Once upon a time, I was pregnant, trying to plan out life with two boys under two, and feeling just a teensy bit guilty that in a few short months, I was going to rock my big little guy's world with the advent of his new brother. The prospect of having two cribs in the house seemed to be just.... too much. And so we decided to plan a "big boy" room for Grady.
Problem was, I was planning a room for my "big" boy-- all 22 months of him. So strange to think now of how old he seemed-- John Harper still seems very much a baby to me at nearly exactly the same age. His great loves-- planes, trains and automobiles-- were so important to him that the possibility that they would someday be obsolete was unthinkable. And truly, who could imagine Casey (as in "at the bat") as an ever-present imaginary friend, an attraction to red clay mud that is magnetic and almost unbelievable in its proportions, or an interest in music so intense that he will spend hours listening, guitar in hand, asking me "do you feel that bass, mommy?". Or that, upon being asked by his new and very musical teacher what his favorite song is, that he would answer "Well, I like Shane Whalen and M. Ward, but my favorite songs are "Blue" by the Jayhawks and Tribe Called Quest "Represent, represent." But really, who could imagine that, so I'll cut myself a little slack.
And so this room, which seemed so cute and fun for my little man, now seems so very much outgrown. And poor John Harper's crib just rolled into the spot where a cabinet was removed-- primer on the wall, unprimed floor below. Not much thought and love put into that. Maybe it's because I'm a Cancer, or maybe it's just because I'm me, but gifting my family with beautiful spaces in which to live out our days is one of my ultimate expressions of love. That, and homemade muffins in the lunchbox. (Where's that little smileyface icon when you need it?)
Let the priming begin.