On Black Friday, a children’s furniture site had a sale on nursery fixtures. We got a crib, mattress, mattress pad, sheets, dresser, and gliding rocking chair for just under $800. I’d wanted a rocking chair for months and they were on the more costly side, so it was a win-win. When I need to collect myself in a room that is transforming as I am, I go to the chair. It’s a symbol of the rhythm of life and the new experiences that await.
The Playroom Sofa
My family has movie nights on Friday or Saturday nights. We grab several throws, let out the indigo sofa/bed in the children’s area and munch on popcorn and pizza. Sometimes I think my daughter enjoys it most — she constantly asks if we’re going to watch a movie and eat popcorn, even though I’ve clarified we don’t do that on school nights. I don’t know if it’s possible that it could bring her more joy than it gives me.
The sofa came from IKEA. It’s stained from hair gel because my son smeared it into the interior one busy morning. It also has toys, felt, and hair pins in every crevice. We fluff and braid hair and soothe tears. It’s part jungle-gym and part bed. The day after a movie night, it’s covered in popcorn kernels and tiny buttery bits that my 3-year-old tries to eat.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
China From My Grandmother
My grandmother was living with us at the time of the fire. She had some of her things in storage near her previous home in Shreveport, including her mother’s china, as well as some of her own. She’s a meticulous collector of things and memories. She prides herself on keeping the same clothing for decades. More than once, she talked about giving some china to me, as well as the cabinet the pieces perch in. I didn’t take the trip to get it. I’m glad that didn’t pan out, because it wasn’t lost in the fire.
I’ve since inherited a few pieces of the gold-trimmed dinnerware. The plates rest on our dinner table, waiting to tell me about all they’ve seen. I don’t see myself eating off them, but I desperately want to know the stories they hold. What memories do they have of me? I lived with my grandparents on and off throughout high school and in some of my adult years. I know they saw me typing my first play, a school assignment, until the sun inched into the sky on the play’s due date. Maybe they were paying attention when I proudly carried my first baby girl to the living room. They’re certainly watching me now as I dig my heels into life and bring the love of family, living and dead, with me.
