Mother. The name means love. It means sacrifice. It means everything is now about you. It gets us up all hours of the night to nourish, snuggle, and pat tiny bums. It holds out clean hands cupped for the puking. It cancels plans with friends. It goes without. Mother means more of you, less of me. It means who I was will never again be. My baby has changed me.
Mother means school meetings galore. Is this place good enough? It means whoever hurts my kid better run. Even if it's a teacher.
Mother means I'll protect you. Wear a helmet, where's the sunscreen? It means be safe. Dear God, keep them safe. It means the news at five takes on a whole new meaning. Their baby, mine. It means the cry "Momma", drives us to help. Whoever, somehow ours.
Mother means laundry, and meals, and getting it all done. It takes these things and makes them Holy. It's driving, and pick up, and practice, and games. It's plays, and musicals, and drumming, or strings. It's broken lamps, and marker stained jeans, and support bras.
Mother means staying up all night praying their safe return. It means guiding, waiting, watching them grow. It means please don't grow up and leave me, to wow, it's time to go. It tears us down. It builds us up. It is everything worth doing.
Mother. It means strength. It means work. It means blood, sweat, and tears. It is a Holy doing.
Mother means I love you.
For all the Mommas, and for all my babies.
Nicole
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
My Favorite Scents
You know how scent is the strongest trigger in memory? It takes us back. It takes us North, South, East, and West. To Gram's kitchen, to a county fair, the beach, and a coffee shop. I love that it beholds such power. How God made us that way. I can recall a food from childhood and smell/ taste it all over again. I am a very scent oriented person. I swear I fell in love with Dan because of the way he smelled. Woodstove, man-ness(in a good way), and lip balm. Yup, I loved it. (still do). Some things bring me back, and in my mind, I am there. Here are a few favorites:
1. Lilacs. Nothing better come spring. And I go every year to my grandmothers' and pick them with her. Then I go with Rachel to a neighboring town, and steal some there. We pick some for nearly every room of our home. The air is decadent with their fragrance.
2. Bacon. Sunday mornings. Home or at Grams'. Eggs fried in the grease. You haven't lived until you've had them that way. Do it too much and you'll die, but once a year makes life worth living.
3. The salty ocean air. Cape Cod. Driving over the bridge, AC off, windows rolled down, and air breathed in so forcefully, a summer high.
4. Popcorn popping. That along the little tin pot of real butter melting. Little House is coming on, and we wait for the last pops to get started.
5. A summer tomato basking in the hot sun, while haning on the vine. Beckoning to be picked.
6. My friend Julies' parents' house. It smells like pancakes and syrup. And it means Oreos, and soap operas, and being 14. Bring on the puffy bangs.
7. The cottage. My grandparents' summer home down the Cape. Open up the door, or dresser drawer, and that damp, salty air stilled us. And when I think of it now, it still does.
8. Cheap bar soap. Sitting on my grandmothers' bathroom sink, getting a spongebath. Hot water, a perfectly white washcloth, and cheap bar soap. Love in all of it.
9. Garlic in oil, sauteeing over the stove. My mother standing there preparing supper. My stomach growling, waiting.
10. Christmas trees. Waking up December mornings, walking through, the scent filling my nose. Christmas morning coming soon!
11. Kids' shampoo. We always bought them some orange/mango scented shampoo for summer. Various little ones piled into the tub. Water everywhere.
12. The sun, warming the laundry hanging on the lines. And later, climbing in those sheets, with windows wide open.
13. My babies' heads. Sweet, soft.
How about you? What takes you back, and to where?
Nicole
1. Lilacs. Nothing better come spring. And I go every year to my grandmothers' and pick them with her. Then I go with Rachel to a neighboring town, and steal some there. We pick some for nearly every room of our home. The air is decadent with their fragrance.
2. Bacon. Sunday mornings. Home or at Grams'. Eggs fried in the grease. You haven't lived until you've had them that way. Do it too much and you'll die, but once a year makes life worth living.
3. The salty ocean air. Cape Cod. Driving over the bridge, AC off, windows rolled down, and air breathed in so forcefully, a summer high.
4. Popcorn popping. That along the little tin pot of real butter melting. Little House is coming on, and we wait for the last pops to get started.
