Monday, March 31, 2014

Full Circle

When I was growing up, we had just a living room and a kitchen, no dining room and certainly no formal living room. Our living room was just that, lived in. It housed our only TV and was often where we gathered for birthday parties and special occasions. Every family picture I have features me and my siblings standing in front of our fireplace, a can of Diet Coke hiding in the shadows on the nearest coffee table, my dad's tennis shoes tucked in the corner by the front door. I forever pined for a formal living room, a room that would always be clean, free from newspapers and coffee cups, ready for the parade of guests I was sure I would host one day. 

When David and I bought our house eight years ago, my wish finally came true. We indeed have a formal living room, the one room that is always clean and houses the one piece of new furniture I have ever purchased. Little did I know, the "parade of guests"  I would eventually host would be a bunch of  five year-old girls having a dance party in that very room, turning my lovely couch into a fort, a boat, and finally, a trampoline. 

It started innocently enough. Music was blaring, the girls were having a contest to see who could get their skirt to twirl the biggest. 
The girls we had over were precious. Morgan refers to each of them as her "bestest friends" and was so excited for them to meet. They both posed for the camera, while my daughter spent her time looking as feral as possible. Clearly, she succeeded.
It was a matter of minutes before they needed to catch their breathes, collapsing on the couch in a fit of giggles.

And, as is the case with all good parenting stories, "I turned my back for just a minute." - When I walked backed into living room, construction was well under way.

For the next thirty minutes, I watched as they worked together, their little creative wheels turning as they created and then destroyed every configuration they could muster with six cushions. Not surprisingly, the possibilities were endless.

And there it was. My formal living room. Lived in,wrinkled and worn, marked by greasy little finger prints and now full of one Saturday's memories. Just right.

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