Cleaning out the Attic...Baby clothes

Usually, when I start a project, it leads to a jillion more. Focus is not my strongest trait, ok? I start with the best of intentions, but somehow my ambition gets re-directed. I said that to say this. Today I put away the Christmas tree and all the ornaments. Actually, I only started to put away the Christmas tree.  That took me to the attic for a box, and that made me notice another box, tucked back under the eaves.  Well, this is "sort something Saturday", and boxes all need sorting, right? Besides, it looked intriguing--more intriguing than putting up the ornaments. So, I ended up with a couple of boxes to sort, and managed to condense them into one. Meanwhile, I got to see all my stash of baby clothes once more.  Now, I'm a grandmother and not likely to ever  have another baby to raise, but I've held on to these for the memories. See, here is the ceramic duck my sister made for Elijah, the one that sat on his dresser until he was in seventh grade when we suddenly realized that he was really too old for it. Until then, it had just sat there with the cars, and planes, and trains, and Nintendo games, miraculously surviving without a crack or a chip, and that claim we couldn't make for Elijah.

There was a hand crocheted jacket from an aunt far away.

And a cute, little sailor suit worn by Elijah in this picture.  I remember that the photographer teased me, saying that I'd certainly not think it was so cute when my little boy grew up and wanted to be a sailor.











There were dedication dresses, and an adorable little bib, made and embroidered by my mother.












Here's a close up. It's amazing how few stains it has, considering how much we used it. (gotta love that double knit fabric)

My sister made this dress for Clay. I couldn't find a picture of her in it, but I remember her little face peeking out of that bonnet. The ruffles and flowers and little puff sleeves were far beyond my skills and patience level.

Here's Clay in a purple dress that was handed down from her older sister Carina. I don't know why I don't have it, unless it's in another box...way back under the eaves. Hmmm.

This little white sweater was simply my favorite. All three of the children wore it in turn, and I know it spent at least a few years on a doll.

This little dress survived in beautiful condition in spite of the fact that it was white, with lots of smocking and embroidered flowers around the neck. I have a snapshot with Carina wearing it. It's not the best when it comes to resolution, but I can't resist her expression. She's about two months old here...and six weeks in this one on her Grandmother's couch in Arkansas. I found one of those little shoes, but not the other.

My children didn't wear this yellow, checked dress; I did. I know. I know. It's old. It's over fifty years old, but just look at the teensy little rick-rack and the pockets. I'm not sure what I kept in them, because I could only have been a couple months old at the time, but they are cute.










This baby quilt was just an old one my mom made for my little sister and brother. She was going to toss it away, and, for once, I objected. It was made from scraps she had left over from all the dresses she had made for me and my four sisters over the years. We remembered wearing that fabric, so, of course, I had to bring it home. Now my grandbaby can enjoy those same prints, and that's a weird feeling, but a pleasant one.





The toys belong to Clay. That's her first clown, and a cabbage doll pet cat or lion or turnip maybe.

And there were more clothes that I didn't recognize; my instinct says they must be my granddaughter Mim's little clothes. Maybe next time she visits we can drag them out again and tell her how cute she was.

This music box was Elijah's. We bought it when he was going through a "Martin the Warrior" phase. It still plays and I know it's going to end up beside the duck in Blaze's Baby Bedroom....up high...out of reach, so it can survive another few years and decorate another person's attic.

Goodbye, Miss Haversham

I hear quiet chords of anthem music. Claye has decided to tackle her room...a museum of ancient treasure that has sat serenely for many months in complete stillness, quietly collecting dust. She is methodically moving from corner to corner with the dust cloth, polishing and restoring every precious object, and to my great delight, even deciding to part with some of them, relinquishing them to the school-benefit garage sale.

"Do you think she will mind if I give this away?" she asks, all concerned,holding out a bouquet of artificial flowers.
"What? Aren't those from your sister's wedding?"
"No, my cousin's wedding."
"But that's almost thirteen years ago. Surely she won't mind."
"And if I get rid of the lava lamps...?"
"That would be great. I'll take them to your sister and she can put them in the sale. They will add interest to her booth."
"But she's the one who gave them to me...."
"She won't mind. Nobody expects you to keep things forever."

Still, it's hard to part with things you like, especially if you remember who gave them to you and when. That's Claye's dilemma. She still has many of her childhood toys, and I think fully half of the attic holds boxes of her stuff. She loves all things Victorian and collects glass bottles; books by Dickens, prints by Gainsborough; she loves warriors and weapons--daggers and sais.

"What about this elf mask?" she asked again, holding out a paper mache and leaf concoction.
"The one you made for sculpture I?"
"Yes, I was going to throw it away, but it would look neat."
"Does it actually fit over the head."
"Um huh"
"Wow. Let me try it on. Amazing. No, we can't possible sell it. It will be perfect for a homecoming day at school--or a play prop--Midsummer night's dream or something.Let me put it in the attic."

...Well, she had to get it from somewhere.