Archive for December, 2009
It’s Beginning To Look (And Feel) A Lot Like Christmas..
Saturday, December 19th, 2009
You probably won’t be seeing a lot of me around the bloggy world the next several days. My parent’s arrive this evening for a week and a half visit and we already have a lot of plans! And….it’s Christmas! Even a blogging lover like me isn’t crazy enough to spend the holidays blogging away. If you want to keep up with what we’re doing you can read updates on Twitter.
It’s really starting to look like Christmas around here! We had a big snow storm this weekend and everything is white. That’s nice for Christmas and all, but it’s welcome to skidaddle it’s way on out of here once January comes.
Keeping this holiday month simple this year was tough but we’ve managed so far! I’ve purposefully made myself not stress about certain silly things and I’ve made myself say “no” to other things. For instance, I wanted to do all sorts of different baking the past two weeks. Well, I left it for the last minute so I was only able to do a little bit. I had planned on making some treat baskets for my Chiropractor’s office and hair salon as a “thank you”. I’ve been going to both for a long time now and I’ve had the same hair dresser for several years! Both are small businesses with a handful of employees so I wanted to share some Christmas cheer with them. Well, several sets of events led me to not being able to do that. And, boy, did I struggle with guilt! And I kept trying to think of something quick and inexpensive I could do for both (I had appointments at both places on Friday). Fruit basket? Gift cards? But I scratched both ideas because both would have been too expensive. I finally decided that I just wouldn’t be able to give them anything this year and that it was really ok. I gave my hairdresser an extra big tip and that was it. I could have let that bug me for days and I decided to let it go.
Another example: Katelyn had a $5 gift swap at her school and I hadn’t reread the newsletter before the day of their Christmas party. So, thinking I had all the correct info on the swap down pat, I bought a $5 toy at CVS on our way to the school. It was a little dog in a pinkish box that when you pulled it’s tail and vibrated and moved all over a flat surface. I thought, hey, this is perfect for boy or girl although with the pink box I hope it goes to a girl. I didn’t know how the teachers were going to do the swap and figured they’d choose the children that the gifts went to. Or something. Boy was I wrong! I got there and was the only one who hadn’t wrapped their gift and didn’t seem to realize that the name of the child( a boy) our gift was going to was taped inside Katelyn’s take home folder.
Duh.
So, I told the teachers I’d go home and wrap the gift and bring it back with the tag on it. They were very gracious and said that was fine. I’m sure they were thinking why do parents not read the newsletter?? WHY??. I used to think the same thing when I was preschool teacher. And I did read it! I just didn’t read it correctly. And it was a long time ago. So I’m all angry with myself and thinking that dog is way too girly for a boy. I don’t want him being disappointed in a gift from Katelyn. So, I was going to return the dog to CVS and find something else more appropriate for a boy, in my opinion. Except that, I had already had other errands I was planning on running during her school time and doing that was going to throw a kink in my plans. I started feeling stress creeping in. Over a stupid toy! So I made myself calm down and decided that dog was perfectly fine for that boy. It wasn’t going to stay in the pink box. Once it was out it looked like any small, stuffed dog. So I went home, wrapped it, slapped a bow and the tag on it and took it back to Katelyn’s school. And didn’t give it another though.
Ahh… that felt good.
We had no Christmas parties to attend this year and I decided to not host anything of my own. We’ve had most Saturdays free, which has been nice! We’ve had to do minimal rushing. It’s been kinda nice! Oh, we’ve had church and school Christmas events but those have been fun and pretty stress free. All Katelyn’s teachers (Dance included) got gift cards from us this year. All of our gifts are wrapped, except for a couple of things. So, now I’m ready for a fun time with my parents. I’m sure we’ll be doing a lot of running around but it will be fun running around.
Here are some pictures I’ve taken recently-
Baking Cookies
Since I have a tiny kitchen and not much counter space I decided to set up on their train table.
Madelyn got a little too care free with the green glitter….
The end result!!
Wrapping Paper Fun!!
The girls really wanted to wrap stuff of their own so I gave them some old wrapping paper and let them go to town. There are several “gifts” under the tree that they wrapped. I have a feeling I’ll recognize these gifts…..
I have to mention that Madelyn is really good with scissors. When I worked in preschool one of the skills we worked hard on with the kids was cutting correctly with scissors. It was hard for some of the children to hold the scissors correctly. Madelyn is a pro!
And last but not least, I just had to share this picture frame. As many of you know, when we went to Texas in October we had pictures taken with our whole family. I had ordered a picture of my sister and her family and my brother. I was having the hardest time finding a good frame for those two pictures until I came upon this one at Kohl’s. It was in the clearance section ($2.50), it was perfect and it was the only one! The colors of the frame go perfectly with the colors in the photos and I love the words on it. I had to post it so my sister and brother could see themselves proudly displayed on my wall. Isn’t it perfect?
I’ll be putting a small post up the day before Christmas but until then, see ya!!
Guess That Drawing!
Thursday, December 17th, 2009
*UPDATED WITH ANSWER*
If you guessed a mermaid you were right! Wow, I didn’t think it would be that easy. I certainly wouldn’t have guessed it was a mermaid she had drawn right off the bat. Great job everyone!
Thanks for playing!!
*********************************************************************
Been missing “Guess That Drawing” lately? C’mon, you know you have! So here’s a drawing by little Ms. Artiste herself to get your minds working on this cold Thursday.
Katelyn: ” Mom! This is you when you were a …..”
A what??
Oh, and as an update to my post yesterday about the mystery brown bag and it’s contents-
Katelyn’s teachers told me that is one of the gifts she’s made and that I’m to open it on Christmas and not after her Christmas party show. And the reason she was supposed to put it in her closet was because when told to put it under the tree she told them Benny would eat it! So, I don’t get to find out what it is until Christmas. I’ll let you know!
* A little blog business… I’m really trying to be more interactive in my comment section and answer all questions and comments in there. I know many of you personally and I tend to answer via e-mail or on Facebook. Start checking back in the comments sections for replies! (Unless it’s something personal and then I’ll answer via e-mail etc)
So, what did I used to be according to Katelyn and this drawing?
Give me your best guesses!
Top Secret
Wednesday, December 16th, 2009
Katelyn came home from school yesterday with this bag-
It’s stapled shut. There’s a picture of what appears to be a candle that Katelyn drew, cut and colored stapled to the front with a snowman drawn on the bag underneath the candle.
There is definitely something in it but it’s not very heavy or thick.
Katelyn told me I can’t open the bag until tomorrow after her school Christmas party and that it has to go in her closet until then. So, now, it sits in her closet. I”m amazed at how well she’s keeping this secret. She told our Chiropractor yesterday all about it while I closed my eyes and covered my ears.(Yes, she told me I had to close my eyes too!) He just laughed and said it was awesome and what a great idea. I’ve been a good mom and haven’t peeked.
But I’m dying of curiosity!!
WHAT IN THE WORLD IS IN THIS BAG????
Any guesses???
