I have a lot to be thankful for when it comes to the childhood I experienced. I had loving parents, a wonderful community of family friends, and many opportunities to visit new places and try new things.
Of all the things I’m thankful for, there’s one thing in particular that ranks high on the list, and it might surprise you. What is it, you ask? That my mother was a pack rat.
She saved my favorite toys from childhood: the doll house I spent hours rearranging and the Madame Alexander dolls who I was instructed not to touch but did nonetheless. She stored my ballet shoes in the attic and my prom dresses in my closet, and she even kept a box of the diaries I poured my heart into in my moody teenage years (though I prefer to believe that she did not read them).
She also saved several of the dresses I wore as a child. She’d sewn quite a few of them herself, and because I had no sisters to pass them onto, they were probably too sentimental for her to just give away. So for years (as many as 30!) my dresses remained hidden away in the attic of my childhood home, never seeing the light of day.
That is, until I had a daughter.
It’s so meaningful to me to see her in my baby clothes, knowing that my mother made them by hand and took so much pride in my appearance. Years may have passed and styles may have changed, but one thing remains: the love of a mother that’s woven into those clothes. The fabric of a mother’s love never fades away.