5. A summer tomato basking in the hot sun, while haning on the vine. Beckoning to be picked.
6. My friend Julies' parents' house. It smells like pancakes and syrup. And it means Oreos, and soap operas, and being 14. Bring on the puffy bangs.
7. The cottage. My grandparents' summer home down the Cape. Open up the door, or dresser drawer, and that damp, salty air stilled us. And when I think of it now, it still does.
8. Cheap bar soap. Sitting on my grandmothers' bathroom sink, getting a spongebath. Hot water, a perfectly white washcloth, and cheap bar soap. Love in all of it.
9. Garlic in oil, sauteeing over the stove. My mother standing there preparing supper. My stomach growling, waiting.
10. Christmas trees. Waking up December mornings, walking through, the scent filling my nose. Christmas morning coming soon!
11. Kids' shampoo. We always bought them some orange/mango scented shampoo for summer. Various little ones piled into the tub. Water everywhere.
12. The sun, warming the laundry hanging on the lines. And later, climbing in those sheets, with windows wide open.
13. My babies' heads. Sweet, soft.
How about you? What takes you back, and to where?
Nicole
Friday, May 4, 2012
Our Gigi
Have I told y'all about how my sweet Gracie came as a beloved miracle from the Big Guy above? How she was not to be, and then she was? How I should have lost her and didn't? And how her tiny heartbeat was failing in an induced labor? But she came out all pink and rosie? Have I?
Well, let me share. She was, she was, I didn't, she lived, and she did. Well, that's her story. She is a miracle baby. And God in His mighty humor made her sassy. And when I say sassy, what I mean is SASSY! Her favorite expression as a young baby aside from screaming was to furrow her mini eyebrows at me as in to say "puh-leez". I learned very early on that she had me read like a book, and watched me like a hawk, and she scared me that she might even be smarter than me.
I used to lie and manipulate the bigger kids and it worked. Like, eating veggies grows hair on your chest/ makes you sing like a princess. They believed me. At two young years of age, Gracie replied "No it doesn't". Over. She called my bluff. And I was so sad, I was really good at it. She would have nothing to do with anything fake, false, deceptive, or anything we Momma's must do to carry on in life. What I mean is, she made it hard to do it easily.
Gracie is not the prudent type her older sister was. She is well behaved, especially for other people. She loves to do well in school. But she doesn't have the sensitive side to her that her sis posessed. Gracie is a tough nut. She told me today how this" really mean boy stuck his tongue out at me at recess. I was like, like who do you think you are? Like really, you are so not nice. I can kick your butt at soccer." Wanna go? I was like "So what happened?" She was like "He ran away. I scared him. It was so funny." And with that, she threw her head back, long blonde locks cascading down her back and more than confidently walked away. Oh crap.
Yesterday she had a soccer game. She plays mostly defense. God help the other team. She is on a great team, and it's not about the score, unless you're Gracie. Then it's ALL about the score. Like "Did you see that? We kicked their butts? Like no WAY was I letting one by me. I'd rather die." Let's just say that when the score was 10-0, Gracie was asked by some caring, nice hearted people if she could please just let the other team score? She looked at them as if they were nuts, and carried on the fierce, ponytail whipping, red- faced competition. She said she would have listened if her coach told her to, but "just a parent??, no." Lord, help us.
Tonight beholds the most fun for every little girl around. The Daddy- Daughter Dance. When they all dress up beautifully, and go to the dance with their Daddy. In other words, Dads get all spiffed up to watch their daughters run off shoeless with each other. Dads lined up against the gymnasium wall, hoping the cute girl he took will give him a dance. Hoping she remembers he's there. He'll buy her punch and a cupcake, stand in a long line for pictures, and hope he hears the tune of Butterfly Kisses come on over the speaker so he can pick her up, and twirl her around, and tell her she is beautiful. And then there is Gracie. She almost didn't go because she was so worried her friends "would LEGIT think I'm actually dating my Dad. Like LEGIT DATING HIM." I explained, "No dear, they wouldn't. They are there with their Dads too." So she decided to go. While at Ben's baseball game. Dirty, hungry, and it started in 1/2 hour. No clothes were laid out. She decided now. I flew her home, shoved leftovers down her cute little throat, threw her in a shower, and we picked something gorgeous. And they were gone. Just like that. I quickly called Dan's phone and gently reminded her how she needed to save a dance or two for her Daddy. How he loves her, and nobody would think they were "like legit." She agreed. I think their having a ball.