Top Ten Tuesday-
Tuesday, December 15th, 2009
Top Ten Things I Want For Christmas (But I’m Probably Most Likely Definitely Not Getting)
1. A maid
2. A chauffeur
3. The body of a professional dancer
4. Magic laundry picker upper, fold-er and put-er away-er.
5. A mute button for my crazy kids barking dog
6. A personal grocery shopper. (That’s right! I can do my own clothes shopping. It’s a grocery shopper I want!)
7. Really wrinkle free clothing(No ironing ever again no matter how long clean laundry sits unfolded in the laundry basket)
8. A hot water tank big enough to actually fill my jacuzzi tub all the way with hot water
9. An hour to enjoy said jacuzzi tub with no interruptions whatsoever
10. A baby(bump)
Head over to Oh Amanda for more great Top Ten Tuesday!
Snow Bunnies
Monday, December 14th, 2009
We had our first big snow storm of this winter last week. Although Katelyn’s school was still open( much to everyone’s dismay!) we took a snow day and stayed home. Once Katelyn and Madelyn saw the beautiful (to them) snow outside I suddenly had two snow bunnies on my hands! I had to capture these magical creatures on camera but I did so from the warmth of the inside of my house. Most of these pictures were taken from my window. Let’s take a look at Snow Bunny #1 and #2.
Snow Bunny #2 was standing right outside our door so I was able to capture a quick and rare picture of her. Isn’t she cute?
She also seemed to like to eat snow. That must be her main diet since she didn’t seem to like the vegetables I offered her.
Here we see typical Snow Bunny behavior. Fascinating!! Sadly, I was unable to get many more good shots of Snow Bunny #2’s face. She seemed to be frightened by my camera.
Here we see Snow Bunny #1. She displayed another behavior I’ve seen in these two snow bunnies. She jumped right into the snow, laid on her back and began flailing her arms.She seems to do this often yet I’ m not quite sure what she’s doing. Curious…..
Snow Bunny #1 seemed to love our snowy backyard more than Snow Bunny #2 as she remained out there and wouldn’t come close to our back door. Here we see her forming snow into balls. Will she eat it? Throw it? The suspense was killing me!
Here we can see just what attracted the snow bunnies. Look at how much snow had fallen! In these next few shots we can see them frolicking in the snow together.
Oh my! Snow Bunny #1 looked right at my camera! Wow!!!
Here we see a rare behavior displayed in snow bunnies. Snow Bunny #1 is helping Snow Bunny #2, who seems to be stuck.
Amazing yet heartwarming.
Here the snow bunnies separate and began building with snow. Snow Bunny #1 was building at a much faster rate than Snow Bunny #2. Snow Bunny #2 seemed content digging while Snow Bunny #1 was methodically shaping snow.
Gasp! Look at purposeful way Snow Bunny #1 is shaping that snow! I wonder if she is trying to make something??
I had heard that snow bunnies love baby carrots so I threw one out and look at what Snow Bunny #1 did with it! It looks like she built a little snow man with it! Wow!
Along with the carrot, I threw out some spoons and cups to see how that would affect the snow bunnies in their play. Well, would you believe that they started playing with those things? Yes! They filled the cups with snow and happily dug and patted the snow with the spoons. It was a sight to behold! They seem to be intelligent and creative creatures.
After the above shot the snow bunnies seemed to tire of the snow and disappeared back to their magical homes. I’m hoping they’ll come out again so I can take pictures and observe these mystical and beautiful creatures at play. It was quite an experience!
When Queens Ride By
Wednesday, December 9th, 2009
My friend Laurie e-mailed me this story yesterday and mentioned how it touched her. She had found it on another blog that she reads.(Which, of course, she doesn’t like nearly as much as mine. Right Laurie?? *wink*) She wasn’t kidding when she said it was long but worth the read. I too thought it was a touching story so I wanted to share it on my blog. You can read my commentary below after the story.
Don’t let the length keep you from reading this! I promise you’ll enjoy it!
Thank you, Laurie, for sending this to me.
When Queens Ride By
by Agnes Slight Turnbull, 1926
Jennie Musgrave woke at the shrill rasp of the alarm clock as she always woke—with the shuddering start and a heavy realization that the brief respite of the night’s oblivion was over. She had only time to glance through the dull light at the cluttered, dusty room, before John’s voice was saying sleepily as he said every morning, “All right, let’s go. It doesn’t seem as if we’d been in bed at all!”
Jennie dressed quickly in the clothes, none too clean, that, exhausted, she had flung from her the night before. She hurried down the back stairs, her coarse shoes clattering thickly upon the bare boards. She kindled the fire in the range and then made a hasty pretense at washing in the basin in the sink.
John strode through the kitchen and on out to the barn. There were six cows to be milked and the great cans of milk to be taken to the station for the morning train.
Jennie put coffee and bacon on the stove, and then, catching up a pail from the porch, went after John. A golden red disk broke the misty blue of the morning above the cow pasture. A sweet, fragrant breath blew from the orchard. But Jennie neither saw nor felt the beauty about her.
She glanced at the sun and thought, It’s going to be a hot day. She glanced at the orchard, and her brows knit. There it hung. All that fruit. Bushels of it going to waste. Maybe she could get time that day to make some more apple butter. But the tomatoes wouldn’t wait. She must pick them and get them to town today, or that would be a dead loss. After all her work, well, it would only be in a piece with everything else if it did happen so. She and John had bad luck, and they might as well make up their minds to it.
She finished her part of the milking and hurried back again to the overcooked bacon and strong coffee. The children were down, clamorous, dirty, always underfoot. Jim, the eldest, was in his first term of school. She glanced at his spotted waist. He should have a clean one. But she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t get the washing done last week, and when she was to get a day for it this week she didn’t know, with all the picking and the trips to town to make!
Breakfast was hurried and unpalatable, a sort of grudging concession to the demands of the body. Then John left in the milk wagon for the station, and Jennie packed little Jim’s lunch basket with bread and apple butter and pie, left the two little children to their own devices in the backyard, and started toward the barn. There was no time to do anything in the house. The chickens and turkeys had to be attended to, and then she must get to the tomato patch before the sun got too hot. Behind her was the orchard with its rows and rows of laden apple tree. Maybe this afternoon—maybe tomorrow morning. There were the potatoes, too, to be lifted. Too hard work for a woman. But what were you going to do? Starve? John worked till dark in the fields.
She pushed her hair back with a quick, boyish sweep of her arm and went on scattering the grain to the fowls. She remembered their eager plans when they were married, when they took over the old farm—laden with its heavy mortgage—that had been John’s father’s. John had been so straight of back then and so jolly. Only seven years, yet now he was stooped a little, and his brows were always drawn, as though to hide a look of ashamed failure. They had planned to have a model farm someday: blooded stock, a tractor, a new barn. And then such a home they were to make of the old stone house! Jennie’s hopes had flared higher even than John’s. A rug for the parlor, an overstuffed set like the one in the mail—order catalogue, linoleum for the kitchen, electric lights!
They were young and, oh, so strong! There was nothing they could not do if they only worked hard enough.
