Posted in Crafty, Mom, Moxie, Pop, Sisters, The Husband, Trailer Park Diaries


Phebe, I think it wants us to sit in it while we wait.

Have you ever taken children to a pool party?  And by ‘children’ I mean a 9-year-old, a 7-year-old, and 3 babies: almost 3, 19 months, and 4 1/2 months.  Oh, and by myself.  That equals 6.  On days like these, with ides like these, I still sometimes fall into the ‘child’ category.

Our church has a pool party every summer for the kids, teachers, and helpers who participate in Sunday School.  It is held in the club house in a neighborhood where one family lives.  Not a bad deal at all especially when you consider the wading pool for those of us with Size Small offspring.  Lunch is provided.  Swimming galore.  And a bead and foam craft of some kind that’s fun for 10 minutes and then thrown away within the next week.

Jim works almost every Sunday evening.  from 3-11.  The above-mentioned pool party was last Sunday.  I am not-so-brilliant, so I got it in my head that taking all my rug-rats plus my 2 youngest sisters would be a fantastic idea, and would sure beat staying home while my trailer rose in temperature higher than is humanly desirable or even healthy.

We loaded up the van at church and headed for the mall since, like the supermom that I am, I forgot beach towels.  I also wanted to see if any of the department stores had a wizard on staff who could conjure up a well-fitting, deceptive, and flattering bathing suit in a few short minutes.  No wizard was to be found.  (Apparently, in the South, retail stores do not employ magic of any kind on Sundays due to the general consensus of the populace on this matter.)

Picture, for a minute, the entourage…  3 umbrella strollers, each pushed by 1 of us: Brytleigh, Delaynie, and I.  Navigating the mall at a slightly increased rate of speed, so as not to miss any swim time, not to mention lunch.  It was exciting, like a secret mission of the time-sensitive persuasion.  Except it wasn’t secret and the only person whose life depended on it was mine.  I may or may not have been murdered by small, disappointed girls if we missed any of the festivities.  They made it very clear at each turn that the party began at 1pm and that I, as the responsible adult in charge of transportation, was being counted on most fervently to deliver them to their destination at the appointed time.

Or else…

The party went as well as can be expected, all things considered.  My children came away with scraped knees from the myriad of cannon balls into the very shallow wading pool.  Everybody missed a nap.  Slight sunburn occurred.  Fun was achieved, and that, my dear readers, is what summer is all about.

What did I get out of the afternoon?

A chair.

While I was driving the girls home, I saw something that made happy.  A chair, sitting at the edge of someone’s yard, looking out of the road.  It beckoned.  It summoned.  It called.  Maybe it was just the setting.  The picturesque quality of the chair’s location.  Maybe, probably, it was too much sun…  I turned around.  I pulled in the driveway.  I rang the gosh-darn doorbell.

You have a chair sitting out by the road.  Any reason?

Yes.  We’re getting rid of it.

How much?

Take it.

(swoons) Thank you!!!! (European double-cheek kiss)  Oh, wait.  That only happened in my head.

After some difficulty arranging transportation for said sitting implement, I now have a chair sitting in my living room  that rocks, swivels, and looks like it came from your Grandma’s house.

And I love it.

A day out in the sun.  A washing machine run for the cushion.  A little Febreeze.

Good as new.  I mean…

I love it.

Did I mention it was free?

And that I love it?



I rock. I also paper and scissors.

2 thoughts on “Reward

Come on. Let it out. You know you want to.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s