Sorting toys and clothes
My mother never taught me how to decide what papers to keep and what to get rid of; instead she would clear out my room and decide which artwork she liked, while I was at public school. I have a vivid memory of coming home to what felt like a bare room, my favorite art gone, what she thought important still there. At one point I closed the door, sat down on the floor, and spread my bead collection in a heap in front of me. I wanted to make a mess in revolt! And then I cleaned it all up, in fear that she would come in and get rid of these, too.
Because that hurt so much, and because we had toys, clothing, books, and papers practically thrown at us from the moment my husband and I started our family, I wanted my children to learn how to prioritize. When they were very little I decided for them, but as soon as they could be reasoned with, we went through the toy box together every couple years. We threw out broken toys, unless someone could persuade me they were still usable or beloved. I allowed each child to choose 10 to keep for sure, and the rest we discussed. Just because one loved it and another hated it did not mean it had to go. They were not allowed to vote to get rid of something out of spite. Sets we compromised on; we kept all the Lego bricks, regardless of original owner or loved status. Marble sets we restricted or got rid of for safety reasons. There were toddlers in the house up until the eldest left home.
I went through clothing with each child. Their sizes and differing tastes dictated not much overlap. We didn’t have people wearing each other’s clothes until my youngest son caught up with his sisters’ sizes. Running out of clothing has never been a problem; rather, every few weeks another person gave us bags of used clothes, some of them new with tags. In those cases I sorted through first, getting rid of the obviously too worn, inappropriate, or wrong size clothes. The remainder I had each child go through and return to me what they didn’t want. When they were younger I went through their wardrobe with each one. Consequently they were pretty happy with the colors and fit of the clothes they had.
We bought new white shirts and ties on sale every Easter. They came with vests and matching pants for the boys. Girls’ Sunday dresses we actively looked for, because society dictated too short and too skimpy, even sheer, dresses. I wanted longer dresses, with at least cap sleeves, and slips under them. I remembered being unable to keep my kneecaps covered as a child; my daughters wore dresses long enough to reach knees or calves. If that meant a four-year-old wearing a dress labeled size 14, so be it. We’d just push up the sleeves.