But that great faith had dwindled as the first year passed. John worked later and later in the evenings. Jennie took more and more of the heavy tasks upon her own shoulders. She often thought with some pride that no woman in the countryside ever helped her husband as she did. Even with the haying and riding the reaper. Hard, coarsening work, but she was glad to do it for John’s sake.
The sad riddle of it all was that at the end of each year they were no further on. The only difference from the year before was another window shutter hanging from one hinge and another crippled wagon in the barnyard which John never had time to mend. They puzzled over it in a vague distress. And meanwhile life degenerated into a straining, hopeless struggle. Sometimes lately John had seemed a little listless, as though nothing mattered. A little bitter when he spoke of Henry Davis.
Henry held the mortgage and had expected a payment on the principle this year. He had come once and looked about with something very like a sneer on his face. If he should decide someday to foreclose—that would be the final blow. They never would get up after that. If John couldn’t hold the old farm, he could never try to buy a new one. It would mean being renters all their lives. Poor renters at that!
She went to the tomato field. It had been her own idea to do some tracking along with the regular farm crops. But, like everything else, it had failed of her expectations. As she put the scarlet tomatoes, just a little overripe, into the basket, she glanced with a hard tightening of her lips toward a break in the trees a half mile away where a dark, listening bit of road caught the sun. Across its polished surface twinkled an endless procession of shining, swift—moving objects. The State Highway.
Jennie hated it. In the first place, it was so tauntingly near and yet so hopelessly far from them. If it only ran by their door, as it did
past Henry Davis’s for instance, it would solve the whole problem of marketing the fruits and vegetables. Then they could set the baskets on the lawn, and people could stop for them. But as it was, nobody all summer long had paid the least attention to the sign John had put up at the end of the lane. And no wonder. Why should travelers drive their cars over the stony country byway, when a little farther along they would find the same fruit spread temptingly for them at the very roadside?
But there was another reason she hated that bit of sleek road showing between the trees. She hated it because it hurt her with its suggestions of all that passed her by in that endless procession twinkling in the sunshine. There they kept going, day after day, those happy, carefree women, riding in handsome limousines or in gay little roadsters. Some in plainer cars, too, but even those were, like the others, women who could have rest, pleasure, comfort for the asking. They were whirled along hour by hour to new pleasures, while she was weighted to the drudgery of the farm like one of the great rocks in the pasture field.
And—most bitter thought of all—they had pretty homes to go back to when the happy journey was over. That seemed to be the strange and cruel law about homes. The finer they were, the easier it was to leave them. Now with her—if she had the rug for the parlor and the stuffed furniture and linoleum for the kitchen, she shouldn’t mind anything so much then; she had nothing, nothing but hard slaving and bad luck. And the highway taunted her with it. Flung its impossible pleasures mockingly in her face as she bent over the vines or dragged the heavy baskets along the rows.
The sun grew hotter. Jennie put more strength into her task. She knew, at last, by the scorching heat overhead that is was nearing noon. She must have a bit of lunch ready for John when he came in. There wasn’t time to prepare much. Just reheat the coffee and set down some bread and pie.
She started towards the house, giving a long yodeling call for the children as she went. They appeared from the orchard, tumbled and torn from experiments with the wire fence. Her heart smothered her at the sight of them. Among the other dreams that the years had crushed out were those of little rosy boys and girls in clean suits and fresh ruffled dresses. As it was, the children had just grown like farm weeds.
This was the part of all the drudgery that hurt most. That she had not time to care for her children, sew for them, teach them things that other children knew. Sometimes it seemed as if she had no real love for them at all. She was too terribly tired as a rule to have any feeling. The only times she used energy to talk to them was when she had to reprove them for some dangerous misdeed. That was all wrong. It seemed wicked; but how could she help it? With the work draining the very life out of her, strong as she was.
John came in heavily, and they ate in silence except for the children’s chatter. John hardly looked up form his plate. He gulped down great drafts of the warmed-over coffee and then pushed his chair back hurriedly.
“I’m goin’ to try to finish the harrowin’ in the south field,” he said.
“I’m at the tomatoes,” Jennie answered. “I’ve got them’ most all picked and ready for takin’.”
That was all. Work was again upon them.
It was two o’clock by the sun, and Jennie had loaded the last heavy basket of tomatoes on the milk wagon in which she must drive to town, when she heard shrill voices sounding along the path. The children were flying in excitement toward her.
“Mum! Mum! Mum!” they called as they came panting up to her with big, surprised eyes.
“Mum, there’s a lady up there. At the kitchen door. All dressed up. A pretty lady. She wants to see you.”
Jennie gazed down at them disbelievingly. A lady, a pretty lady at her kitchen door? All dressed up! What that could mean! Was it possible someone had at last braved the stony lane to buy fruit? Maybe bushels of it!
“Did she come in a car?” Jennie asked quickly.
“No, she just walked in. She’s awful pretty. She smiled at us.”
Jennie’s hopes dropped. Of course. She might have known. Some agent likely, selling books. She followed the children wearily back along the path and in at the rear door of the kitchen. Across from it another door opened into the side yard. Here stood the stranger.
The two women looked at each other across the kitchen, across the table with the remains of two meals upon it, the strewn chairs, the littered stove—across the whole scene of unlovely disorder. They looked at each other in startled surprise, as inhabitants of Earth and Mars might look if they were suddenly brought face-to-face.
Jennie saw a woman in a gray tweed coat that seemed to be part of her straight, slim body. A small gray hat with a rose quill was drawn low over the brownish hair. Her blue eyes were clear and smiling. She was beautiful! And yet she was not young. She was in her forties, surely. But an aura of eager youth clung to her, a clean and exquisite freshness.
The stranger in her turn looked across at a young woman, haggard and weary. Her yellowish hair hung in straggling wisps. Her eyes looked hard and hunted. Her cheeks were thin and sallow. Her calico dress was shapeless and begrimed from her work.
So they looked at each other for one long, appraising second. Then the woman in gray smiled.
“How do you do? ” she began. “We ran our car into the shade of your lane to have our lunch and rest for a while. And I walked on up to buy a few apples, if you have them.”
Jennie stood staring at the stranger. There was an unconscious hostility in her eyes. This was one of the women from the highway. One of those envied ones who passed twinkling through the summer sunshine from pleasure to pleasure while Jennie slaved on.
But the pretty lady’s smile was disarming. Jennie started toward a chair and pulled off the old coat and apron that lay on it.
“Won’t you sit down?” she said politely. “I’ll go and get the apples. I’ll have to pick them off the tree. Would you prefer rambos?”
“I don’t know what they are, but they sound delicious. You must choose them for me. But mayn’t I come with you? I should love to help pick them.”
Jennie considered. She felt baffled by the friendliness of the other woman’s face and utterly unable to meet it. But she did not know how to refuse.
“Why I s’pose so. If you can get through the dirt.”
