The first major highlight refers to the title of this week's blog. This week's day in the park was at a nearby state park, at an area known as "Whipple Dam." As the name implies, this is a reservoir, with a nice sandy beach and shallow sections roped off for wading and swimming. This particular morning was muggy and hot, with temperatures in the low nineties. Needless to say, our group was not the only mothers and children group with the same idea. In retrospect, I'm not sure this was the smartest outing I've ever been on. It's not that I wasn't prepared--I had food, sunscreen, plenty of water, towels, a dry change of clothes for Andrew and me . . . I just hadn't quite thought through Andrew's probably reaction to so much water. Naturally, it took him all of ten minutes to figure out that he didn't have to stay in the shallow end, but that it was much more fun to keep wading out toward deeper waters. And naturally, given his developing balance and zero ability to swim, he face planted a couple of times in the water. (Well, more like half a dozen times). Every time, my heart nearly stopped until I could scoop him up and he would start coughing and sputtering. (My friend Stephanie later referred to his exploits as "deep sea diving"). Putting a life-preserver on him didn't seem to help noticeably--he still waded out until he slipped or the water got so deep that the life preserver picked him up (either planting him face down or flat on his back). The life-preserver actually seemed to make him even more fool-hardy: he really liked it when I would pick him up a little and he could float and swing his legs around. He seemed to think he could do this independent of my aid, which meant he kept trying to pick up *both* his feet at the same time, with predictable results. And then, if I could manage to get him to shallow water or back on land (either by persuasion or outright force), it was all I could do to keep him from heading straight back to deeper waters. Ah, the perils of parenthood! I'm sure there's some kind of deep meaningful understanding I could take away from this incident, but I'll leave it at that.
Another notable highlight (well, so really only one of our highlights was harrowing, but the title sounds better this way) of the week was our (by our, we mean, of course, "me") discovery that getting rid of stuff can be *almost* as therapeutic as getting new stuff. In an appropriate inversion of our usual yard sale addiction, Stephanie Sturgeon (and I, but it was mostly her brainchild) planned a yard sale of our own. Steph invited several other families from the ward to join her, so we were able to advertise a 10-family moving sale. Sorting through and labeling stuff occupied me (and to some extent Dan) most evenings of the latter part of the week. Saturday was the big sale. We must have had close to a hundred people show up at the yard sale before the morning was done--people started coming well before our 8 am start time, when we were still frantically trying to get stuff out and set it up, and for the first half hour there was a fairly steady line 4-5 people deep. I can't remember the last time I went to a yard sale that was quite that busy--I guess you could say our sale was a hit. It's certainly true that many of the families are moving this summer and so were getting rid of stuff at a pretty cheap rate. Although I can't say I had too many expectations for the sale (I've been to--or rather, driven by--too many yard sales where most of the stuff goes unpurchased), but any expectations I might have had were far exceeded by the reality. Of the two carloads of stuff we took to Steph's house, we returned with perhaps half a trunk full--one box of which was promptly disposed of at the AAUW booksale drop-off. We'd be happy with that simply because it meant we'd gotten rid of a lot of stuff. But we also apparently made nearly $200! And we weren't the only ones at the sale to make big money. (Dan reminds me not to mention how much we paid for most of these items originally--so I guess the idea of *profit* is fairly questionable). At any rate, I had fun. (Dan watched Andrew for the first two hours or so of the sale, while things were hectic, then I took Andrew back with me). And it is a nice feeling to have lightened our load at least somewhat. As long as I don't go to too many more yard sales before moving . . .
In the same purging spirit, we advertised some of our furniture items to members of the ward and to my grad student organization, and by so doing were able to get rid of our rocker-glider, our bureau (nice, but old and very heavy), and (if the proposed recipient comes to pick it up as scheduled) our overstuffed chair. Another woman from the ward is planning to take yet another of our chairs when she moves, and Stephanie is getting our table, chairs, and baker's rack. It's nice to be able to divest ourselves of so much stuff--it will certainly simplify moving!
(Andrew, modeling one of the shirts Dan got rid of after cleaning out our bureau).
2 comments:
I've heard that yard sales go even better when they're billed as "Shabby Chiq" sales.
The swimming episode sounds delightful. Andrew is of an age that his oversized cranium makes him somewhat top heavy. This phenomenon was experienced by his dad, Uncle Booty, and cousin Jake (and probably myriads of others).
If he gets here before Labor Day, he can go for a swim with his Bubby in the "cool".
Post a Comment