Where to begin?
Remember this cabinet? Probably not. It’s been an age since I last mentioned it, but I rescued it from the decrepit garage of our Old Haus, put a layer of primer on it, then used it for various things in the girls’ bedroom (this haus and old) until I could decide what exactly to do with it. Sunshine thought some pencil would be a nice touch, apparently.
Then my lovely and talented sister, aided by Princess’ advice, put together a decoupaged look thanks to a broken copy of 1 is One by Tasha Tudor, as well as the dust cover from A Child’s Garden of Verses, and some stencilling.
And the girls all rejoice and cannot wait for it to be in their room.
Proud brothers and sisters thoroughly enjoying the new baby.
The doting engineer Daddy couldn’t resist these puns on his daughter’s birth date (and frankly, neither could I).
If you can figure out the one on the right, well, you’re better than I am. To me it read something like si hoc legere scis nimium eruditionis habes. 😉
I could write about a few things here. Like how our septic system clogged and blew the day before Posey Pie–and it’s Pie now instead of Pea–arrived. How Haus Meister spent his time juggling visiting wife and new daughter at the hospital along with work and trying to track down someone to fix the tank. How finally someone arrived and declared that the problem was that the tank had never been pumped. Ever. In the 35 years this house has been built. Ew. So that finally happened within hours of Posey Pie and I arriving home. I missed that adventure, and I can’t say I’m complaining.
But today I’ve been thinking about a family I ran into at the hospital. When we arrived at our scheduled time for the induction, we were told that a room was nearly ready and to go into a waiting area. Things had apparently gotten crazy in labor and delivery in the hours before. In the waiting room sat a couple who obviously were waiting for news of another patient. I was called out to register and when we returned the room was full of people. An elderly woman engaged us in chat and after a while conversation lagged and Haus Meister and I reverted to our own thoughts and I pulled out of my purse the little “Emma tunic” I’d so recently finished. Another woman entered the waiting room and announced to the original couple and indeed, everyone else, that they were going to move to a larger waiting room. The whole party got up to leave, and as they did the woman who was in the room when we first arrived suddenly stopped and turned to us.
“Our baby isn’t going to make it,” she whispered. “18 weeks, there’s been problems. It can’t survive and they need to take it. Our daughter is all broken up.”
We assured her of our prayers, explained as hurriedly as we could that we knew what it was like. Oh yes, we know. She thanked us and then we were left to ourselves.
Two days later I was leaving the hospital with my baby and my in-laws (poor Haus Meister–he had to stay and supervise the septic pumping and missed bringing home his newest daughter). A man held the elevator door for us and I recognized him as the father of the girl who lost her baby. I wished at that moment that it had been anyone else. He congratulated me and said they were trying to get discharged that day as well. He was trying to keep from tearing up. As we exited the elevator I softly mentioned we’d be praying for them. He thanked me over his shoulder and hurried away.
Won’t you pray for them today, too?