She led the way over the back porch with its crowded baskets and pails and coal buckets, along the unkept path toward the orchard. She had never been so acutely conscious of the disorder about her. Now a hot shame brought a lump to her throat. In her preoccupied haste before, she had actually not noticed that tub of overturned milk cans and rubbish heap! She saw it all now swiftly through the other woman’s eyes. And then that new perspective was checked by a bitter defiance. Why should she care how things looked to this woman? She would be gone, speeding down the highway in a few minutes as though she had never been there.
She reached the orchard and began to drag a long ladder from the fence to the rambo tree.
The other woman cried out in distress. “Oh, but you can’t do that! You mustn’t. It’s too heavy for you, or even for both of us. Please just let me pick a few from the ground.”
Jennie looked in amazement at the stranger’s concern. It was so long since she had seen anything like it.
“Heavy?” she repeated. “This ladder? I wish I didn’t ever lift anything heavier than this. After hoistin’ bushel baskets of tomatoes onto a wagon, this feels light to me.”
The stranger caught her arm. “But—but do you think it’s right? Why, that’s a man’s work.”
Jennie’s eyes blazed. Something furious and long-pent broke out from within her. “Right! Who are you to be askin’ me whether I’m right or
not?” What would have become of us if I didn’t do a man’s work? It takes us both, slaving away, an’ then we get nowhere. A person like you don’t know what work is! You don’t know—”
Jennie’s voice was the high shrill of hysteria; but the stranger’s low tones somehow broke through. “Listen,” she said soothingly. “Please listen to me. I’m sorry I annoyed you by saying that, but now, since we are talking, why can’t we sit down here and rest a minute? It’s so cool and lovely here under the trees, and if you were to tell me all about it—because I’m only a stranger—perhaps it would help. It does sometimes, you know. A little rest would—”
“Rest! Me sit down to rest, an’ the wagon loaded to go to town? It’ll hurry me now to get back before dark.”
And then something strange happened. The other women put her cool, soft hand on Jennie’s grimy arm. There was a compelling tenderness in her eyes. “Just take the time you would have spent picking apples. I would so much rather. And perhaps somehow I could help you. I wish I could. Won’t you tell me why you have to work so hard?”
Jennie sank down on the smooth green grass. Her hunted, unwilling eyes had yielded to some power in the clear, serene eyes of the stranger. A sort of exhaustion came over her. A trembling reaction from the straining effort of weeks.
“There ain’t much to tell,” she said half sullenly, “only that we ain’t gettin’ ahead. We’re clean discouraged, both off us. Henry Davis is talking about foreclosin’ on us if we don’t pay some principle. The time of the mortgage is out this year, an’ mebbe he won’t renew it. He’s got plenty himself, but them’s the hardest kind.” She paused; then her eyes flared. “An’ it ain’t that I haven’t done my part. Look at me. I’m barely thirty, an’ I might be fifty. I’m so weather-beaten. That’s the way I’ve worked!”
“And you think that has helped your husband?”
“Helped him?” Jennie’s voice was sharp. “Why shouldn’t it help him?”
The stranger was looking away through the green stretches of orchard. She laced her slim hands together about her knees. She spoke slowly. “Men are such queer things, husbands especially. Sometimes we blunder when we are trying hardest to serve them. For instance, they want us to be economical, and yet they want us in pretty clothes. They need our work, and yet they want us to keep our youth and our beauty. And sometimes they don’t know themselves which they really want most. So we have to choose. That’s what makes it so hard”.
She paused. Jennie was watching her with dull curiosity as though she were speaking a foreign tongue.
Then the stranger went on:
I had to choose once, long ago; just after we were married, my husband decided to have his own business, so he started a very tiny one. He couldn’t afford a helper, and he wanted me to stay in the office while he did the outside selling. And I refused, even though it hurt him. Oh, it was hard! But I knew how it would be if I did as he wished. We would both have come back each night. Tired out, to a dark, cheerless house and a picked-up dinner. And a year if that might have taken something away from us—something precious. I couldn’t risk it, so I refused and stuck to it.
“And then how I worked in my house—a flat it was then. I had so little outside of our wedding gifts; but at least I could make it a clean, shining, happy place. I tried to give our little dinners the grace of a feast. And as the months went on, I knew I had done right. My husband would come home dead-tired and discouraged, ready to give up the whole thing. But after he had eaten and sat down in our bright little living room, and I had read to him or told him all the funny things I could invent about my day, I could see him change. By bedtime he had his courage back, and by morning he was at last ready to go out and fight again. And at last he won, and he won his success alone, as a man loves to do.
Still Jennie did not speak. She only regarded her guest with a half-resentful understanding.
The woman in gray looked off again between the trees. Her voice was very sweet. A humorous little smile played about her lips.
“There was a queen once,” she went on, “who reigned in troublous days. And every time the country was on the brink of war and the people ready to fly into a panic, she would put on her showiest dress and take her court with her and go hunting. And when the people would see her riding by, apparently so gay and happy, they were sure all was well with the Government. So she tided over many a danger. And I’ve tried to be like her.
“Whenever a big crisis comes in my husband’s business—and we’ve had several—or when he’s discouraged, I put on my prettiest dress and get the best dinner I know how or give a party! And somehow it seems to work. That’s the woman’s part, you know. To play the queen—”
A faint honk-honk came from the lane. The stranger started to her feet. “That’s my husband. I must go. Please don’t bother about the apples. I’ll just take these from under the tree. We only wanted two or three, really. And give these to the children.” She slipped two coins into Jennie’s hand.
Jennie had risen, too, and was trying from a confusion of startled thoughts to select one for speech. Instead she only answered the other woman’s bright good-bye with a stammering repetition and a broken apology about the apples.
She watched the stranger’s erect, lithe figure hurrying away across the path that led directly to the lane. Then she turned her back to the house, wondering dazedly if she had only dreamed that the other woman had been there. But no, there were emotions rising hotly within her that were new. They had had no place an hour before. They had risen at the words of the stranger and at the sight of her smooth, soft hair, the fresh color in her cheeks, the happy shine of her eyes.
A great wave of longing swept over Jennie, a desire that was lost in choking despair. It was as thought she had heard a strain of music for which she had waited all her life and then felt it swept away into silence before she had grasped its beauty. For a few brief minutes she, Jennie Musgrave, had sat beside one of the women of the highway and caught a breath of her life—that life which forever twinkled in the past in bright procession, like the happenings of a fairy tale. Then she was gone, and Jennie was left as she had been, bound to the soil like one of the rocks of the field.
The bitterness that stormed her heart now was different from the old dull disheartenment. For it was coupled with new knowledge. The words of the stranger seemed more vivid to her than when she had sat listening in the orchard. But they came back to her with the pain of agony.
“All very well for her to talk so smooth to me about man’s work and woman’s work! An’ what she did for her husband’s big success. Easy enough for her to sit talking about queens! What would she do if she was here on this farm like me? What would a woman like her do?”