Someday she will marry the world's nicest guy. He'll have to be. I already pray for him. She is a force to be reckoned with, and we know that God made sure she was here, and has great plans for her. It takes guts to make it far, and we have no doubt she'll reach each and every goal she ever has her sight on. Now if we can just survive her, we'll be fine. Like legit.
Her Momma
Well, let me share. She was, she was, I didn't, she lived, and she did. Well, that's her story. She is a miracle baby. And God in His mighty humor made her sassy. And when I say sassy, what I mean is SASSY! Her favorite expression as a young baby aside from screaming was to furrow her mini eyebrows at me as in to say "puh-leez". I learned very early on that she had me read like a book, and watched me like a hawk, and she scared me that she might even be smarter than me.
I used to lie and manipulate the bigger kids and it worked. Like, eating veggies grows hair on your chest/ makes you sing like a princess. They believed me. At two young years of age, Gracie replied "No it doesn't". Over. She called my bluff. And I was so sad, I was really good at it. She would have nothing to do with anything fake, false, deceptive, or anything we Momma's must do to carry on in life. What I mean is, she made it hard to do it easily.
Gracie is not the prudent type her older sister was. She is well behaved, especially for other people. She loves to do well in school. But she doesn't have the sensitive side to her that her sis posessed. Gracie is a tough nut. She told me today how this" really mean boy stuck his tongue out at me at recess. I was like, like who do you think you are? Like really, you are so not nice. I can kick your butt at soccer." Wanna go? I was like "So what happened?" She was like "He ran away. I scared him. It was so funny." And with that, she threw her head back, long blonde locks cascading down her back and more than confidently walked away. Oh crap.
Yesterday she had a soccer game. She plays mostly defense. God help the other team. She is on a great team, and it's not about the score, unless you're Gracie. Then it's ALL about the score. Like "Did you see that? We kicked their butts? Like no WAY was I letting one by me. I'd rather die." Let's just say that when the score was 10-0, Gracie was asked by some caring, nice hearted people if she could please just let the other team score? She looked at them as if they were nuts, and carried on the fierce, ponytail whipping, red- faced competition. She said she would have listened if her coach told her to, but "just a parent??, no." Lord, help us.
Tonight beholds the most fun for every little girl around. The Daddy- Daughter Dance. When they all dress up beautifully, and go to the dance with their Daddy. In other words, Dads get all spiffed up to watch their daughters run off shoeless with each other. Dads lined up against the gymnasium wall, hoping the cute girl he took will give him a dance. Hoping she remembers he's there. He'll buy her punch and a cupcake, stand in a long line for pictures, and hope he hears the tune of Butterfly Kisses come on over the speaker so he can pick her up, and twirl her around, and tell her she is beautiful. And then there is Gracie. She almost didn't go because she was so worried her friends "would LEGIT think I'm actually dating my Dad. Like LEGIT DATING HIM." I explained, "No dear, they wouldn't. They are there with their Dads too." So she decided to go. While at Ben's baseball game. Dirty, hungry, and it started in 1/2 hour. No clothes were laid out. She decided now. I flew her home, shoved leftovers down her cute little throat, threw her in a shower, and we picked something gorgeous. And they were gone. Just like that. I quickly called Dan's phone and gently reminded her how she needed to save a dance or two for her Daddy. How he loves her, and nobody would think they were "like legit." She agreed. I think their having a ball.
Someday she will marry the world's nicest guy. He'll have to be. I already pray for him. She is a force to be reckoned with, and we know that God made sure she was here, and has great plans for her. It takes guts to make it far, and we have no doubt she'll reach each and every goal she ever has her sight on. Now if we can just survive her, we'll be fine. Like legit.
