There are clothes the kids love that are not things I've picked out for them. At least, not this year (or last). Maybe it's a pair of overalls from three years ago when my oldest was still happy to have me put her hair in pig tails. They prefer pants torn at the pockets from three girls who all stuff their pockets to bursting with untold treasures snatched from the grass, the toy chest, my bedside table.
They wear dresses in muted shades of over-washed; they sport rainbow socks with threadbare heels. These, more than the new clothes stagnating on hangers in their closets—the special occasion clothes and the everyone's-wearing-them clothes, and the just-try-it-for-mommy clothes—these wretched threads still bound together by luck and laundry soap are their favorites.
Sometimes I worry that hand me downs are telling the larger world a story of meager means. Are they broadcasting the details of our tight clothing budget or my inability to coordinate four children's worth of outfits? For these reasons I cringe when they bounce off through the school doors, a tattered hemline fluttering in their wake.
But I'm smart enough to shake off self-conscious concerns about my public image and re-imagine the emotional inheritance in cast-off clothing. All of my kids have gone crashing through the world around them in these clothes. Past and present versions of them fill out the shoulders of a much-loved sweater just so. These clothes re-collect my going-going-gone babies and toddlers, my memory's children.
There will be many autumns spent buying clothes my kids carefully pick for a new school year, eager to show off to old friends and new classmates. But someday the hand-me-downs will run out, packed off to Goodwill. For now, I'll be praying the tears at the seams hang on for a few more memories.
***
Here's a bit of essay-writing for Trifecta's Week Sixteen challenge. The inspiration word is "wretched."
3: being or appearing mean, miserable, or contemptible <dressed in wretched old clothes>
I fixated on that clothing example, as well as the third meaning of the adjective "mean."
a: of poor shabby inferior quality or status <mean city streets> b : worthy of little regard : contemptible —often used in negative constructions as a term of praise <no mean feat>
How's that for meta?
This is so sweet.
ReplyDeleteI liken the beaten-up, painted-on, faded-to-almost-sheer hand-me-downs on kids to expressions people wear on their face.
The clothes have lots of stories, if you'd get past the holes and listen.
Faces may look unapproachable, but there's likely a story as to why.
Both can lead to misjudgments.
Which is why I like this piece so much.
Thanks, babe. I've been thinking about the twins dressing themselves all the time lately. It's not always what I want them to wear. But it's always something they are proud of and that reminds me of Bee when she was that little.
DeleteAdorable. I can definitely relate.
ReplyDeleteJust need clothes made of Kevlar. Maybe they'd not look so well-used.
DeleteThanks!
wretched threads held together by luck and laundry soap...beautiful - I'm getting ready to patch my favorite jeans right now.
ReplyDeleteThanks!
DeleteI loved the "muted shades of over-washed..." And 4 kids? I can barely handle my measly one. Good on ya, as I hear the Australians like to say.
ReplyDeleteThis essay is just fantastic! There were so many great parts, but here's my favorite bit:
ReplyDeleteBut I'm smart enough to shake off self-conscious concerns about my public image and re-imagine the emotional inheritance in cast-off clothing. All of my kids have gone crashing through the world around them in these clothes. Past and present versions of them fill out the shoulders of a much-loved sweater just so.
My daughter is the youngest girl-cousin of five (three on my husband's side, one on my side, and then her). In eight years, the most I have spent on her for clothing at one go was when I bought her her first bras the other day. I buy her shoes and underwear. Everything else comes out of a box except for oddments here and there. If she ever decides to want new clothes of her own, I plan to honor it. In the meantime, I am, like you, just trying to enjoy the 'emotional inheritance' [what a great phrase!]
ReplyDeletehttp://jesterqueen.com
I love how dearly my children have loved certain pieces of clothes, especially the ones handed to them by either older cousins (the girls) or a close friend with two boys. I have no talent for picking clothes and a tight budget too ... but there is something amazingly sweet about thinking of the other children wearing and wearing out somewhat the same togs as mine.
ReplyDeleteMy sister had an oopsie baby, so it is even nicer to return the girls' clothes to her for a fifth child.
Beautifully written. You've captured this time of life so sweetly.
Thanks for joining up. I am the third of four boys and I always wore hand me down clothes. Like you, felt they were 'telling the larger world a story of meager means'. But now that I'm a father, I can see that my girls delight in clothes from friends and cousins. This little piece is really nicely written. Hope to see you over the weekend.
ReplyDelete"muted shades of over-washed"--I LOVED that line! Oh, this brings back so many memories. Me buying the first child (a girl) clothes in primary colors. In case the next child was a boy. Being practical, and all that. Finally gave in to pinks and purples after her first birthday. And then there was the daughter who INSISTED on wearing dresses every single day of her 3rd year. And a high ponytail. And glittery ruby-red Dorothy slippers. And then there's my son who has quite the fedora collection going now. One of his hats perched on top of his dark blonde curls elicits many murmurs from the female persuasion and whispers of, "Do you mind if I touch your hair?"
ReplyDeleteThanks for the memories. And for the record, I too LOVE previously owned duds or the stuff on the 'reduced for quick sale' rack. Items no one else likes (or sees the potential of).
Nice piece:)
My youngest is being raised as an only since her big sister is 20 years older. There were no hand me downs for her and there is no one to hand hers down to. I love that you can see the memories of your others in the same piece. Really lovely.
ReplyDeleteI love this. I hate, hated that Xander didn't have a sibling to hand some of his more memory-laden clothing down to - just so *I* could keep them around a little while longer.
ReplyDelete