Jennie had reached the kitchen door and stood there looking at the hopeless melee about her. Her words sounded strange and hollow in the silence of the house. “Easy for her!” she burst out. She never had the work pilin’ up over her like I have. She never felt it at her throat like a wolf, the same as John an’ me does. Talk about choosin’! I haven’t got no choice. I just got to keep goin’—just keep goin’, like I always have—”
She stopped suddenly. There in the middle of the kitchen floor, where the other woman had passed over, lay a tiny square of white. Jennie crossed to it quickly and picked it up. A faint delicious fragrance like the dream of a flower came from it. Jennie inhaled it eagerly. It was not like any odor she had ever known. It made her think of sweet, strange things. Things she had never thought about before. Of gardens in the early summer dusk, of wide fair rooms with the moonlight shining in them. It made her somehow think with vague wistfu
lness of all that.
She looked carefully at the tiny square. The handkerchief was of fine, fairy like smoothness. In the corner a dainty blue butterfly spread his wings. Jennie drew in another long breath. The fragrance filled her senses again. Her first greedy draft had not exhausted it. It would stay for a while, at least.
She laid the bit of white down cautiously on the edge of the table and went to the sink, where she washed her hands carefully. The she returned and picked up the handkerchief again with something like reverence. She sat down, still holding it, staring at it. This bit of linen was to her an articulated voice. She understood its language. It spoke to her of white, freshly washed clothes blowing in the sunshine, of an iron moving smoothly, leisurely, to the accompaniment of a song over snowy folds; it spoke to her of quiet, orderly rooms and ticking clocks and a mending basket under the evening lamp; it spoke to her of all the peaceful routine of a well managed household, the kind she had once dreamed of having.
But more than this, the exquisite daintiness of it, the sweet, alluring perfume spoke to her of something else which her heart understood, even though her speech could have found no words for it. She could feel gropingly the delicacy, the grace, the beauty that made up the other woman’s life in all its relations.
She, Jennie, had none of that. Everything about their lives, hers and John’s, was coarsened, soiled somehow by the dragging, endless labor or the days.
Jennie leaned forward, her arms stretched tautly before her upon her knees, her hands clasped tightly over the fragrant bit of white. Suppose she were to try doing as the stranger had said. Suppose that she spent her time on the house and let the outside work go. What then? What would John say? Would they be much farther behind than they were now? Could they be? And suppose, by some strange chance, the other woman had been right! That a man could be helped more by doing of these other things she had neglected?
She sat very still, distressed, uncertain. Out in the barnyard waited the wagon of tomatoes, overripe now for market. No, she could do nothing today, at least, but go on as usual.
Then her hands opened a little; the perfume within them came up to her, bringing again that thrill of sweet, indescribable things.
She started up, half-terrified at her own resolve. “I’m goin’ to try it now. Mebbe I’m crazy, but I’m goin’ to do it anyhow!”
It was a long time since Jennie had performed such a meticulous toilet. It was years since she had brushed her hair. A hasty combing had been its best treatment. She put on her one clean dress, the dark voile reserved for trips to town. She even changed from her shapeless, heavy shoes to her best ones. Then, as she looked at herself in the dusty mirror, she saw that she was changed. Something, at least, of the hard haggardness was gone from her face, and her hair framed it with smooth softness. Tomorrow she would wash it. It used to be almost yellow.
She went to the kitchen. With something of the burning zeal of a fanatic, she attacked the confusion before her. By half past four the room was clean: the floor swept, the stove shining, dishes and pans washed and put in their places. From the tumbled depths of a drawer Jennie had extracted a white tablecloth that had been bought in the early days, for company only. With a spirit of daring recklessness she spread it on the table. She polished the chimney of the big oil lamp and then set the fixture, clean and shining, in the center of the white cloth.
Now the supper! And she must hurry. She planned to have it at six o’ clock and ring the big bell for John fifteen minutes before, as she used to just after they were married.
She decided upon fried ham and browned potatoes and applesauce with hot biscuits. She hadn’t made them for so long, but her fingers fell into their old deftness. Why, cooking was just play if you had time to do it right! Then she thought of the tomatoes and gave a little shudder. She thought of the long hours of backbreaking work she had put into them and called herself a little fool to have been swayed by the words of a strange and the scent of a handkerchief, to neglect her rightful work and bring more loss upon John and herself. But she went on, making the biscuits, turning the ham, setting the table.
It was half past five; the first pan of flaky brown mounds had been withdrawn from the oven, the children’s faces and hands had been washed and their excited questions satisfied, when the sound of a car came from the bend. Jennie knew that car. It belonged to Henry Davis. He could be coming for only one thing.
The blow they had dreaded, fending off by blind disbelief in the ultimate disaster, was about to fall. Henry was coming to tell them he was going to foreclose. It would almost kill John. This was his father’s old farm. John had taken it over, mortgage and all, so hopefully, so sure he could succeed where his father had failed. If he had to leave now there would be a double disgrace to bear. And where could they go? Farms weren’t so plentiful.
Henry had driven up to the side gate. He fumbled with some papers in his inner pocket as he started up the walk. A wild terror filled Jennie’s heart. She wanted desperately to avoid meeting Henry Davis’s keen, hard face, to flee somewhere, anywhere before she heard the words that doomed them.
Then as she stood shaken, wondering how she could live through what the next hours would bring, she saw in a flash the beautiful stranger as she had sat in the orchard, looking off between the trees and smiling to herself. “There was once a queen.”
Jennie heard the words again distinctly just as Henry Davis’s steps sounded sharply nearer on the walk outside. There was only a confused picture of a queen wearing the stranger’s lovely, highbred face, riding gaily to the hunt through forests and towns while her kingdom was tottering. Riding gallantly on, in spite of her fears.
Jennie’s heart was pounding and her hands were suddenly cold. But something unreal and yet irresistible was sweeping her with it. “There was once a queen.”
She opened the screen door before Henry Davis had time to knock. She extended her hand cordially. She was smiling. “Well, how d’ you do, Mr. Davis. Come right in. I’m real glad to see you. Been quite a while since you was over.”
Henry looked surprised and very much embarrassed. “Why, no, now, I won’t go in. I just stopped to see John on a little matter of business. I’ll just—”
“You’ll just come right in. John will be in from milkin’ in a few minutes an’ you can talk while you eat, both of you. I’ve supper just ready. Now step right in, Mr. Davis!”
As Jennie moved aside, a warm, fragrant breath of fried ham and biscuits seemed to waft itself to Henry Davis’s nostrils. There was a visible softening of his features. “Why, no, I didn’t reckon on anything like this. I ‘lowed I’d just speak to John and then be gettin’ on.”
“They’ll see you at home when you get there,” Jennie put in quickly. “You never tasted my hot biscuits with butter an’ quince honey, or you wouldn’t take so much coachin’!”
Henry Davis came in and sat in the big, clean, warm kitchen. His eyes took in every detail of the orderly room: the clean cloth, the shining lamp, the neat sink, the glowing stove. Jennie saw him relax comfortably in his chair. Then above the aromas of the food about her, she detected the strange sweetness of the bit of white linen she had tucked away in the bosom of her dress. It rose to her as a haunting sense of her power as a woman.