Her Momma
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Mice, Chipmunks, And Me
I know I should come up with something profound to write today, but I just can't think profoundly today. So instead I'll let you know what's really on my mind. I opened the French door that leads to our screened porch to dump some rather grody fridge findings into trash that was on it's way outside. And when I open that door and step outside, I can only think of one thing. Mice and chipmunks. Okay, two things.
I really don't like mice and chipmunks. At all. I don't like things that scurry and hide, that at any given moment can surprise you with their presence. It gives me anxiety just to think about it. I was told a story years ago that haunts me still. A friend had her big bin of dog food out in her garage. The only problem was, she wasn't good at keeping the lid tightly sealed. Until one day. She went out to scoop out the dogfood, and she felt something scurry up her arm. Under her clothes! So, right there with the garage door open, she stripped down to free herself of a mouse. I would have died. Dead. Give me CPR, or just let me go.
See, we have cats, and they love to catch these rodents, half kill them, play(torture) with them on my screen porch, chase them, and eventually eat them except for their head. They leave that for me. It is the worst part of the warmer months. That and frizz. But was happens at times is what happened to me one fateful day last summer. It was right of a horror movie, for me anyway. I was sitting at the computer and the door was open, listening to birds, minding my own business when I felt something scurry over my barefeet. I felt fur and nails quickly run across my beloved freshly painted toes. I jumped a complete mile off the chair and let out a blood curdling scream I am sure was heard miles away. I jumped on top of my kitchen island. Yes I did. From there I called for help. There was NO way I was getting down. No flipping way. I called for Josh who THANK GOD was home. I cried for God to come from the sky and take me right there back to heaven with Him, where I am sure there will be no mice or chipmunks. I called 911 with my voice. They didn't show up. I called for Gracie to join me on the island. I needed support. And that chipmunk ran out from under my hutch, across the bricks that surround the woodstove, and ran straight into MY ROOM. My room people. I grabbed the phone and ran outside with Gracie who I'm sure I damaged that day. I called Dan. It went like this. "Dan, get home now. Please. But now. There is a chipmunk in OUR ROOM!" Dan said, "So, close the door and I'll catch it, rent it a room, give it a name, feed it some cheese, and let it go tomorrow.". Okay, not exactly like that. But you have to realize the way his family dealt with mice in their kitchen was to feed them. He didn't share my horror. No, I was alone in my pain while he probably thought "Oh fun." So, I got mean, said I was going to my Momma's where no cats bring in chipmunks. I'll buy all new clothes because I sure as heck wasn't going back into that room to pack. Then I cried thinking of all my clean clothes just resting on my floor now surely being used as a bed for a rodent. And Dan relented. He'd come home and help me.
What was to be found though were blood paths leading to everywhere as the bugger was looking while injured for a place to rest. Chipmunk blood was in my room and it took Dan quite a while to catch it. Once he did, he took it out, cuddled it, named it and set it on it's way. Okay, not all true. And I went about with bleach and cleaned for the love of God. Not sure how the love of God fits right there, but it felt right to say it. Blood, germs, rodentness, be gone. I think I may have sprouted a few gray hairs that day.
It gets better. There is more. And this is the truth, the whole dang truth, and nothing but it. The very next day, when I kept the door closed, when listening to birds, and feeling the breeze wasn't an option for my emotional wellbeing something else happened. I went upstairs to do some chores, I looked into the gutted for many years bathroom, and saw something. It was dark in there and the light was coming from behind me and there lying on the sink was a creature looking stiff while belly up. Legs. I saw them there and couldn't believe my fate. Was this a joke? It was still, so I snuck forward and put the light on. It was a dinosaur. A plastic toy dinosaur from when the boys were little. Somebody must have put it there. I cried a little tear. Glad it wasn't another rodent. I didn't have the intestinal fortitude to deal with more at that point. Glad for the misunderstanding. Later that very same day, I went to Dunkin's for an iced coffee. I deserved a treat. And, NO LIE, while I was ordering, a little brown mouse came out from under the ordering board, and got onto his hind legs, and looked at me. I'm assuming people must throw donut crumbs to him. Like a mascot. Or my husband's family. I put my window up, gunned the gas, and went home feeling played. Like what the heck? Am I going crazy? Are they out to get me? How can I sleep at night now? I felt itchy, a bit crazy, and played like a fool.
