Dressing babies is fun. There are so many cute little outfits–cozy warm sleepers and hats, sundresses and seersucker for summer, tiny little suits and sports jerseys, and socks that look like ballet slippers or cowboy boots. I spent many happy hours picking out precious little overalls in the Carter’s store and pouring over the Gymboree sale rack. When my kids were babies, I dressed them in what I liked.

They got a little older, though, and started to have opinions about what they wanted to wear. One of my girls refused to wear pants because they were “boy clothes,” and insisted on dresses and tights with her running shoes everyday. My youngest son had a very strong fashion sense from the age of two, and would only wear certain favorites. When he was little, it usually involved a super-hero outfit, but as he got older, he went through phases, like a collared-shirts-only phase, a white undershirt phase, and a red-high-top-Chuck-Taylor phase.

As the kids grew, I sorted their clothes into storage boxes by size and gender. Twice a year, I hauled out all the bins, decided what could be worn, put it into piles for the kids to try on, and put away the items that didn’t fit anyone. An entire bedroom closet was stacked to the ceiling with plastic storage bins. It was a complicated organizational task to rotate the hand-me-downs through the children, and it took me a few days every season to sort through and re-organize the contents of all the boxes.

Some items were welcomed by the new owner; coveted outfits could finally belong to someone else. Others were rejected by the next in line, either because it was out of style or didn’t fit right.

A few times over the years, I dressed the girls in cute matching outfits; they were darling in their stair-step sizes. Once, I sewed coordinating jumpers for all of them in country stripes and denim, and another time I bought linen floral Easter dresses for the girls and me. By the time the youngest girl had gotten that jumper or dress in her pile four times, we were all sick of it.

Most seasons, I needed to supplement the hand-me-downs with new items, and I let each child pick out styles they liked. Fresh pieces were needed, especially by my youngest daughter; her share of the bin contents had been well used  by the time they fit her, and looked tired and boring.

One fall, I ordered her an outfit that I had been eyeing in the Hanna Anderson catalog. I thought she would love it–a sassy, striped top with coordinating leggings in bright colors. She hated them, but I talked her into wearing them once in a while, particularly on picture day. She wasn’t happy. (She now looks back on the picture and agrees that the outfit was indeed super cute.)

When the girls entered their teens, my bin system became obsolete. They didn’t want their sisters’ old stuff. Each one had her own clothes, and any trading or sharing was done without my help, except when voices were raised and I heard either threats or crying. Eventually,  I banned all clothes borrowing. It didn’t stop the stealing, though. They would get so mad at each other over clothes that I sometimes feared they would never speak to each another again. Once tempers cooled, though, they forgot about it.

Clothes shopping became an individual responsibility, and we started an allowance system that sort-of worked. Each child got a certain amount of money to spend on clothes the way they chose. Some bought several inexpensive things, others decided to invest in a few good quality items. All came to me for supplemental funds and a ride to the mall.

My older boy is still  easy to please, even at 19, so I can shop for him–but he’s the only one. I’ve learned from experience that unless I have a specific item number, color and size, or the intended recipient at my side, I dare not purchase clothing for them. It I weaken and pick something out myself, I must be prepared with a gift receipt for easy returns. I may think I understand the trend, but likely, I do not.

Clothes shopping has come full circle now that my children are almost all adults. They have become my fashion advisors. When they go shopping with me, they help me pick clothes that look good and are actually in fashion. When I find a great piece of clothing, they urge me to buy when I would otherwise be cheap and settle for that old thing hanging in my closet.

If I’m shopping alone, I often text one of them for advice before I buy, sending a picture or two to get their opinion. In a  brave moment, I may even let them go through my closet and get rid of the stuff they deem outdated or ugly.  My son adds his opinion as well; a couple of pairs of shoes in my closet wouldn’t be there without his encouragement.

To go from caring for my babies to being cared for by them is one of the joys of having adult children. My nest is almost empty, but my heart–and my closet–is full.