She smiled at Henry Davis. Smiled as she would never have thought of doing a day ago. Then she would have spoken to him with a drawn face full of subservient fear. Now, though the fear clutched her heart, her lips smiled sweetly, moved by that unreality that seemed to possess her. “There was once a queen.”
“An’ how
are things goin’ with you, Mr. Davis?” she asked with a blithe upward reflection.
Henry Davis was very human. He had never noticed before that Jennie’s hair was so thick and pretty and that she had such pleasant ways. Neither had he dreamed that she was such a good cook as the sight and smell of the supper things would indicate. He was very comfortable there in the big sweet-smelling kitchen.
He smiled back. It was an interesting experiment on Henry’s part, for his smiles were rare. “Oh, so-so. How are they with you?”
Jennie had been taught to speak the truth; but at this moment there dawned in her mind a vague understanding that the high loyalties of life are, after all, relative and not absolute.
She smiled again as she skillfully flipped a great slice of golden brown ham over in the frying pan. “Why, just fine, Mr. Davis. We’re gettin’ on just fine, John an’ me. It’s been hard sleddin’ but I sort of think the worst is over. I think we’re goin’ to come out way ahead now. We’ll just be proud to pay off that mortgage so fast, come another year, that you’ll be surprised!”
It was said. Jennie marveled that the words had not choked her, had not somehow smitten her dead as she spoke them. But their effect on Henry Davis was amazingly good.
“That so?” he asked in surprise. “Well now, that’s fine. I always wanted to see John make a success of the old place, but somehow—well, you know it didn’t look as if—that is, there’s been some talk around that maybe John wasn’t just gettin’ along any too—you know. A man has to sort of watch his investments. Well, now, I’m glad things are pickin’ up a little.”
Jennie felt as though a tight hand at her throat had relaxed. She spoke brightly of the fall weather and the crops as she finished setting the dishes on the table and rang the big bell for John. There was delicate work yet to be done when he came in.
Little Jim had to be sent to hasten him before he finally appeared. He was a big man, John Musgrave, big and slow moving and serious. He had known nothing all his life but hard physical toil. Heaviess had pitted his great body against all the adverse forces of nature. There was a time when he had felt that strength such as his was all any man needed to bring him fortune. Now he was not so sure. The brightness of that faith was dimmed by experience.
John came to the kitchen door with his eyebrows drawn. Little Jim had told Jim that Henry Davis was there. He came into the room as an accused man faces the jury of his peers, faces the men who, though the same flesh and blood as he, are yet somehow curiously in a position to save or to destroy him.
John came in, and then he stopped, staring blankly at the scene before him. At Jennie moving about the bright table, chatting happily with Henry Davis! At Henry himself, his sharp features softened by an air of great satisfaction. At the sixth plate on the white cloth. Henry staying for supper!
But the silent deeps of John’s nature served him well. He made no comment. Merely shook hands with Henry Davis and then washed his face at the sink.
Jennie arranged the savory dishes, and they sat down to supper. It was an entirely new experience to John to sit at the head of his own table and serve a generously heaped plate to Henry Davis. It sent through him a sharp thrill of sufficiency, of equality. He realized that before he had been cringing in his soul at the very sight of this man.
Henry consumed eight biscuits richly covered with quince honey, along with the heavier part of his dinner. Jennie counted them. She recalled hearing that the Davises did not set a very bountiful table; it was common talk that Mrs. Davis was even more “miserly” than her husband. But, however that was, Henry now seemed to grow more and more genial and expansive as he ate. So did John. By the time the pie was set before them, they were laughing over a joke Henry had heard at Grange meeting.
Jennie was bright, watchful, careful. If the talk lagged, she made a quick remark. She moved softly between table and stove, refilling the dishes. She saw to it that a hot biscuit was at Henry Davis’s elbow just when he was ready for it. All the while there was rising within her a strong zest for life that she would have deemed impossible only that morning. This meal, at least, was a perfect success, and achievements of any sort whatever had been few.
Henry Davis left soon after supper. He brought the conversation around awkwardly to his errand as they rose from the table. Jennie was ready.
“I told him, John, that the worst was over now, an’ we’re getting’ on fine!” She laughed.” I told him we’d be swampin’ him pretty soon with our payments. Ain’t that right John?”
John’s mind was not analytical. At that moment he was comfortable. He has been host at a delicious supper with his ancient adversary, whose sharp face marvelously softened. Jennie’s eyes were shining with a new and amazing confidence. It was a natural moment for unreasoning optimism.
“Why that’s right, Mr. Davis. I believe we can start clearin’ this off now pretty soon. If you could just see your way clear to renew the note mebbe. . . .”
It was done. The papers were back in Davis’s pocket. They had bid him a cordial good-bye from the door.
“Next time you come, I will have biscuits for you Mr. Davis.” Jennie had called daringly after him.
“Now you don’t forget that Mrs. Musgrave! They certainly ain’t hard to eat.”
He was gone. Jennie cleared the table and set the shining lamp in the center of the oilcloth covering. She began to wash the dishes. John was fumbling through the papers on a hanging shelf. He finally sat down with and old tablet and pencil. He spoke meditatively. “I believe I’ll do a little figurin’ since I’ve got time tonight. It just struck me that mebbe if I used my head a little more I’d get on faster.”
“Well now, you might,” said Jennie. It would not be John’s way to comment just yet on their sudden deliverance. She polished two big Rambo apples and placed them on a saucer beside him.
He looked pleased. “Now that’s what I like.” He grinned. Then making a clumsy clutch at her arm, he added, “Say, you look sort of pretty tonight.”
Jennie made a brisk coquettish business of freeing herself. “Go along with you!” she returned, smiling and started in again upon the dishes. But a hot wave of color had swept up in her shallow cheeks.
John had looked more grateful over her setting those two apples beside him now, than he had the day last fall when she lifted all the potatoes herself! Men were strange, as the woman in gray had said. Maybe even John had been needing something else more than he needed the hard, backbreaking work she had been doing.
She tidied up the kitchen and put the children to bed. It seemed strange to be through now, ready to sit down. All summer they had worked outdoors till bedtime. Last night she had been slaving over apple butter until she stopped, exhausted, and John had been working in the barn with the lantern. Tonight seemed so peaceful, so quiet. John still sat at the table, figuring while he munched his apples. His brows were not drawn now. There was a new, purposeful light upon his face.
Jennie walked to the doorway and stood looking off through the darkness and through the break in the trees at the end of the lane. Bright and golden lights kept glittering across it, breaking dimly through the woods, flashing out strongly for a moment, then disappearing behind the hill. Those were the lights of the happy cars that never stopped in their swift search for far and magic places. Those were the lights of the highway which she had hated. But she did not hate it now. For today it had come to her at last and left with her some of its mysterious pleasure.
Jennie wished, as she stood there, that she could somehow tell the beautiful stranger in the gray coat that her words had been true, that she, Je
nnie, insofar as she was able, was to be like her and fulfill her woman’s part.
