On Saturday Grady and I had a solo date to visit a friend-- and we were late. Very late. Far too late to stop at the yard sale he spotted on the way out of town.
|"STOP MOMMY!" he yelled as we drove by. "Not right now, we're late," said I, noting as we flew past a really cool trestle table among the wares. |
He didn't forget-- all the way home, tired and hungry as he was, he kept asking to go back to the yard sale. By the time we were back to that street, rain was falling, and I was sure the sale would be over. I hoped he wouldn't be dissapointed. I also mostly hoped he wouldn't scream (as over-tired and hungry boys are wont to do.)
I always said I wanted the boys to inherit two things-- my ability to tan, even when I forget sunscreen, and my thrifting ju-ju. Apparently, my genetic wish has been granted.
When we approached the house, rain fell harder and of course the sale was over. But there on the curb was that trestle table--worn plank top, nicks and dings in all the right places-- EXACTLY what I'd been looking for extra seating on the deck. Throw into the bargin a pair of cool andirons (I was looking for some of those) and a HUGE frame with ugly oil print that has already become a chalkboard-- now that's some serious thrifting ju-ju right there.
That's my boy.