So this is what I think about this time of year. To open the door? Or not to open the door?
Nicole
I really don't like mice and chipmunks. At all. I don't like things that scurry and hide, that at any given moment can surprise you with their presence. It gives me anxiety just to think about it. I was told a story years ago that haunts me still. A friend had her big bin of dog food out in her garage. The only problem was, she wasn't good at keeping the lid tightly sealed. Until one day. She went out to scoop out the dogfood, and she felt something scurry up her arm. Under her clothes! So, right there with the garage door open, she stripped down to free herself of a mouse. I would have died. Dead. Give me CPR, or just let me go.
See, we have cats, and they love to catch these rodents, half kill them, play(torture) with them on my screen porch, chase them, and eventually eat them except for their head. They leave that for me. It is the worst part of the warmer months. That and frizz. But was happens at times is what happened to me one fateful day last summer. It was right of a horror movie, for me anyway. I was sitting at the computer and the door was open, listening to birds, minding my own business when I felt something scurry over my barefeet. I felt fur and nails quickly run across my beloved freshly painted toes. I jumped a complete mile off the chair and let out a blood curdling scream I am sure was heard miles away. I jumped on top of my kitchen island. Yes I did. From there I called for help. There was NO way I was getting down. No flipping way. I called for Josh who THANK GOD was home. I cried for God to come from the sky and take me right there back to heaven with Him, where I am sure there will be no mice or chipmunks. I called 911 with my voice. They didn't show up. I called for Gracie to join me on the island. I needed support. And that chipmunk ran out from under my hutch, across the bricks that surround the woodstove, and ran straight into MY ROOM. My room people. I grabbed the phone and ran outside with Gracie who I'm sure I damaged that day. I called Dan. It went like this. "Dan, get home now. Please. But now. There is a chipmunk in OUR ROOM!" Dan said, "So, close the door and I'll catch it, rent it a room, give it a name, feed it some cheese, and let it go tomorrow.". Okay, not exactly like that. But you have to realize the way his family dealt with mice in their kitchen was to feed them. He didn't share my horror. No, I was alone in my pain while he probably thought "Oh fun." So, I got mean, said I was going to my Momma's where no cats bring in chipmunks. I'll buy all new clothes because I sure as heck wasn't going back into that room to pack. Then I cried thinking of all my clean clothes just resting on my floor now surely being used as a bed for a rodent. And Dan relented. He'd come home and help me.
What was to be found though were blood paths leading to everywhere as the bugger was looking while injured for a place to rest. Chipmunk blood was in my room and it took Dan quite a while to catch it. Once he did, he took it out, cuddled it, named it and set it on it's way. Okay, not all true. And I went about with bleach and cleaned for the love of God. Not sure how the love of God fits right there, but it felt right to say it. Blood, germs, rodentness, be gone. I think I may have sprouted a few gray hairs that day.
It gets better. There is more. And this is the truth, the whole dang truth, and nothing but it. The very next day, when I kept the door closed, when listening to birds, and feeling the breeze wasn't an option for my emotional wellbeing something else happened. I went upstairs to do some chores, I looked into the gutted for many years bathroom, and saw something. It was dark in there and the light was coming from behind me and there lying on the sink was a creature looking stiff while belly up. Legs. I saw them there and couldn't believe my fate. Was this a joke? It was still, so I snuck forward and put the light on. It was a dinosaur. A plastic toy dinosaur from when the boys were little. Somebody must have put it there. I cried a little tear. Glad it wasn't another rodent. I didn't have the intestinal fortitude to deal with more at that point. Glad for the misunderstanding. Later that very same day, I went to Dunkin's for an iced coffee. I deserved a treat. And, NO LIE, while I was ordering, a little brown mouse came out from under the ordering board, and got onto his hind legs, and looked at me. I'm assuming people must throw donut crumbs to him. Like a mascot. Or my husband's family. I put my window up, gunned the gas, and went home feeling played. Like what the heck? Am I going crazy? Are they out to get me? How can I sleep at night now? I felt itchy, a bit crazy, and played like a fool.
So this is what I think about this time of year. To open the door? Or not to open the door?