For while she was not figuring as John was doing, yet her mind had been planning, sketching in details, strengthening itself against the chains of old habits, resolving on new ones; seeing with sudden clearness where they had been blundered, where they had made mistakes that farsighted, orderly management could have avoided. But how could John have sat down to figure in comfort before, in the kind of kitchen she had been keeping?
Jennie bit her lip. Even if some of the tomatoes spoiled, if all of them spoiled, there would be a snowy washing on her line tomorrow; there would be ironing the next day in her clean kitchen. She could sing as she worked. She used to when she was a girl. Even if the apples rotted on the trees, there were certain things she knew now that she must do, regardless of what John might say. It would pay better in the end, for she had read the real needs of his soul from his eyes that evening. Yes, wives had to choose for their husbands sometimes.
A thin haunting breath of sweetness rose from the bosom of her dress where the scrap of white linen lay. Jennie smiled into the dark. And tomorrow she would take time to wash her hair. It used to be yellow—and she wished she could see the stranger once more, just long enough to tell her she understood.
As matter of fact, at that very moment, many miles along the sleek highway, a woman in a gray coat, with a soft gray hat and a rose quill, leaned suddenly close to her husband as he shot the high-powered car through the night. Suddenly he glanced down at her and slackened the speed.
“Tired?” he asked. “You haven’t spoken for miles. Shall we stop at this next town?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m all right, and I love to drive at night. It’s only—you know—that poor woman at the farm. I can’t get over her wretched face and house and everything. It—it was hopeless!”
The man smiled down at her tenderly. “Well, I’m sorry, too, if it was all as bad as your description; but you mustn’t worry. Good gracious, darling, you’re not weeping over it, I hope!”
“No, truly, just a few little tears. I know it’s silly, but I did so want to help her, and I know now that what I said must have sounded perfectly insane. She wouldn’t know what I was talking about. She just looked up with that blank, tired face. And it all seemed so impossible. No, I’m not going to cry. Of course I’m not—but—lend me your handkerchief, will you dear? I’ve lost mine somehow!”
Blessedly, we don’t have to work like Jennie anymore in this modern day and age. But as moms, wives and homemakers we still have a lot of responsibility! I think sometimes we got bogged down by all our jobs, house work, caring for children, paying bills, grocery shopping, cooking, and other tasks we do in our homes and families. If you’re a mom who works outside of the home you have responsibilities there and at home.
As a stay at home mom I know I struggle sometimes with guilt about being a stay at home mom! I think many SAHM feel pressure to prove that what they do is worthwhile and meaningful. That they don’t sit around all day eating, napping and watching soap operas. I know that sometimes I feel guilty if my house doesn’t look super neat and organized when my husband gets home for fear that he’ll think “What has she been doing all day? Obviously not cleaning!” I’m not going to get into a the SAHM mom vs work -outside -of- the- home mom debate at this time. I think they both deserve respect and admiration.
I think Agnes Turnbulls’ point is a good one. I’m going to take liberties with this story’s message and share with you how I think it applies to our life today.
Don’t let responsibilities and work take over your life, marriage and family. Don’t let those things suck the life out of you. Don’t let mothering, housekeeping, or your outside job steal your joy. Take some time every day to be the “Queen”. I know a lot of SAHM’s struggle with their appearance during they day. They get so busy with caring for their children they don’t take time to shower, brush their hair or put pretty clothes on. I think that subconsciously we feel as if looking bedraggled, worn and unkempt at the end of the day is a sign of how hard we’ve worked that day.It’s our SAHM uniform of sorts. Our badge of good mothering. If we were to look nice and smell good at the end of the day then we haven’t done our jobs correctly. Not to sound 1950ish or anything, but take time for a little daily primp! For yourself! For your husband! Many women might say ” You don’t know how hard it is to care for my children” or “Why should I “dress up” when I’m home all day?” “My husband shouldn’t care what I look like. He loves me however I look. He should understand what my days are like”. I’m not saying to put on a skirt and pearls. But I am saying sometimes those little things we think are frivolous and unimportant do matter. They do make a difference. I’m suggesting that we put a little extra time into our appearance each day and try to make our home a cheery and calming haven for our husbands when they return home. Don’t greet him at the door with a scowl and ” You don’t know how terrible the kids were today!! “. I know I personally struggle with making sure my husband understands how much I do do for our family and all the work I put in each day. I may not bring home the money but by golly I’ve earned it!!!I want to make sure he appreciates me. But that kind of attitude can definitely put a cloud over my marriage when I hang on to it and make a daily habit of flaunting it.
Be the “queen” more often. You might notice a big difference in your marriage and household after awhile.
Or at the least, if you meet your prince at the door with a little perfume, a smile and a smooch he may be too dazzled to notice the naked toddler peeing on the floor in the corner or the fact that he doesn’t have clean underwear for tomorrow. Yet.
Just sayin’.
Let’s Pretend This Is A “Wordless” Wednesday
Wednesday, December 9th, 2009
I have two more “meaningful” and longer posts I’m working on but I didn’t feel like putting forth the brain power to post those today. So we’re going to pretend that this post is “worldess” for Wordless Wednesday
This was taken several weeks ago.
Yes, that is Nutella on their toast. Yes, that was their breakfast. Yes, they were eating it on the couch while watching t.v.
Katelyn is wearing that outfit in lieu of pajamas because the night before I had figured out she had no clean pajamas to wear.
Call me Mother Of The Year!
More deep and meaningful writing soon to come.
*cough*
Thank you
Not Me! Monday
Monday, December 7th, 2009
Wow. It’s been, like, forever since I’ve done one of these! If you’ve been in mommy blogging world for any length of time then you’ve heard about MckMama’s “Not Me! Monday”.
Since I haven’t participated in NMM in a while my list of ” not me’s” are from the past couple of months.
*In the past two months I have NOT managed to fall down the stairs in my home twice and get banged up pretty bad. And would you believe, that both of those times I didn’t fall down the stairs ( Because, if you know me, that is so…*cough*… NOT something I do. A lot.) I didn’t just happen to be holding/ walking with Madelyn? Yup, Madelyn did NOT just happen to fall down the stairs with me both times. It’s a good thing she didn’t get banged up herself. ( No really, she reeeaaally, didn’t get banged up at all!)
In the past couple of months I have NOT had to say one of the following:
“Is that pee or juice on the floor???!!!”
“Katelyn give Madelyn her imaginary camera back!!!”
“No, you cannot walk around naked all day”
” I’m sorry sweetie, but we just can’t go to the hospital and get a new baby. They aren’t handing them out. And, no, if I go to the hospital God is not just going to put a baby in my belly so they can take it out while I”m there.”
“Yes, you absolutely have to wear clothes on your bottom while sitting on the couch”
“Yes, Katelyn, since Jesus won’t personally be at his birthday party this Christmas we can eat his cake for him. Don’t you worry!”
Katelyn did NOT yell out in Taco Bell to her papa ” Papa, do you know what these things on your chest are called? NIPPLES!!!!”
