Hot Pink Swarovski Bow Booties…Grandma is a Sucker

When I was a teacher, back in the day, I remember my bulletin board around this time of year was usually around the theme of “March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb.”  This week certainly was an example of that quote.  There were wintery mixes of sleet and rain, then on Friday morning, about four inches of snow covered our neighborhood again, making it look like a Currier and Ives print (almost).  But on Saturday morning, the sun reappeared, strong enough to make the snow disappear and the air warm enough for me to wear my leather jacket.  It was a delightful relief and could’ve brought on a bout of early spring fever.   

What exactly is spring fever anyway?  Does it really exist?  What are the signs and symptoms?  How does it affect grandmothers with a dwindling bank account who are expecting granddaughters to be born and of course will need clothes?  Does it make these grandmas buy things like hot pink Swarovski bow booties for an infant who hasn’t been born yet?  In my world, the answer is yes.  Or I just might be the biggest sucker grandma ever.  Am I proud of this?...no.  I think it’s some sort of addiction.  As a matter of fact, I know it’s some sort of addiction.  Didn’t they make a movie with Isla Fisher on this addiction based on the book by Sophie Kinsella? 

It all started when I was little, my mother used to take me to Kiddie Toggery, our neighborhood children’s clothing store on Flatbush Avenue, a block off King’s Highway in Brooklyn, New York.  We used to walk there because my mother didn’t drive.  It didn’t matter, though, because at the end of that long walk from Avenue K, there would be racks of beautiful clothes to try on.  The storeowner, Mr. Gorman, would roll out the red carpet for my mother, probably his best customer, because she didn’t have one little girl- she had three little girls.  I remember that my mother used to buy so much for us that she couldn’t carry the bags home- so Mr. Gorman would pack everything up in a box and someone would deliver it.  My sisters and I would wait for that box and eagerly open it when it arrived to take out our new apparel.

There were many stories from my childhood associated with that store.  One, my mother loves to tell, that I don’t remember, about a red dress that I fell in love with.  My dad was there during that shopping trip and when I tried the dress on he noticed that it had a lot of work on the front of it and he was discouraging me from getting it.  He kept on saying, “That’s going to be very hard to iron.”  But I only wanted that dress and persisted.  My mother finally said, “Alright, George, don’t worry- THIS dress I’ll iron.”  After she said that, Mr. Gorman and his sale ladies broke out into laughter.  After all, it was the early sixties- what men, if they weren’t tailors or dry cleaners, ironed?

There was one story I do recall, quite vividly, though.  I was about six.  After a shopping trip to Kiddie Toggery for our spring clothes, I had a fight with my mother. I don’t recall what the fight was about, but I was so upset with her that I decided to run away from home.  I packed up my clothes and put on my vinyl print raincoat because it was pouring out.  I was on the front porch, opening up my umbrella, when Mrs. Brady, from across the street, was coming up the steps, probably to have a cup of coffee with my mother.  She smiled at me and said, “Hello.”  I mumbled hello back.  Huge globules of rain fell behind her.  My mother was standing by the screen door. 

“Where is she going?” asked Mrs. Brady. 

“She’s running away from home,” replied my mother, matter-of-factly. 

“Oh, that’s nice,” responded Mrs. Brady. 
I turned around to my mother, "When the clothes come from Kiddie Toggery, you'll send them to me," I said. 

“Oh no,” replied my mother, “When the clothes comes, I am giving them to the new little girl who’s coming to take your place.” 

I didn’t say anything.  I continued to walk down the stairs trying to manage my bag of clothes and my umbrella in the deluge of rain that was falling.  I got as far as the sidewalk in front of my house.  I wasn’t sure I knew where I was running away to–probably my Aunt Dorothy who lived in the apartment building a block away, across the street.  I wasn't allowed to cross the street yet.  And it was a very big, busy street.  And it was raining very hard.  I looked at the street.  I looked at the rain.  I thought about the clothes from Kiddie Toggery and then about the new little girl who would wear my new clothes.  I didn't like her and I certainly didn't want her wearing my new clothes.  I turned around and came back up to the stairs.

“Oh, you changed your mind,” my mother said, sardonically, when I returned back to the porch.

“No,” I responded defiantly.  “It’s raining now.  I’ll leave tomorrow.” 

Naturally, I never ran away.  I waited for that box of clothes to come because when you have a clothing addiction, that’s the consolation. 

My clothing addiction re-emerged when Lindsay was born.  She was always dressed in the latest couture- designer baby clothes bought in Widensky’s on Schenectady Avenue in Brooklyn.   The owners of that store attended the same synagogue as we did and my parents became friends with them, so we’d get a discount.  I didn't clothe myself stylishly at that time, throwing on cheap sweats and a t-shirt, while Lindsay wore Guess overalls.  She was my little doll that I could dress up and the clothes were so much cuter than the selection of clothes that I had to choose from.  This continued when I had my second daughter, Kim.  Once I went to parent-teacher conference night and Kim’s teacher said to me, “I love the way you dress her.”  I don’t remember anything else she said about Kim- that is, how she was doing in school; I just was so pleased that she recognized her sense of fashion or more likely my sense of fashion. 

And now, I am awaiting the birth of a granddaughter.  Already, there are bags of clothing waiting for her, as well.  I find myself lured by an invisible force to the children’s clothing department wherever I am shopping.  Just the other day, I went to buy Mark new underwear and socks in Century 21 because he hates to shop.  I became “trapped” in the girl’s infant wear department for over an hour. 

I’m also going in to stores I have not gone to in years.  I had to suffer through the non-stop-talkative, know-it-all saleslady in Denny’s while I went through the racks of pricey clothes there.  You ask her one question and she proceeds to tell you everything she knows that you didn't ask her about babies and offers advice about anything from how to swaddle the baby to why I should order a nurse for my daughter even if she doesn’t plan on using one.  I brought Lindsay into Denny’s and this saleslady scared the hell out of her when she said, “Don’t buy that, it’s too small.  Your baby could be seven or eight pounds when she’s born.”  “I’m not having a seven pound baby- how will I push her out?  I’m only 4’10!”  Needless to say, we will not be returning to that Denny’s. 

There’s also the Internet and Lindsay has instilled a new addiction in me to this website called Zulilly’s.  Zulily’s doesn’t have sales- they have events.  And if you don’t get to the “event” in time, a little sash will appear on the corner of the picture of the outfit you covet for your granddaughter that says all out.  This leads my daughter to send me texts at 9:34am on a Sunday that say “Zulily ASAP diva daze!!!!!”  (Yes I am not exaggerating- there were five exclamation marks.)  And this leads me to buy hot pink Swarovski bow booties for an infant who hasn’t been born yet, which also leads me to buy not one, but two diaper covers to match the hot pink Swarovski bow booties for an infant who hasn’t been born yet. 

Do I blame this on spring fever?  Even though it isn’t spring just yet.  Still, the snow from this past week is melting as quickly as my funds are depleting.  And spring is due to arrive in ten days while my granddaughter is due to arrive in 90 days (smile).  And I can’t wait to put those hot pink Swarovski bow booties on her perfect little feet. 

The irresistible Hot Pink Swarovski Bow Booties

The irresistible feet of my granddaughter