Nicole
Friday, April 27, 2012
Getting Old
I think I'm getting old. Or at least I think others think I'm old. Or maybe I am old. I notice when I'm working, and I see a pregnant Momma, or new Momma, and I thought we were the same age and I see she's like 8-10 years younger than me. I'm like "Oh crap, she must think I'm old." Or I see a Momma of more "advanced age", and I see we're the same age. And I'm like "Oh crap, I am old." When did this happen? I was like seventeen all of six months ago. I still feel like I'm seventeen, except when I get close to a mirror, and take a peek. Oh, I should never take a peek. All it does is make me want to hide myself in shame. Or I sometimes feel old when shopping and I LOVE some cute hip outfit and realize I would look like one of those ladies who are desperate to stay young. Then I feel old. Or when I see and ad for tummy tucks, face lifts, and boob jobs, and I think cool. Then I realize "Yes, I am getting old."
And I really want to know why men get better with age. Why, why, why does that happen? They never pushed a baby out of themselves, or gained battlescars across their abdomen. So why in the heck do gray hairs make them look distinguished, and wrinkles make them look refined? Dan weighs less now than on our wedding day. Jerk. Where is the justice in this whole concept? That is a good question when I stand before God.
This getting old business is not what I want to embrace. I do not want to wear a polka dotted skirted bathing suit. I do not want to. And what kills me about this, is I see them, and I'm like, "hide the hiney, great idea." See, I am old.
I think this is why many woman take up drinking in their forties. Or join the gym. Maybe that's where I need to go. Not drinking, but to the gym. Maybe I need to own this aging process and prove to myself I can do it well. And if that doesn't work, I'll live in denial, ban mirrors, and feed Dan more lard. Two are better than one.
Happy Friday Peeps,
Nicole
And I really want to know why men get better with age. Why, why, why does that happen? They never pushed a baby out of themselves, or gained battlescars across their abdomen. So why in the heck do gray hairs make them look distinguished, and wrinkles make them look refined? Dan weighs less now than on our wedding day. Jerk. Where is the justice in this whole concept? That is a good question when I stand before God.
This getting old business is not what I want to embrace. I do not want to wear a polka dotted skirted bathing suit. I do not want to. And what kills me about this, is I see them, and I'm like, "hide the hiney, great idea." See, I am old.
I think this is why many woman take up drinking in their forties. Or join the gym. Maybe that's where I need to go. Not drinking, but to the gym. Maybe I need to own this aging process and prove to myself I can do it well. And if that doesn't work, I'll live in denial, ban mirrors, and feed Dan more lard. Two are better than one.
Happy Friday Peeps,
Nicole
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Life
Wake up way too early, eyes wide open fast. No, it's Wednesday I can sleep a little more. No can do. Up. Put on the coffee. Bathroom daily wipe down. Boys, ew. Start a load of laundry. Dishes in sink, washed. Counters wiped. Appliances Windexed. Kids up. Showers started. Breakfast made. Clean up after them. Dole out lunch money, as I am too lazy to make sandwiches. Why do I hate that job so much? I HATE IT. Easy, I know. I just don't want to do it. So today, I don't. Now my wallet is empty. Good investment though. Oh no, Gracie hadn't done her homework last night. (I worked) Oh crap. Where is her backpack?? Found it. Hurry, get it done while I brush your hair. Okay, shoes, jacket, backpack. go. Bus is coming down the road. We made it.
Now, I'm inside. Reheat world's strongest cup of coffee. Again. Facebook. Email. News, weather. Phonecalls. Scrub tub, vacuum. Microwave is crusty. Grody dude. Must wipe down. Done. More laundry in. Fold 3 loads. Another dreaded chore. Shower. Get to work. Work until (no lie) 9 tonight. Gone from home almost 12 hrs.today. I keep looking down the hall at my cozy bed with sunlight streaming through my windows spilling light across the quilt. And I want to go there. Crawl in and call it a day. Instead though I won't. I can't promise though that I won't crave it all day.