Said above daughter did NOT also announce in a public bathroom while trying to “go”- ” Mom, my poop won’t wake up! It needs to wake up”
I did NOT walk in on a woman using tghe restroom in a one toilet bathroom in a restaurant. Then we did NOT proceed to have a discussion at length, once she came out, about how the lock on the door didn’t work and if I hadn’t pushed the door so hard it wouldn’t have opened and blah blah blah only to find out she just didn’t lock to the door appropriately. But, of course, that didn’t happen.
I did NOT take many opportunities to snap pictures of my potty training toddler because I think she looks so cute.
NOT this one….
Or this one….
And certainly NOT these…. ( a girls gotta stay warm while doing her business on those cold mornings, right?)
And what kind of mom would make it a family photo opp? Certainly NOT me!!
And you? What have you NOT done recently that you’d like to share? Join MckMama’s “Not Me! Monday” meme and check out some other funny stories!
* I wanted to give a few more details about my falls! The first time I fell I was holding Maddy’s hand. The carpet on one of the steps was loose and I stepped on it just right, lost my footing and fell headlong down the stairs. As I had been holding Madelyn’s hand I pulled her a long with me. I banged up my knees really bad and had to long scrapes on my shins that bled pretty badly. I also hurt my elbow and scraped up my arms. Thankfully Madelyn came away from that with a few scratches on her forehead! She came rolling after me and after I landed at the bottom it took her a few minutes to land on top of me. The second time I fell it was going to the basement and I was actually carrying Maddy this time. I didn’t even make it past the first step. I tripped over my own foot and fell headlong (yep, AGAIN!) down the first flight of (6 ) steps into the door at the bottom of those steps. I twisted around on my down because I didn’t want to land on top of Madelyn so I landed on my back and slammed my head pretty hard on the door.(I literally saw stars!) Maddy landed sort of on top of me but also on her side. I was in a crumpled heap with my head still resting on the door and my legs propped up on the bottom of the steps. We both lay there crying. I was crying more from anger than anything. I couldn’t believe I had done that AGAIN!!! Thankfully, after looking and feeling Madelyn over she had no bumps or bruises. I, on the other hand, had some huge bumps on the back of my head and I think I sprained by big toe on my left foot and the muscles on the top of my foot. Mike came running and yelling ” Hun? HUUUN??” Both Mike and Katelyn stood at the top stairs staring at us in concern as we lay at the bottom of the stairs. Katelyn said very gravely and seriously to Mike ” Daddy ,you bring up Madelyn. I’ll get Mama!”
Nooks, Corners, Chairs and Memories
Friday, December 4th, 2009
I’ve been working on this idea for a post in my mind for awhile and trying to organize it and make it into something intelligible and fun to read. I’ve enjoyed working on it and I hope you enjoy reading it!
Do you have special chairs or corners you use for different activities? A small space that is yours? Your little haven? Do have a piece of furniture that has sentimental value and memories for you?
I do.
This rocking chair was the first piece of nursery furniture I received after I found out I was pregnant for the first time. It was a used rocker but it was given to me excitedly by a friend who got it from someone who needed to get rid of it. This friend was so proud of himself and so excited to give us this free rocker. It’s not the most beautiful rocker and it certainly didn’t go with my nursery decor. But it was special to me.
I rocked both my girls in it while listening to beautiful lullabies. I sat here for midnight feedings. We read bed time stories in it until the girls were too big to fit in my lap in it at the same time. Now it’s sitting in our spare bedroom waiting to rock another baby (or two) when the time comes.
I’ve had many tender and loving moments with my girls here
This is my quiet time chair and corner. This is where I sit in the quiet of the early mornings to read my Bible, pray and drink that first, delicious cup of coffee. I have my special floor lamp behind this chair that we bought just for this corner. I’ve got my little side table that contains two baskets. The one on the bottom is for my Bible, notebook and devotional books. The basket on top holds pens, highlighters and other miscellaneous things.
‘
I’ve praised, cried, complained and drawn closer to God in this chair. I’ve been humbled, awed and and totally blown away by the words I’ve read in my Bible here. I’ve prayed over many prayer requests here. I’ve journaled here.
I love my little quiet corner. My special place.
This is where I make my blog magic happen. My computer corner.
I Twitter, Facebook, read e-mails and do all my crazy blogging here. I stay in touch with family and friends via cyberspace in this corner. I was thrilled to finally find a little space for my laptop so it wasn’t on the dining room table or sitting on the couch. We also were happy to finally find a good way to use this odd corner in our living room.
This is a happy little corner of mine.
This corner is part of our dining room table. I do many different things here. I eat. I read while I’m eating. I fold laundry. I pay bills. I write cards.
This is kind of a working corner for me. But I can also see the T.V perfectly from here. So, I have can have fun while I’m working. It doesn’t hurt that these dining room chairs are pretty comfortable.
We just turned this area into the dining room and I love it. It’s always bright and sunny. I can see a ton of family pictures from this chair. Oh, and did I mention my coffee maker is in here? It’s my sunny spot.
No matter how gloomy the weather is outside it always seems to be bright in here.
And this spot? This is where I relax in the evenings. I watch my favorite t.v shows. I read. Sometimes I blog here. I play Bejeweled Blitz. I cuddle, whether it be with the girls or Mike. Sometimes the three of us girls will try to lay on this couch together and I have one girl squeezed in front of me and one laying on top of me! This is where friends sit when they come to visit. I’ve watched many great movies from this spot.
This is my end of the couch. The summer that I was pregnant with Katelyn I would come home from work so tired and I would have the most wonderful pregnant naps on this couch. Once I had Katelyn and was pregnant with Madelyn those naps weren’t as plentiful but I still managed every now and then.
We bought this set of couches when we first moved into this house. Our first house. The end you see here is Mike’s. This is where he plops down when he gets home from a long, tiring day at work. He plays his video games from this spot and falls asleep here frequently.
We love this couch.
It’s amazing how a piece of furniture or a corner in my home can mean so much to me.
How about you? Do you have a special corner or piece of furniture in your home?
Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree
Thursday, December 3rd, 2009
This past weekend we set up our Christmas tree. We listened to some Christmas music (hello Carpenters!) and had a great time. It took us longer than we expected to actually get the tree set up and ready to be decorated. Let’s just say the girls had waited all day for it and we didn’t start decorating until about 7:00 pm. Madelyn was starting to get a little tired and cranky by then.
If you’ve been reading my blog for a few years you know we have a white tree. Mike bought a train set to put under the tree this year and it has yet to stay on the tracks and not fall off. We had to rearrange the living room a bit and put some of the smaller pieces of furniture upstairs for right now. I lost my Bible reading corner for the Christmas season! (sniff)
You may be wondering why I chose this picture to post as you can’t see anyone’s face. I love the lighting and how our tree looks in that corner!
Not even Christmas decorating stopped us from using the potty. Madelyn insisted on playing with one of the ornaments while she did her business.
Daddy has the job of hanging the high up ornaments and putting the angel on top.
“K for Katelyn!”
They dressed up in garland for a bit. They take every excuse to “dress up”!
The finished product!
