Leah got her clothes back today. I should probably explain this statement, huh?
Well, about a week ago, I walked into her room and for the nine gafrillionth time it was a mess. Clothes (clean ones, mind you) were shoved in drawers that could not close, under toys, in baskets and all over her closet floor.
And I had had just about enough.
So I quietly, but aggressively, walked downstairs, grabbed several trash bags and proceeded to confiscated every article of clothing she owned. Drawers were emptied, closet racks cleared.
To say she was stunned is perhaps an understatement.
I didn’t yell. Well, okay, I yelled once. For effect. I told her, in no uncertain terms, that if she didn’t appreciate the nice clothes that she had then she didn’t deserve to have them. There are many in this world who would kill to have her clothing – there are those who have nothing.
She no longer gets to choose her clothing. I would tell what she gets to wear every day. She has lost access to her pretty dresses she and BestFriendLauren use to play Fashion Show.
This was the worst part for her.
I took all the bags and stuck them in my closet and the week began. She would have to prove through her responsible behavior that she could take care of her clothes. She would have to earn them back.
You’ve never seen someone work so hard to prove that point in the first hour. She PROMISED she could prove to me that she could do it. She PROMISED I would be so proud of her. She APOLOGIZED ridiculously for treating her clothes the way she did.
Throughout the week I put together outfits that still had tags on them, that she had forgotten about, that she had never thought of or let me help her with. She loved it.
And wanted me to keep her clothes forever.
NOT THE POINT, KID.
So she now has her wardrobe back and is pretty clear that the next time I grab the garbage bags they will be leaving the house permanently. And I am now her fashion consultant.