I’m not sure that phrase has ever been more applicable to anything—ever—than it was to a recent poor decision made by me and my mom to bring Forrest with us to an antiques store. She and my dad are building a new house and she’s been on the hunt for neat antique items to use in her decorating, so we swung by this little antiques shop in my town . . . with two children in tow. Red flags flying, sirens roaring . . . do you hear it?
I’ll tell you what, picking your way through a cluttered antique shop while carrying a baby in a car seat (combined weight: 4,000 pounds) and trying to keep a curious preschooler from touching every single solitary item in the store? Total shopping bliss.
Mr. Well-Behaved was of course a model child as we looked around, patiently waiting with folded arms as we took our time perusing the shop. Passersby couldn’t keep from commenting on his perfect behavior and my obvious mastery of the art of parenting to have produced such a cherub. I just smiled and nodded serenely while my halo glowed above my head. Nothing I don’t already know.
Oooorrrrrr, an alternate version of the shopping trip: maybe he made every attempt to sprint away from us at top speed (quite a feat in a packed and crowded shop with roughly 4 inches of walking space between each teetering tower of oddities, ready to crash down at the slightest hint of turbulence), touched and picked up and dropped just about every item within his reach, made me whisper-shout the phrase, “Do not touch anything!” something like, oh, infinity times, became fixedly attached to (of all things) a chipped, splintery plank of wood he found on the ground outside the building that I was forced to pry loose from his vice grip before I could pack him back into the car to go home.
I’ll just let you wonder which version is the more accurate retelling of our shopping events. Another shopper saw us making our way through the store and told me, “Boy, you are brave!” I think ‘brave’ is the nice way of saying ‘an idiot.’
But while we (shockingly!!!) weren’t able to head home with any fabulous antique finds, we definitely took advantage of their cool outdoor area to snap some pictures. Which were not at all awkward or embarrassing as other shoppers milled around and wondered what we were doing and two guys with a moving van gawked at us for several eternal-feeling minutes. 100% photography comfort.
After my most recent wardrobe malfunction, someone suggested scarves to rescue me. And she was right—they’re such an easy way to look pulled together, or hide little outfit whoopsies (especially if you have little kids . . . boogers and drool everywhere), or add a little color and pattern to a neutral outfit, like mine today. I’m loving this scarf—not too loud or ‘in-your-face’, but it quietly adds a fun pop of red and some really neat pattern to the outfit.
I dig it. And next time I have baby spit-up or preschooler peanut butter handprint smears on my shirt, hey, I can toss a scarf on and no one’s the wiser. But if the spit-up or peanut butter lands on the scarf? Heaven help me.