I really hate anal-izing closets, but I like the end results. 50% of the job of parenting is sorting through old clothes.
As I made neat stacks of t-shirts, I sent Steve to Lowe’s to get a new toilet seat. We’ve been living with the number from the previous administration in this house and, like Linda Tripp, it needed to be replaced.
I didn’t have too many requirements for the seat. It had to be white and plain. No sea shell lids. No cushy vinyl that makes a s-s-s-s sound when you sit on it and then sticks to your butt when you get up. Certainly no hooked rug covers. It’s rather amazing what people think to do with toilet seats.
This weekend was my niece’s First Communion. I got her a preppy purse from J. Crew with tiny strawberries. She and all the other girls were dressed up like little brides. Their curls spilling out from crowns on the top of their heads. The boys squirmed in ill fitting navy suits and ties. Afterwards, the families gathered for baked ziti and eggplant. Which is exactly what we did these past two Sundays. Here are pictures from Jonah’s First Communion last weekend:
Apt. 11d 
50% of the job of parenting is sorting through old clothes.
This could be the 50% of adulthood where I’m not quite succeeding.
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Yes – if this is 50% of parenting, then we are (more technically, I am) awful, awful parents.
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What is it with cushy toilet seats anyway? It’s as if someone took the expression “sit on the throne” far too literally. Toilets =/= easy chairs.
Oh, and cute pics!
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