Have a blessed day,
Nicole
Now, I'm inside. Reheat world's strongest cup of coffee. Again. Facebook. Email. News, weather. Phonecalls. Scrub tub, vacuum. Microwave is crusty. Grody dude. Must wipe down. Done. More laundry in. Fold 3 loads. Another dreaded chore. Shower. Get to work. Work until (no lie) 9 tonight. Gone from home almost 12 hrs.today. I keep looking down the hall at my cozy bed with sunlight streaming through my windows spilling light across the quilt. And I want to go there. Crawl in and call it a day. Instead though I won't. I can't promise though that I won't crave it all day.
Have a blessed day,
Nicole
Friday, April 20, 2012
Furniture Shopping Woes
Well, the man and I explored the big city looking for all things pretty, cushy, well made, and cheap. Turns out, those four qualities do not coexist. It also turns out that I happen to LOVE the most expensive fabrics every single time. Dan thinks I do this on purpose.
We looked and looked and the most adorable young lady came to help. Mary. I think she heard me groaning while trying to figure it all out. It was stressful. I wanted this fabric choice with this sofa. But they only allow you these choices. Stupid rules. I want linen. Turns out linen isn't a great choice for well used sofas. But it's so perfect. I also want a BOLD, whimsical chair and ottoman. I found it, GORGEOUS. With the MOST expensive price tag they carry attached right to it. It's like it was mocking me. Oh, and I also want feather mixed cushions. Turns out that just increases the overall cost by hundreds. Why is this so hard? And why, just why do I love the too expensive fabric?
Mary told me that if you work there you get a 35% discount. I would seriously consider if it weren't so far away, and well of course it's not my dream job. But what I picked is GORGEOUS! And perfect in every way. Well except for the debt it would rain upon us. So, we left the store. Me feeling defeated. Dan feeling fine. He's always fine.
And another thing. These kids are expensive to keep. Feeding them. Keeping them entertained. And when I say entertained, what I mean is handing out cash on a regular basis to Ben so he can go get pizza with his friends. Or go mini-golfing. Or to Six Flags. Which means he and Gracie are not fighting. Nobody's eyes are rolling, and I am happy he is having fun. But, my wallet is begging for mercy, and we are officially eating buttered noodles for the next month. This kid needs to get a job. (Maybe the furniture store will hire a 13 year old?)
I consider it an investment though. He is a growing boy who needs things to do. And, I am his mother, which means new furniture for me is maybe a few years down the road so he can build his life right now. I guess it's all part of the overall sacrifice. One of the many we mommas give. Someday though, I will buy the most beautiful set. It will be perfect. Today though, I will build a most beautiful boy. And he is worth it.
Nicole
We looked and looked and the most adorable young lady came to help. Mary. I think she heard me groaning while trying to figure it all out. It was stressful. I wanted this fabric choice with this sofa. But they only allow you these choices. Stupid rules. I want linen. Turns out linen isn't a great choice for well used sofas. But it's so perfect. I also want a BOLD, whimsical chair and ottoman. I found it, GORGEOUS. With the MOST expensive price tag they carry attached right to it. It's like it was mocking me. Oh, and I also want feather mixed cushions. Turns out that just increases the overall cost by hundreds. Why is this so hard? And why, just why do I love the too expensive fabric?
Mary told me that if you work there you get a 35% discount. I would seriously consider if it weren't so far away, and well of course it's not my dream job. But what I picked is GORGEOUS! And perfect in every way. Well except for the debt it would rain upon us. So, we left the store. Me feeling defeated. Dan feeling fine. He's always fine.
And another thing. These kids are expensive to keep. Feeding them. Keeping them entertained. And when I say entertained, what I mean is handing out cash on a regular basis to Ben so he can go get pizza with his friends. Or go mini-golfing. Or to Six Flags. Which means he and Gracie are not fighting. Nobody's eyes are rolling, and I am happy he is having fun. But, my wallet is begging for mercy, and we are officially eating buttered noodles for the next month. This kid needs to get a job. (Maybe the furniture store will hire a 13 year old?)
I consider it an investment though. He is a growing boy who needs things to do. And, I am his mother, which means new furniture for me is maybe a few years down the road so he can build his life right now. I guess it's all part of the overall sacrifice. One of the many we mommas give. Someday though, I will buy the most beautiful set. It will be perfect. Today though, I will build a most beautiful boy. And he is worth it.
Nicole
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