After more than 14 years of marriage, my husband and I finally got a bedroom set.
Yeah, yeah. Big deal.
But, really, it is.
Before last week's delivery of our new furniture, our small dresser was one from my husband's childhood home. (And we thank you for giving it to us, Mom and Dad-in-law.) Our mattress sat on a box spring on the floor with not even a wall tapestry to offer it some dignity. Having our bed that humble way saved space, and for years it gave our nursing babies a safer place to rest by their mama in case of a roll off the bed (very rare!). Our other furniture was an old desk with silver sharpie and black marker embellishments, a file cabinet, and an old TV stand that held our shoes and discarded jeans.
Now our room is all grown up, hardly recognizable. "Whose room is this anyway?" Matthew and I ask each other. Beautiful. For a whole week I have been unable to stay away from this regal furniture. I stand or sit and simply stare in blatant admiration. I stroke its smooth finish. I admire its reflection in the large dresser mirror. I brush off the insolent dust. I am in love with this dark bedroom furniture.
We had waited so long - because of our wee ones - and my expectations had grown so high in that time, I was certain we would have to get rare and unusual bedroom furniture from some renowned antiques dealer or some artist in Jerome, Arizona who constructs things out of abandoned barns and mine frames. But we did the American thing and found our set at a furniture warehouse. Since its purchase I have scoured the furniture ads and sneered at their offerings; our bedroom set is surely the most beautiful of them all, even if it is mass produced.
So, you can understand now. This was a big deal for me. Not a necessity, but a big and beautiful deal.
Moving on to important things in an entirely different sense, I have been struggling for two weeks now - perhaps more - to write a humor entry for the Erma Bombeck writing competition that accompanies the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop I'm going to attend.
It has not gone well. Things are certainly not flowing. I am stuck in the detangling stage of my writing and, for the life of me, cannot find a cohesive or funny thing in the crazy, knotted threads of my thoughts. I wish that I could enter something I have already written. There are quite a few that I like a lot, and some that came quite easily. Inspiration was my friend then! But the entry must be pristine, unseen, a newborn babe not yet known to man. So here I am. Where are you now, o inspiration? It's a slog, believe me.
But I do recognize that any challenge, even this frustrating, is good for my craft. So whether my entry is worthy of a humor competition or not, I'm going to enter something.
Meanwhile, I have to tell you that, for my own good or ruin, I have checked out the past winners of this competition. I kid you not, they are hilarious. I laughed out loud at several of the pieces. I highly recommend checking them out if you need to lighten your load today. Here are some of my favorites:
The Kotex Kid Strikes Again
Appreciating a Depreciating State of Things
And you can find all the winners of past years HERE and determine your own favorites after a couple hours of laughter or smirks.
Well, now I must leave you, because after his papa stayed home last Friday from work and his oldest sister home from school and church with an entirely different but quite nasty virus, my youngest son has been throwing up all morning. No joke.
My poor little fella. I don't think Mama's sorry humor essays would cheer him up. I'd better work on that.