I’ve always loved my clothesline. I love the scent that the air, the gentle breeze, and the warmth of the sun leave on the fabrics. It was while hanging up my children’s clothes that this activity took on a whole new meaning: that of observing the passage of time.
I see how times have changed when I compare the donated clothes—which have been worn by many children before mine—with the ones we buy now and then to suit current trends. It certainly isn’t for the worse, in any case! It’s still crazy to think about the life of old clothes and just how long they manage to last. That makes them truly unique and a testament to an era we’re gradually losing.
I also see just how much my kids are growing—and it’s not because I’m in denial, but simply because I don’t track my little ones’ growth down to the millimeter. When I see my little baby’s tiny pants, I remember very clearly when my oldest wore them, and then I hang a gigantic pair of size-5 pants right next to them... My knees go a little weak.
I still love those little shivers of tenderness when these tiny clothes bring back such big memories. A different memory each time—it’s a beautiful display of love and silly smiles. I must really look like a mollusk drifting with the tide, completely lost in my joyful thoughts that would no doubt make me fly high up to the land of Peter Pan.
I often feel like a great collector. My specimens aren’t all as magnificent as a stunning monarch butterfly, but they’re just as precious to me. I pin down time. Piece by piece. Until my basket is empty. And my heart is full.
It’s still a small price to pay for an astral journey full of colors and beautiful adventures. Once I’m back in reality, I’m really happy to find myself surrounded by my little whirlwinds. But that’s also when I have my own pile of laundry to fold. And, despite myself, my meager haul of fabrics isn’t as glorious as my kids’. It’s about time I embraced a new style of clothing for new memories… And that I replace my underwear that’s over five years old!