When you’re cash poor and carrying two mortgages, it’s hard to turn down free furniture.

Even when it’s this dumpy.

I mean dumpy in its most literal translation. It was from the dump. For free. Eleven years ago, my father took pity on us and dropped off random pieces of furniture from the dump every once and again. The chair served its purpose. It was in heavy rotation in our house until we sprung for some new furniture. And by new, I mean purchased through the classifieds. Yes, kids, it’s true: before craigslist made its way to the ‘burbs, we used to use small ads in the newspaper to buy and sell things. Crazy, right? Once we bought our new used couches and the like, this baby was left in the basement, where it became a victim of my youngest’s tape fetish.

Nothing a little vinegar, scrubbing and sand paper couldn’t solve.

Along with some metallic spray paint, IKEA fabric, and Scotch Guard.

I like to think the 8 stands for “I spent no more than $8 on this chair.”

We’re renovating the house. I’d like to think my thrift with this chair makes up for my excesses with porcelain, glass and marble tile everywhere else. Once my new home office is complete, my figure 8 will be the star of the show.  For now, it’s waiting in front of a patched-and-primed wall where a door used to be. That’s ok. The figure 8 already waited 11 years for its transformation. She and I can wait a few more weeks.

So there are things that happen to me.

And there are things that simply don’t. And I’m fine with that.

Except one big thing that doesn’t ever happen to me actually happened.

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With near-daily trips to the dog park, we’ve been spending a good bit of time outside. When Henry was a pup, we spent a lot of time in Waveny Park, walking the trails and enjoying the company of our little knucklehead. We’re always happy to stroll these gorgeous grounds after Talullah has a romp in the dog park, especially with two boys who need to burn off some of their cooped-up cabin fever energy during this frigid winter break.

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Non-staged, messy reality. Although I did move the muddy boots from this afternoon’s walk out of the picture.

Alpha kitty on the couch. Doodle on the floor (odd) next to her dad (everyone say HI, Paul!). Beta kitty off-camera to the right. Children elsewhere, playing a new video game. Snow man ignoring me since I’ve cruelly placed him so close to the fire. Dirty wool sock in the foreground. Christmas detritus everywhere. Curtains? Yeah. New. After 10 years of naked windows, I’ve been on a tear.

This downtime stuff? It’s kind of nice.

I’m off to eat a slice of pizza and find a bottle of wine that pairs perfectly with contentment.

Come. they implore us. Put aside your dirty dishes, your iPhones, your ideas. Come. Come on already.
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The hurricane left angry seas in its wake, making today the first day we swam in the ocean. But it’s aallllllll goooood. Except for the broken sunroof. And the dog who was certain the skunk was an innocent little kitty who was dying to say HI!

republished with pictures that didn’t stick in the WordPress iPhone app

He is a CPA.

And I have an MBA, having earned an A- in statistics only by the grace of the bell curve. I didn’t fare quite so well in Finance. But I thought I could count. And I was sure he could.

Neither of us has had coffee yet. We’ve finished the warmup. It’s 6:12 am.

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As we were driving home last night from my nine year old’s birthday dinner in a bar…

(And to be perfectly clear, my son hadn’t actually set foot in a bar until Saturday night, when we gave our 20 year old nephew $100 as we ran out the door saying “Thanksforsittingtaketheboystoamovieanddinnerkthxbai!” All we heard about the next day was why Bobby V’s was the best restaurant my boys had ever been to, and asking have you ever been there Mom? Really? When? Do you know where to park?)

…my father and I were discussing music. He asked me if I could find a Paul Simon CD for him.

Sure, Dad, no problem.

“OK, and I think I have some stuff you’d like. I’ve got the new Andrea Bocelli, and I have all that Bon Jovi I bought for your mother.”
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It’s his first real bike.

Other than his mother’s face smothering him with kisses, it was the first thing he saw when he woke up this morning, his ninth birthday. He was up in an instant, putting on his clothes and running for his helmet.

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“Take it easy,” he tells me as I leave. “I can tell you should.”

I’m sure our second date is what nurtured his overprotective nature and helped it blossom. After an Indian Summer day on the beach, playing hooky from work, I started to come down with a fever. He carefully followed me back to my apartment an hour away, where I promptly started hallucinating from the fever.

Anyway.

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